Here I sit, hand bandaged in gauze and cotton, temporarily
sidelined and forcibly inactive.
The slightest miscalculation and most seemingly insignificant accident
and I’m left with a torn ligament in my thumb, and it’s resulting surgical
repair. After another summer of
movement and adventure, I anticipated returning to a relatively sedentary
winter existence, one with an abundance of reflection and introspective time, but this is
hardly what I expected. A sense of
déjà-vu pervades as I re-live Liz’s recent injury and remind myself that life
is full of surprises, their being good or bad depends entirely on perspective,
which in turn itself relies upon your grasp of reality, your worldview
and your version of sanity. So as
I recline with the subdued awareness I will not be climbing for months, that my
work and play in the mountains will be limited equally, I cannot help but feel
excitement and optimism for the future, and know I might be a little insane
for doing so.
