On Being (Temporarily) Immobile

This morning I woke up to find myself confined to my room for the second time in so many weeks. The entire room spun, as though I was on some freak merry-go-round. I proceeded to get sick in the bathroom. Feeling miserable, I laid down again. The room spun some more, and the vicious circle began.

Apparently there’s a virus in my ear.

A couple weeks ago, I was playing soccer at night and someone kicked my ankle so hard it charlie horsed for 24 hours. I had to crawl around and pull myself up onto the toilet the next morning.

Being immobile is scary. Luckily, my maladies were short lived, and have only resulted in two days sacrificed to the unproductive gods. I can relate to the desire of people throughout history who have wished to move, those possessors of itchy feet who include Pa Ingalls, the Pilgrims, the Holy Family, astronauts, and Christopher Columbus.

Everyone has their own reasons for moving: some, for the sake of moving, some, to escape sure death. But there must be something about moving that is inherent to human nature. Physically, movement stimulates muscle growth. Movement must stimulate growth in the other parts of man. The more I see of the United States, for I have never ventured outside of this country, the more my heart grows for the number of people I meet.

I think that physical mobility reflects in the mentality of a person. If you are physically immobile, your world shrinks, but your mentality suffocates as well. If we consider the mind as a muscle, if it is not used, it atrophies.

When I was reduced to crawling around my room on my hands and knees, I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t focus on a book, or write about being immobile (both actions would have eased the immobility, since they are being mobile mentally). I could only think about how I couldn’t go. As a body and a soul, the lack of go in one led to a lack of go in the other.

So here’s to not being plants, and moving about in all the ways that we can.

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