Attempts at Okie Acclimation - The Sooner Saga
Attempts at Okie Acclimation - The Sooner Saga
by a.d. elliott |Take the Back Roads – Art and Other Odd Facts
The move to Oklahoma could easily be titled A Series of Unfortunate Events, though that title is, regrettably, already taken. I feel ungrateful even saying that, because the move answered many prayers. And yet, shortly after arriving, I managed to aggravate old injuries from the accident, and when those met a winter of record-breaking cold, my world grew very small, very fast.
I found myself struggling simply to keep moving. Ordinary daily tasks became negotiations. Leaving the house, especially to go looking for new images, felt nearly impossible.
By some strange quirk of how bodies heal after significant trauma, sitting with my arms raised, driving a car, typing at a computer, has always been the most uncomfortable position for me. It is an unfortunate reality when your work depends on precisely those things. I’ve struggled to keep up with my writing and photo editing. I’ve struggled to drive. I’ve struggled to work at all. And somewhere in the middle of that, I began wondering what counts as a normal challenge and what counts as a genuine barrier, where effort ends, and wisdom should begin.
The physical limitations collided with geography. My photography tends toward waterfalls and macro shots of flowers, subjects that thrive in motionless air, depth, and patience. Oklahoma is flatter than the landscapes I know how to read, and winter offered few flowers to work with. The near-constant wind, often hovering around twenty miles an hour, turned long exposures and macro work into exercises in futility. Even on good days, it felt like pushing against the terrain, the weather, and my own body all at once.
That’s when the road began to narrow.
I started asking harder questions, not just how do I keep producing, but what am I meant to do when producing is no longer possible in the way I recognize? When I was younger, my ambitions were charmingly vague: to read, to dream, to be fed tomato sandwiches and lemonade, The Beautiful and the Damned–style. Now, when I find myself lying about by necessity rather than choice, I understand just how difficult it is to answer the question of what one does with oneself when there is nothing obvious to do.
I suspect I’m far from alone in this. COVID has curtailed so much of ordinary life. Even what remains open feels cautious, muted. Many people are spending more time at home, more time waiting, more time wondering what productivity even means in a season defined by limits.
Since the accident, I’ve struggled to find a livable balance between pushing myself too hard and allowing difficulty to flatten me completely. Some days, no matter how well-intentioned I am, getting all the dishes into the dishwasher is a victory worth acknowledging. Pretending otherwise only adds shame to exhaustion.
So I’ve been trying something different. Instead of asking what I should be able to do, I’ve been paying attention to what I can do, without worsening the pain, without borrowing against tomorrow. I’ve pared back where I can. I’ve removed what consistently causes angst. I’ve accepted help in small, unglamorous ways. (Pete, my robot vacuum, now does a shocking amount of the housework. I only wish he handled toilets.)
Fortunately, gardening, except for raking, does not aggravate my injuries, for reasons I cannot explain. And so I’ve let that become my primary task: making this new house and yard feel cared for. There are days when that is all I manage, watering, tidying, sitting quietly, and watching the tomatoes take their time. There are days when I read and dream and do very little else.
And perhaps that is enough, for now.
The road has narrowed, but it has not ended. It has simply asked me to slow down, to choose differently, to recognize that movement does not always look like progress. And no matter how quiet things become, I know this much for certain: I will always have my books to keep me company.
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About the Author
a.d. elliott is a wanderer, photographer, and storyteller traveling through life
She shares her journeys at Take the Back Roads, explores new reads at Rite of Fancy, and highlights U.S. military biographies at Everyday Patriot.
You can also browse her online photography gallery at shop.takethebackroads.com.
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