The 8am train to Dublin. A large coffee and a cinnamon Danish.
I used to do this journey regularly. A day working elsewhere; meeting other staff, feeling the buzz of a larger city, the confusion of a different currency.
I’d have the meetings, walk back through St Stephen’s Green and down Grafton St. Maybe not the most direct route to the train station, but the route I enjoyed. I was confident, relaxed. I knew what I was doing.
Now… a world defined by chronic illness. Responding to different challenges. Limited energy levels. A whole new role. My confidence is developing, but I’m heading into a situation where I expect to know nobody. It’s as well I’m too tired to worry about it. If I had the energy I’d be anxious.
Not that long ago I wouldn’t even have tried this. I’d have hidden in bed, cowed by doubt and defeated by the tired. Now I know the volunteering can be mentally energising; I value that so much (somebody actually thinks my input is worth hearing!) that I’ll put up with some of the exhaustion without complaint.
It has been a long week. A very busy week, with travelling and thinking and fun. A collapse is imminent.
Oh well. Today, right now on the train, I’m remembering.
And feeling like myself.