The Kryptonite Konspiracy

 

“The cover to a story grandson Malik wrote about me and I could use the confidence! It has been three months since I taught a workshop, so hoping Malik's faith in me will come to fruition as I'm off tomorrow to teach in Little Rock, Arkansas and then three weeks in Brazil—São Paulo, Tatui, Brasilia, Rio” was the caption I put by this photo on Facebook and in retrospect, it felt a bit disingenuous, a touch of false humility. Many of the comments were encouragement from people to bolster my confidence, but in retrospect, my ability to teach a dynamic workshop isn’t the issue. Yes, it does take some work to rev up the old engine, to take out my Superman costume tucked away in the back of the closet and switch from my Clark Kent mode. Hardest of all is to find a phone booth to change in! (Am I just talking to baby boomers here? Young people, do you get the connections?)

 

But I have no doubts whatsoever that workshop mode is home base and where I am most effortlessly myself. What does concern me is that there is a new “me” facing a whirlwind schedule with this ongoing and worsening mysterious dizziness that every moment makes me feel less than myself. It’s as if a piece of kryptonite somehow got lodged in my body (still with me, non-baby-boomers?). I met again with my doctor, who switched tactics and gave me different kind of exercises, so we’ll see if that helps. 

 

It seems like a dubious state to take on this adventure, but my thinking is that continuing on as I have with the things that I’ve been doing— playing piano at senior homes, helping my mentee with the concert he put on last night and so on— doesn’t feel worse than lying around at home and probably helps distract me from this constant introspection “How am I feeling? Am I at a 2 or 5 or 8 on my personal Richter scale?” Life goes on and I might as well keep going on with it while I can. 

 

So on to packing and off to the airport in a few hours. And who knows? Maybe if I keep moving, the kryptonite will dislodge itself. One can only hope.