Bruises

I have lots of bruises. I'm not clumsy I just do things that have potential for injury. I run in the mountains, climb rocks, play on the monkey bars at the park down the street, ride my bike too fast down hills, move objects that are far beyond my strength level, listen to my Ipod when I run, read while I walk, talk on the phone when I'm doing just about everything, etc. I've been really fortunate to not suffer greater injury than I have. No broken bones, no major surgeries, no blood transfusions or organ transplants. I was a very cautious child, terrified of physical pain. As I've grown up, I've learned to take greater risks and rely on my body and my instincts to keep me safe. In my running career (short though it may be), I'm one of the few people I know who's sole physical set-back is a persistent blister on the arch of my right foot.

Regardless, I have bumps and bruises from head to toe. The most recent is from my run yesterday. I was talking to my coach while we jogged side-by-side on a narrow sidewalk. I turned my head to acknowledge something she said and sideswiped myself with a street sign. I have a nice, long, black and blue bruise on the left side of my chest, right above my, uh, tender part. About a week ago I banged my shin on the platform at the end of the monkey bars in the park down the street (I'm practicing my gymnastics skills). I scraped up my knee on a huge, underwater rock when I was tubing two weeks ago, the skin is starting to grow back, over a lodged pebble. I have a scrape where a sharp branch attacked my neck when I was riding my bike through some thick foliage a few days ago.

The fun thing about bruises (0ther than bragging about how you got them) is giving them a gentle poke every once in awhile to see if it still hurts, gauge the healing process. Emotional bruises are kind of the same. Every so often I kind of poke around my heart to see how things are healing up. Like the bruise I obtained yesterday, some of the more recent offenses still smart. But injuries that have had more time to heal aren't as tender (like my knee). I was surprised to find this week during an occasional self-exam, that a more serious injury inflicted years ago didn't hold any pain when I gingerly pressed my fingertips to the spot. So I pushed a little harder; looking at old photos, reading old letters, having a conversation about it with someone involved. Still, nothing. I even had brief thought this morning that perhaps it's time to stop hiding it. I've kept it a secret for so long, and now I'm not sure why I need to anymore. There was a strong sense of guilt and shame associated with it. I felt a lot of judgment from people I trusted in regards to the whole issue. Even people I thought would be open-minded and supportive, criticized my ability to have a normal life and pursue my big dreams because of the seriousness of the wound. Now those sentiments don't seem to matter, if they still exist at all.

I've been thinking lately about how I try to please people. I work really hard to do things that I know the people I care about will appreciate. I get no small amount of pleasure out of it myself. I really like being the source of other peoples' happiness or, at least, temporary enjoyment. I love to cook for people. I like giving my friends things that I know they will really like and that demonstrates how well I know them and appreciate their individual tastes and interests. But at what point does my desire to make other people happy inhibit my own enjoyment of life?

I was out with this guy a few days ago who really wanted to talk about cars. He really liked cars. He had gone to a show of some kind and was all excited about a new model something that would go really fast, and was really shiny (though I'm sure his description was much more sophisticated). My interest in cars is limited to how many miles I can get from a gallon of gas, and the implications they have for the political debate on clean burning fuel and the energy crisis. At first I tried to listen, even tried to recall an articles I had read or something I had heard on NPR. After about 10 minutes of this conversation I realized I was putting too much energy into a discussion I couldn't give a rat's ass about. And for what? Too make this guy interested in me, or at least think that I was interesting.

I have to give myself a break on this too, because I genuinely enjoy connecting with people. I really like learning new things from people and engaging with them in something they enjoy. Another thing I really don't like is hockey. It's one sport in which I have zero interest. But I went to a hockey game with a guy this past spring because I knew it was something he liked, and I wanted to experience his world a little bit. It's like watching a movie you have no particular desire to see because the person you're with is really excited about it. Or reading a book that's important to someone even if it's in a style or on a subject matter that's outside my usual interest. So, I'm happy to compromise and make some concessions on minor things like this, but when it becomes too much work, I need to be willing to change the subject, or suggest a different activity that will make ME happy, regardless of what the other person's reaction will be.

In regards to healing bruises, and old war wounds, I would like to be more honest about myself with other people. I'm not quite ready to lay everything on the table - there is something to be said for discretion. But if an injury no longer bears pain, there's no reason to keep the ugly scar hidden. I'm not perfect, I haven't always made perfect decisions. I've had accidents and moments of weakness that resulted in cuts and bruises. I think one of my biggest fears in sharing some of these war stories and putting my scars on display is that people will judge my character based on these individual events. And while they may have had a major impact on me, I don't want to be boxed in or categorized based on them.

I'm still unwrapping the bandages, and evaluating the healing process on some of these bruises. Every so often I set off a lightening rod of pain with a touch, when I thought it would most certainly be healed. And other spots aren't as tender as their recent infliction should suggest.

The important lesson I'm learning is that I don't have to be the same scared, cautious girl I once was. Eventually all the bandages will come off, all things heal, and all scars will be displayed. It's just part of living a good, rich life, sometimes you get hurt. As long as I live with integrity and make the right choices, I can be confident and know that I was doing something I enjoy when I got that black and blue mark.