Sometimes you wonder. I mean, sometimes you just have to wonder. How did I make it here? How did I survive? I’m telling you, I’ve been beaten, battered and abused, and I keep going. I keep going for two reasons.
I’m nothing if not persistent
First, it’s my nature to persevere. I’m not about to quit, I’ve left things undone.
Yeah, I know, leaving things undone is an ADHD thing. It isn’t a lack of responsibility, if anything, it’s being hyper-responsible. I’ll be distracted by something I know needs my attention and that causes me to forget the thing I was giving my attention to.
I do keep going back to the things I’ve left undone, at least mentally, and I know there are lots of them so I have to keep going. I’m responsible for finishing this stuff.
Fuel for thought
But this perseverance is fueled by more than just not having finished things, I know when I die I’ll leave a lot of things undone. No, I actually take a great deal of pride in my tenacity. I run into all manner of setbacks, I get knocked down, literally, and I get up and finish what I was doing.
On Thanksgiving weekend, I actually dropped my motorcycle in a low speed turn. I have a crash bar on the front and I cleverly protected the back of my bike from road damage by keeping my leg between it and the road. It’s been 32 years since my last accident, literally thousands of miles.
I kicked the bike off my leg and stood myself up. I was checked out by the two wonderful and solicitous people who had been following me on another bike. I assured one and all (people in cars had stopped by this time) that I was okay and would be better when I had checked my bike. I stood the thing up, moved it away from the puddle of gas it had left in the middle of the road, and fired it up.
It’s nice to be fussed over
My two companions, both ADHDers, suggested we modify our trip to include a stop at the hospital and not our previous destinations. I declined. I had come to ride, that’s what I intended to do. I stopped the bleeding and checked to make sure that what was left of my shattered Plexiglas windshield was securely attached … and rode on.
My brow continued to ooze blood where a piece of the windshield had hit me. Another piece had bruised a rib, but I wouldn’t know that for a couple of days. My knee was covered in leather like the rest of me, but sustained some bruising anyway.
Hurt my pride was all …
But the real damage was done to my ego. The two riders behind me are two wonderful people, two of my favorite people, two of the small cadre of people I’m proud to call friends.
So why do I insist on persisting no matter what? I don’t know. Sometimes I’m proud, maybe that’s it. At other times I’m not so up on myself, maybe it’s a need to bolster my self-esteem.
I can tell you I don’t like to appear weak in front of anyone. This is possibly a result of years of negative programming from school and work assessments. I can also tell you that the friends I was with are people who I would have know they can count on me no matter what. I had no choice but to pursue.
Whatever the reason, I think I’ll keep going. What else is there to do?