I was chatting to a friend yesterday about what we’d got coming up in our diaries.
There are several things pressing on my mind: The Youngest Daughter’s graduation; commitments associated with being the The Husband’s appendage in his civic role as Sheriff; the rapidly developing plans for my play Previously Loved’s local tour (not till November); oh, and I’m interviewing Sir Michael Palin at the beginning of August for Berwick Literary Festival. Twice.
When I shared this latter information with my friend, her response was a gratifying: ‘Oh, wow. That’s the kind of thing that makes you want everything else to go away until the date’s arrived.’
Gratifying because it nailed exactly how I feel.
I long not to be the person who wishes time away - it’s too precious. But I can’t escape the fact that this particular interview makes me want my diary to miraculously empty until it’s done.
I’ve interviewed plenty of writers - many of whom have written multiple books, plus TV and film scripts. I’m always nervous beforehand (for me that’s a realistic response to ‘performing’). I’m also an obsessive prepper: reading, watching, listening, thinking, practising questions, considering potential answers… That’s all part of the craft of good interviewing (although, is it possible to think about something so much that you forget everything?).
But it seems somehow unreasonable, and even a little disrespectful to other writers I’ve interviewed, that I should have this extra slap of nerves because my interviewee is particularly high profile. But there it is. I probably won’t relax fully until it’s done and then I’ll wonder what all my fuss was about.
I thought that, as I got older, I’d be better at managing stress and anxiety. But that doesn’t seem to be the case. Although perhaps I resort to alcohol less and other healthier coping mechanisms more.
But I’ve hit a snag. My usual canon of exercise - tennis, pickleball (a recent addiction), running, swimming, walking, the gym, gardening - have all proved a tad beyond me of late. Exercise is part of my creative, social and wellbeing routine and the knock-on effect is that I’ve also found it harder to write and create.
Back in March, having gently built back up to running after injury enforced abstinence, I achieved my 5km goal and the all-important post-run euphoria. There’s nothing quite like it.
On the excercise platform Strava I wrote: Windy! First 5km since October 2022!
How happy I was with my slow-paced 5km run on March 24 this year.
But the next morning, my knees were swollen and so painful.
My default reaction was to feel guilty (go figure!). Had I done this to myself? Too much too soon? I thought I’d been careful but I’m notoriously impatient. What an idiot!
Cut a long story short, at the beginning of June I was diagnosed with undifferentiated inflammatory arthritis. It’s an autoimmune disease where your immune system attacks the cells that line your joints by mistake. It’s in the same family as rheumatoid arthritis and gout. Crazy.
I don’t want to be angry about such things. What’s the point? Why shouldn’t it be me? But I did find myself thinking about how much of the ‘bad stuff’ I’ve inherited from my ancestors. There’s Raynaud’s, varicose veins, bowel cancer (this inheritance is not medically endorsed, but my aunt died of the condition, so…), eczema…
I realise that it’s fear rather than anger that’s got hold of me.
My Dad had rheumatoid arthritis and it did, I think, make him angry. And maybe I get that a bit more now. It’s not just the pain. It’s so frustrating to live with the loss of things you have enjoyed or anticipate enjoying because your body’s damaging itself (or for whatever reason). Friends with arthritic autoimmune diseases have also spoken to me about this. One said that she ‘mourned the half marathons’ she could no longer run.
And, I suppose, the grip of these things on one’s mind is that they are beyond your control. Just like worrying about something that, in the overall scheme of things, is inconsequential is a reflex rather than a choice (sorry Michael Palin!).
But, as the Youngest Daughter might say: ‘We move’. To me, that means trying not to be too over-compliant to things that seem to have a hold over your destiny whilst accepting their existence. It sounds almost Kafkaesque when I write it down. I suppose part of what I’m thinking is that energy frittered on things we can’t do can keep us from channelling effort into navigating them using the things that we can do.
Which, as The Husband has just pointed out is rather like the Serenity Prayer (adopted by Alcoholics Anonymous, quoted by just about everyone in some form or other, and attributed to various monks etc through history). Overall, it’s all easier said than done.
And, to be honest, I’m still assimilating. Which encapsulates life, I guess.
Till next time