I wrote this on Monday, but didn't get online to push it up to the blog till now.

I'm feeling a disturbing lack of mojo with my computer. I still can't type for more than 40 minutes before pain starts setting in - but even before it does, my heightened physical awareness gives me warning signs that Laptop Ergonomics Suck. Shoulders too high, monitor too small and low, keyboard wrenching my wrists inwards on two axes. This is awesome! It's what I wanted! It's... forcing me to change things, and that's hard. Part of me likes my bad habits. Slumping on my bed with my laptop on my knees and hyperfocusing for hours is so easy. Physical conditioning is hard. Breaks are hard. Ergonomics are hard. Fighting myself and making a big deal out of the struggle is easy. (Yes, I know... this post is a concession of sorts.)

Making things easy is hard.

Eventually I'll be able to go back to being subsumed in productive hyperfocus again - but with awareness and control this time. Every thing that ever came easily to me (writing, coding, hyperfocusing on math/science/tech, teaching, community-building), I'm making hard; everything I think is hard (physical conditioning, music, finances, resting) I'm making easy.

Relentlessly teaching yourself how not to be relentness is an interesting koan.

My pain tolerance is still extremely high; my pain sensitivity is dropping like a rock. My shoulders are constantly held in a dull ache. My wrists, too. My fingers don't feel even, or strong or light; I carry tension around the sockets of my eyes, the arches of my feet, my ankles. My mind scatters too much, doesn't prioritize, take opportunities, follow through. This is fantastic. I'm feeding the tumors so that I can see them and then excise them. Painful awareness becomes a good feeling, though no less a painful one.

You improve on what you get feedback on. I don't need to put myself through hell to learn things; I shouldn't wait for a beam of light to shine down from the sky. Rites of passage mark the changes you've already prepared yourself for; they don't make you ready. Some growth is gradual and gentle and glorious in its mundanity. Sometimes surprises come, and they're surprises, by definition, because I didn't expect them, wasn't waiting. Today the sky and an unexpected ride from Gloria. Tomorrow... who knows?

I think tomorrow will be a time to learn from people. Tomorrow I have letters to send. Tomorrow is tomorrow, though - time for today.