Pragmatic Optimism
Do you guys remember a few weeks ago when I was writing soaring high musings about how flipping incredible my month in Chiang Mai is?
Well…
Then I caught Covid and spent a week confined in my hotel room, moaning and groaning, snotting, and wishing I could taste my food (losing my sense of taste in THAILAND, of all places?!).
Then, as soon as I felt better and passed the no-longer-contagious window, I went back to the Qigong and yoga lessons I had scheduled and immediately injured myself.
The teacher prompted me through an exercise that involved putting a yoga block under my upper shoulders through the base of my skull, then reclining on it.
Every “I know my body better than this” instinct told me to politely decline that particular exercise, but instead, I decided to be a “good sport” (read: people pleaser) and do it.
I was rewarded with an instant, excruciating headache.
One that is now on its third day.
One that also severely limits my movement. If I drop something and bend over to retrieve it, there are a few seconds of wondering if my head might actually explode and hoping that I would at least lose consciousness first.
So yesterday afternoon, when I spent two hours laying in my bed in corpse pose – no pillows, no books, no TV, just me staying stock-still and praying for relief…
Well, it would have been easy to start a pity party.
But here’s the thing –
I know nothing.
This could easily be a run-of-the-mill headache. An annoyance. One that could have been avoided if I listened to my instincts instead of ignoring them.
Or it could be a divine intervention that prevented me from being out on my scooter when I might have gotten hit by a bus.
I don’t know. Do you?
A few months ago, I shared Sam’s favorite Chinese proverb in a musing, and that musing now reliably gets the most Google traffic every month. Here’s the story again for good measure:
A long time ago, there was a farmer named Sāi Wēng who lived on the frontier. One day, his prized horse ran away. That evening, all of his neighbors came around to commiserate. They said, “We are so sorry to hear your horse has run away. This is most unfortunate.” But Sāi Wēng simply said, “Maybe. Could be good, could be bad, who’s to say?”
The next day, the lost horse returned bringing seven wild horses with it and in the evening everybody came back and said, “Oh, isn’t that lucky. What a great turn of events. You now have eight horses!” The farmer again said, “Maybe. Could be good, could be bad, who’s to say?”
The following day, his son tried to break one of the horses, and while riding it, he was thrown and broke his leg. The neighbors then said, “Oh dear, that’s too bad,” and Sāi Wēng simply responded, “Maybe. Could be good, could be bad, who’s to say?”
Shortly thereafter, the Emperor’s army arrived at the village to recruit all able-bodied men to fight in the war. Because of his injury, Sāi Wēng’s son could not go off to war and was spared from near-certain death. Again, all the neighbors came around and said, “Isn’t that great!” Again, he said, “Maybe. Could be good, could be bad, who’s to say?”
Who’s to say, friends? Who’s to say?
Keely
Morning Musings is a delight-first writing practice where I wake up, put my fingers on the keyboard and “learn in public” (credit: Liz Gilbert). The delightful humans who read these musings tend to see them as an invitation to slow down, have a virtual cup of coffee together, and contemplate the human experience. If you’d like to join our tribe, subscribe here: https://keelyc.substack.com/
