I walked with a pretty fast gait. I walked around others who couldn’t catch up to me. Rolled my eyes at those who were too slow. Cringed at the elderly who took too much time getting up the steps to the bus.
I cringed at ANYONE who took too much time to do anything!
My intention wasn’t to be rude. It’s just I had SOMEWHERE TO GO! I couldn’t wait for time – time had to catch up to ME.
I had to take my daughter to school, get ready for work, work for ten to twelve hours a day and with my job I was always on the move.
I had to get home and drive through crazy Chicago rush hour traffic, grocery shop, and make it home to cook dinner. Help my daughter with her homework and make sure I got in the bed with just enough sleep to do it all over again.
Slowing down? Not an option for me. The world had to match my speed. Not the other way around.
But times began to slowly change.
I was out of breath more often than I cared to admit. I started to get strange aches and pains here and there. I couldn’t move without taking a hot bath – which became a ritual every night.
My off-days turned into forty eight hour sleeping marathons. My wardrobe dwindled from flirty sundresses and skinny jeans to pajama tops and slipper socks.
I shrugged my shoulders and chalked it up to just getting older.
My fingers had begun to swell like sausages and my underwear didn’t fit anymore because I lost thirty pounds.
I shrugged my shoulders and put on my uniform.
Although it felt like I was run over by a dump truck in the morning and my left knee, right hand and eye began to swell for no reason, I shrugged my shoulders and headed off to my daughter’s swim meets.
My doctor became concerned and ran tests. My diagnosis of Systemic Lupus Erythematosus occurred March 3, 2011 and left me in a tailspin.
I was forced to put on my purple colored sunglasses.
The world became a different place.
I had to SLOW DOWN.
I take even more time out to talk with my daughter and spend as much time with her as possible. Being forced to take time off work, I’m home now and although it’s hitting me financially, I make up for it by being with her.
Even going to the grocery store has its challenges.
I used to whisk through the aisles, navigating effortlessly past those motor-powered shopping carts reserved for the disabled and elderly, grab what I needed and headed for the checkout counter.
My personal best time: 17 minutes.
Now I’ve been forced to rely on my friends and family members to help me lift heavy items while I lean on my cart for support. Walking for longer than fifteen minutes will cause pain that is unimaginable.
With my purple colored sunglasses, they force you to see who is really in your corner and who isn’t.
The smiling faces of so called friends are quickly diminished through the purple lenses. Their smiles turn to frowns because you realize that you were only good to them as long as you’re healthy. Now they just discard you and dismiss you as if you don’t exist.
My purple colored sunglasses allow me to see my true friends and family members that will always remain in my corner, whether I am hooked up to an IV in a hospital bed or playing Frisbee in the backyard without a care in the world.
I now smile at the elderly and disabled as they make their way through the world. Small achievements as they make their way up a flight of stairs, slowly but surely.
That’s what purple colored sunglasses will do for you. They may force you to slow down but they remind you that the world is still a beautiful place that you can still conquer at a slower pace.
This article is intended to convey general educational information and should not be relied upon as a substitute for professional healthcare advice.