As I mentioned in my last post, I participate in a project called One Little Word. Part writing. Part photography. Part artsy fun. All looking through my world through the lens of a word. Most years my words somehow seem to find me, though I realize that I have to be open to the process and letting them in. This sums up POSSIBLE, my new word for 2022. Possible may seem like an unusual choice for someone with so many limitations outside of my control. If you are new here, I have a rare disease that causes bone to form in my muscles, joints, and other connective tissue, progressively and significantly affecting movement. The irony of choosing this word certainly isn't lost on me. Yet, whatever it means for my life this year, I'm determined to explore what's truly possible.
Possible is recognizing that change can be a positive thing. For much of my life, change has seemed negative. So much change was forced upon me because of FOP. Take back my own power to change.
Possible can happen slowly. Good things are seldom rushed into existence. Today is full of possible. And, at the end of the say, if it wasn't all I hoped for, I can still be grateful and recognize that tomorrow is a new day full of possibilities of its own.
Possible is feeling all the feelings, living wholeheartedly, and having faith in the process.
Possible is feeling grounded but still having the ability to dream.
I don't know the limits on possible. No one else does either.
Possible needs space. I want to create that space by getting rid of thoughts and things I don't need anymore.
More to come as 2022 unfolds.
Since 2011, I've participated in an online class (and community) called One Little Word.
Before looking ahead to 2022, I wanted to look back on the things I want to remember about 2021 and my word rhythm.
I want to remember that how I react to what happens around me has a ripple effect. Pause before responding. It all affects the rhythm.
I want to remember that the pandemic, my disability, and the ways in which both affect my family's life is something I can't help, and therefore something I shouldn't feel guilty or sorry about.
I want to remember that rhythm is a grounding thing. As lost as I've been sometimes this year, I feel grounded in this moment. And that matters.
I want to remember that I'm capable of rhythm. It may seem harder to find sometimes—as life seems to get harder with each passing year—but I'm determined to reclaim it in whatever new form it takes and will appreciate it all the more.
I want to remember that I can create new neural pathways and learn new patterns of thinking that serve me better than old habits. Not all change is bad. (Because of FOP. I think I'm more likely to be wary of change.)
I want to remember this: "You may not be in a rhythm quite yet, but there is rhythm in your heartbeat. And even in the waiting, that means something."—Morgan Harper Nichols
I want to hope that better days are ahead because we learn through the hard stuff.
Hello. My name is Sharon Kantanie. I'm 52 years old. I have an extremely rare disease called fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva. I believe in courage, kindness, and other things. Welcome to my little home on the world wide web where I hope to share information on the Kindness Matters Challenge, my life, and the things that matter most to me.