I had a big day of writing planned for yesterday. Thursday morning, no yoga class, no appointments, Evelyn at school, nothing stopping me from sitting down and writing some major new ideas I had for my novel. I’ve felt blocked lately, writing and revising the same first two chapters; enthusiasm has been low. It’s January. The month that I would happily strike from existence, had I the power to do so. But things were looking up: the end of January was in sight, Hawaiian vacation is next week, and I’d just had some new, exciting ideas for the novel that I was beginning to fear was dying a slow creative death.
Then, about 1:30 a.m. Thursday morning, I woke up with something I’ve never before experienced: extreme tooth pain. I’ve never had any major problems with my teeth: no cavities, no braces, a couple small fillings, nothing major. This was sudden, scary, and excruciating, bad enough that I first went to the emergency room (which was a waste of time), and then called my dentist at 5:30 a.m. By 10:00 a.m., I was at a different dentist in a different town, (gratefully) having a root canal, a process which wasn’t cheap or pleasurable, but by that time I was so exhausted and numb that I paid the bill they put in front of me and then stumbled out of the building, like a drunk from a bar, just wanting to go home and collapse.
Now the epiphany.
It’s the next day, and I can’t believe how good I feel. Oh the tooth is still a little sensitive, my jaw still sore from the three different shots of anesthetic. But last night, slipping into a pain-free sleep on my soft, king-sized mattress felt like the ultimate luxury. Sipping hot coffee this morning was a miracle. Never have I felt so blessed in my cozy little house, gazing out at the snow-covered January landscape, hugging my daughter goodbye before she skipped down to the school bus, excited in the way that only kids can be about a field trip to the museum today. And I’m sure that you have felt this same way, after some small tribulation through which you have persevered, everything seems shiny and bright and new, much better than you remembered. The world has not changed; you have changed. Your perspective has been washed in gratitude.
I mean, what if I were living one hundred years ago, or even fifty years ago, without modern dental care? What if this had happened one week later, when I was on vacation, far from home? What if I were in Haiti, for heaven’s sake?? What if I were that Haitian woman I just saw on the news yesterday (as I lay on the couch waiting for the anesthetic to wear off) who had a leg amputated after a building fell on her during the earthquake, unable to take large amounts of pain medication because she was also six months pregnant? That’s the kind of stuff that makes you think, Jeez, Stacey. Quit being such a baby.
It can always be worse. And it can always be better. I also saw, in that same news report, children in Haiti playing in the tent cities, making toys from empty water bottles and sticks and plastic and wire hangers.
Isn’t the universe (i.e., God. I use the two terms interchangeably) sublimely perfect in that it places these tragedies, from a stubbed toe to a root canal to a loved one’s death to a massive earthquake into our human lives so that we can wake up and realize when we have fallen back into the mistaken idea that life is easy and boring and tedious and ordinary. I know that I easily become accustom to my everyday comfort. In fact, I am addicted to the point that I would do anything to get that comfort and not let it go. If I go to the same tedious job everyday, and drive the same routes, and see the same people, and sit in front of my television every night, I know that there is a much diminished chance that I will experience any discomfort. But then, there is the tiny but persistent voice of my soul crying out that I’m not really living.
Perhaps I could even dip my toe into the possibility that I myself created this “problem,” this occurrence of my toothache, in order to wake myself up, because I create my own reality, as opposed to some random, detached power out there throwing these obstacles at me. I attract all events, people, places, things, into my own perception of the world.
Of course, that’s about as far as I’m willing to go before I get weirded out and get back to my TV and my cheese popcorn, which I can now enjoy only by chewing on the left side until I have a crown placed on my little renegade tooth. One can only have so much epiphany in one day, and it’s time to get back to writing. Tomorrow. Unless the universe has other plans.
