The water restrictions have been lifted, we no longer have to boil our water. A small step towards normality. 'The New Normal' is an expression I have come to hate. I like the old fashion normal, like turning on a tap to brush my teeth or fill my kettle.
I love these movements towards life becoming what it once was. A big one for me today was a return to doing my step exercises. Richard bought me a new step a couple of weeks ago and it has been sitting in the closet of this new house. Not only was I having trouble getting the energy but couldn't seem to get the time.
This morning Richard set the step up, and put it in the living room as he left for work. I knew what that meant, no more excuses, I needed to get back to it. The earthquake is done. Routines must be re-established. We are moving on. I turned on my music and started stepping up. It was brutal. I thought it would kill me. In fifteen minutes I was stumbling more than stepping, but at least I'm back at it, and other than the pain (which is still with me tonight), it's good to have started again.
We've gone past six weeks from the earthquake. This has come up in conversations a number of times this week. Six weeks just another little marker. For some it means we are getting past the initial difficulties and moving into a clearer recovery stage. Others say it is when the grief really settles in, someone else told me it was when the people who coped, stopped coping, and had their meltdown. I guess these people are all talking about their experience. Measuring progress, or digression, as the case may be.
What surprises me most right now is that as I measure my progress, I'm astounded by how easy it is for me to fall back. I was told today that there is another earthquake coming. This person feels he has inside knowledge from academics. I realised after he had gone on his way, that I had hadn't thought about having another earthquake in quite awhile. Not thinking or worrying about earthquakes was marker of normality that I hadn't noticed, until it was gone. It was a marker that was dashed away in a momentary conversation standing in mall.
As I walked away, I'm sure I stumbled. It was like falling off my step.