Lessons Learned from Exhaustion

    ex·haus·tion

iɡˈzôsCH(ə)n/

noun

1. 1. 

   a state of extreme physical or mental fatigue. 

   2.  the action or state of being used up completely.

     Like I really needed a dictionary for this one. But it's been my experience that when life sends the same lesson around more than twice, I should probably take note and dig deeper into the core of the matter.
     When I think of exhaustion, I think in two forms: physical and mental.
     To the former: there's exhaustion from moving furniture; selling a condo; running a business. There's exhaustion from day to day maintenance of things like houses, gardens and critters. In short, there's exhaustion in simply keeping up with life. No matter how much you love all these things, there's an expenditure of energy that goes along with the formula, that if not allowed for and treated properly, can deplete you if you don't pay attention.
     But then there's a deeper exhaustion.
     The kind that comes from caring for others and feeling helpless when they suffer. There is an exhaustion that comes from empathizing, not only with the pain of that loved one, but an extension of that care goes likewise to those who've been caregiving up close.
     And then there's the exhaustion of sheer loss.
     Physical or mental, exhaustion is exhaustion, and in my book, not something to treat lightly...If it's physical, our bodies will often slow us down, but if mental, that demands a whole new tact, as this state of emotion is not a mental visitor I want to overstay its welcome.  As Americans, I think we pride ourselves in our exhaustion. We wear it as a badge of honor, as if to say "Look how hard I'm working. My life has value. Just see how tired I am." But this is not a badge to strive for...not a word I want synonymous with my name. Not an energy I want to be known for.
     To my way of thinking, exhaustion is a lens through which we view life...and if we're not careful, it can become our lives, and I'm convinced, if not yanked up by the roots, it can take over our the garden of our lives like crabgrass run amuck.  I for one want to pluck it when I spot it...Pull out the exhaustion herbicide and say "Not in MY garden you don't!" My garden has a greater purpose than this. I will NOT let exhaustion take over the rows I've just hoed to make room for things vibrant and life sustaining."
     Having recently faced a series of challenges within a fairly short window, I've finally decided to stop and listen to my exhaustion...to literally ask it "Why are you here?" For if I'm honest, I have to admit as one who lives to create,  I've now come to recognize, I've left very little space in between projects for life to be...life.
     No doubt, my last two weeks have been doozies. I've spent way too much time in hospitals, stayed up way too late on deep phone conversation. I've prayed at the bedside of transitioning friends, and been there to share in the pain of saying goodbye with those likewise feeling the loss.  I've closed a chapter of my life lived in the city, and suspect I'll forever hate the tedium of taxes. But in the end, while exhaustion, may be unavoidable, how I dance with it is my choice. I can decide to keep going at the pace I tend to do things and hope for a different outcome (age old definition of insanity), or I can embrace exhaustion for the gift it brings and say  "Ok. Body, mind, life...Teach me how to do this better....or at least show me how to pace my life so as to make room for the sad times as well as the glad."
     I do not have any one answer for how to properly address exhaustion, save to say time and space are our friends, and meditation has been a ritual I shall no longer ignore. Throwing myself rapidly into another project is habit for me...It's my drug of choice. If I can redirect my thinking, shift my focus and energy, I have up till now, usually been able to distract myself from the pain of the losses...convincing myself that the energy once again, is going somewhere positive.
     But if I'm honest, I must admit that's a temporary fix. For friends loved deeply, life experiences lived richly turn to memories cherished fervently, and this is a good thing. I wouldn't take anything for it.  Therefore it stands to reason that life lived richly will make for losses felt deeply. And this is not a bad thing. In truth, these things are as much a part of what make us human as the happier times we strive for and tend to prefer.
     So if my body and mind suggest "perhaps a slow down to process this grief you carry" perhaps I should listen. After all, the older I get, the more I'm reminded, I'm in charge of very little, save for the way I interpret the experience, and the choices I make going forward.