Awakening the Words

As my mind awakens, my body awakens with it — and lately, so do my fingers. The surgery on my left hand definitely helped restore functionality, even though the wounds are still fresh. But I’m typing again. Really typing. Letting my thoughts spill onto the page the way they always have.

And yes, this means I’ve been writing a lot of blog posts.
Some good. Some mediocre.
But all necessary.

There’s a strange feedback loop I’ve noticed: I heal enough to write, so I write, and writing somehow helps the healing along. My mind sharpens. My breath deepens. My body relaxes. It’s as if putting words on a page sends some kind of restorative energy through the rest of me. Or maybe I’m just romanticizing it — but honestly, who cares? It’s working.

The last two or three days have been a writing frenzy. And God, it has been good for my soul.

It’s helped me process the nonsense swirling around me — including the “friend” who chose to attack me at my weakest moment since we met. Writing wakes up parts of my brain that have been resting, and it stitches me back together. It completes me. It makes me whole again.

Kind of the same way riding does.

Writing and riding.
Maybe that should’ve been the title of my memoir.

But no — I love the title I chose, and after this accident, it’s more fitting than ever: “And So, She Rose.” That book has grown teeth since the crash. It has a heartbeat now. And as soon as I’m back in my house, my first order of business will be writing the next two chapters. They’ve already happened. Now it’s time to capture them.

But as I sit here in my BFF’s house, cranking out blog posts like a caffeinated typist, I’m reminded of something important: I can’t tackle my large works unless I’m in my own environment. My space. The place where I am captain, navigator, operator, and mechanic of my own soul.

That doesn’t reflect anything negative about where I am now — my friend has been a godsend. She took me in. She took care of me. She kept me alive in ways she may never fully understand.

But I need my own space to work.
To breathe.
To be me.

And for the first time since the accident, I finally feel like myself again — at least a little. I have a wrist and fingers that work. I’m not completely drained all the time. I have enough stamina to finish a thought on paper. My mind is coming back online.

And with it, so am I.