Whittling

For over a year now I've been whittling. As my energy level plummeted and my health worsened, I started cutting down on responsibilities and engagements. I've stepped down from various committee positions, volunteered less, and said no to more requests. I've taken on no new overly zealous projects and made no promises.

Some days I feel as though I'm not the one doing the whittling... that it is the disease that is whittling away at me. I can no longer be a leader or the person that everyone counts on. I can no longer be in charge of important things, events, or finances. My life is too iffy. I have handed over things I once controlled and it has been hard. Painful. Once so active in so many things, now I move slowly through my days. I take half a hospital just to leave the house.

Just like a block of wood, my life, as it was, is slowly getting smaller as little shavings are being whittled away. Each shaving falls to the ground and is blown away by the wind. Each shaving holds a dream, a project, a once upon a time, a bit of what was me, a hope of what was to come in the future.

Whittling through piles of paper, folders, and drawers. Adoption paperwork... in the recycle bin. CPR training to be renewed... how would I breathe for someone else when I cannot breathe for myself? Pinterest boards pinned with ideas for retirement... delete. Photocopies of archival materials and old research... sent to fellow historians. Papers, projects, and more... handed over.

I have hope, that after all the whittling, my future will be something just as marvelous as I once believed it would become.