“We all fall down…and then we get right back up again” is the theme of the current Chronic Babe blog carnival. Each time I read it, a fragment of lyric, a black and white vision of ballroom dancing kept sneaking into my consciousness. So, I googled “pick myself up” and discovered I was channeling a Dorothy Fields/Jerome Kern song performed by Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in the 1936 “Swingtime.” The lyric fragment was almost right, and there was even a bit of Kipling going on in the song:
Nothing’s impossible I have found,
For when my chin is on the ground,
I pick myself up,
Dust myself off,
Start all over again.
Don’t lose your confidence if you slip,
Be grateful for a pleasant trip,
And pick yourself up,
Dust yourself off,
Start all over again.
Work like a soul inspired,
Till the battle of the day is won.
You may be sick and tired,
But you’ll be a man, my son!
Will you remember the famous men,
Who had to fall to rise again?
So take a deep breath,
Pick yourself up,
Dust yourself off,
Start all over again.
So, here I sit, with the ear worm of “pick myself up” and staring at the blank page looking for the inspiration I thought trolling for the lyrics would bring. My life certainly isn’t anything like a Rogers-Astaire affair: no women in flowing gowns and men with top hat and tails, not even on Halloween. And while I almost took ballroom dancing classes with a friend (he actually backed out before I lost my nerve), I can’t say I’m really a musical fluff fan. Not that I don’t appreciate musicals, but sometimes I find that style 1920s-1940s overwhelming with cheeriness. Of course, to counter the issues and problems of those decades, Hollywood produced feel-good movies; adored Shirley Temple (a late night ad running for a new 18 DVD set of her childhood career makes me bring her up); laughed at Mickey Mouse and in the darkness and flickering light of the movie projector, forget for an hour or two about the miseries outside of the theatre.
Do I metaphorically pick myself up, dust myself off, and start all over again? I’ve done it physically many times: I’m a faller and it runs in my family. Our center of gravity or sense of balance is slightly off like a too- finely-tuned guitar string that breaks. There have been bruised and scrapped knees; ripped pants and torn tights; broken glasses; black eyes; and mushed toes. Despite my habit of literally hitting the pavement, I didn’t actually break a bone (unlike my aunt) until last year.
I often speak of former lives: careers won and lost; futures not quite lived up to; life before all the physical pains blended with the emotional ones. I’ve had to start all over again several times; trying to rebuild confidence and courage. My parents taught me to be independent and resilient. Coping skills needed when you tend find yourself flat on your back, staring up at the sky or the ceiling.
Practical advice? Well, if you’ve tripped and fallen, you probably already have some bruises, so you don’t need to beat yourself up about it to get black and blue. Sometimes you’ll trip over a pebble and take a header; other times somebody (friend, foe, family member, stranger, fate) will drop a banana peel in your path to watch you skid along the ground. The thing is that sometimes you fall due to circumstances beyond your control. I doubt you asked to develop chronic pain or chronic illness. It’s not your fault that chronic fatigue is an energy vampire. Things happen, and it can be easier to use your emotional remote control to replay the blue ray, 3-d version of an event over and over again than to get up, and manually hit pause, or better yet, erase.
And, sometimes when you trip (regardless of how it happened) you might need a hand getting up off the ground. If some one reaches out to help you get back on your feet, consider their offer. It’s not weakness; giving in (to the chronic pain or chronic illness) or losing control: it’s the recognition that there will be times when picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, and starting all over again can only be done by accepting help from another person in the cyberverse or the universe.
There will be times when literally you are starting all over again: life after the diagnosis of a chronic illness; losing your job and/or your home; the death of a loved one; dealing with the daily issues of chronic pain. But even then you can carry with you the knowledge you have gained in both joy and in sorrow. Starting over again can also be a conscious decision to challenge your health issues; face up to a difficult situation or person; fight for your rights; seek out friendship. There are days when I feel that I am losing the battle for the equilibrium that will keep me upright. There are times I feel too tired to dust away the groggy-foggies that cloud my thinking. There are situations where I don’t know if I have the strength or the stamina to start all over again. But, I know that if I lay too long on the sidewalk, I can become invisible like my illness. Besides, who wants to be used as a human ramp for teenage skateboarders; be stepped over by passerbys; and eventually swept up by the street sweeper.
I ended another blog carnival entry with the story of 
Stan Rogers and his song: The Mary Ellen Carter. The raising of the ship from the bottom of the ocean is a metaphor for overcoming adversity, and finding your way. While the context of that blog was crisis, the words of this folk ballad apply to any situation where you find yourself off balance, stumbling, tripping, and falling.
And you, to whom adversity has dealt the final blow
With smiling bastards lying to you everywhere you go
Turn to, and put out all your strength of arm and heart and brain
And like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again.
Rise again, rise again – though your heart it be broken
And life about to end
No matter what you’ve lost, be it a home, a love, a friend.
Like the Mary Ellen Carter, rise again.
And like me, ginger, and fred: dust ourselves off, pick ourselves up, and start all over again.
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I try and ”point and shoot” at least one self-image a day; some of these might be considered more flattering – the mask that makes me look like a reasonably healthy, happy, and stable individual. This is my outer face; the mirror reflection I project for the real world to see.
But what strikes me as I look at the images later (I try not to “peek” until I have uploaded the pix to my photo editing “gallery”) is how some are so reflective (please excuse the thinly veiled pun) of how I am feeling mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically at that moment in time. As if I had truly captured my soul inside my Nikon; whether edited/automatically adjusted or no, the feelings are more raw; the images more visceral.
