This is not “back to school,” because in mine old school days. I was young, had boundless energy and for the most part, felt disappointments less keenly. I am going to school again, but it is an entirely new and strange school. My instructor is my body (including my brain) and I’ve needed to learn (as I suppose I did as a child) how I draw instruction from my teacher. I am learning how to retrain my train my brain to win back control of my left hand and fingers, and I am, truthfully, enjoying the process, both because I wish with all my being to play clarinet again, and because I feel and experience the progress which although (of necessity) is slow, is also genuine.
While that has been the focus of my awareness of my recovery, I’m also learning what is now my new reliable energy level, and learning to listen more attentively to my body when my brain has had quite enough, thank you very much. It would be a pointlessly wicked mistake to be disappointed in this. I can (on recharged batteries) compose as well as ever and can still (insofar as a national health crisis does not interfere) participate fully in both Triad and my church choir.
I just need to know my energetic limits, and to know when a judicious application of the brakes is what I need.