How long does it take to accept your limitations?

On Sunday afternoon, Mrs. Calvin and I drove to the beach to expose our baby girl to the pleasures of salty air and booming surf.  When we arrived, the beach parking lot bustled with groups of surfers both beginning and ending their sessions.  Those beginning their sessions wrestled with their thick winter wet suits.  They went about this in silent excitement, almost anxiety, and I understood exactly how they must have been feeling.  A little over eight months ago, that was me.  I was them.  My heart would begin racing before I entered the water.

Those ending their sessions chattered excitedly about their triumphs.  One gentleman displayed his broken board and fielded questions from his friends.  Unloading the stroller from the car, I observed 3 or 4 of these scenes at once.  I vicariously experienced their endorphin highs, and the feeling of salt water dripping from newly cleared nasal passages. And the simple pleasure of toweling off one's soggy head in the cool air.  I miss everything about the surfing experience and the way it inundates all five senses.

I'm really trying to avoid dwelling on the negative here, but some days it feels like I've been grounded.  Like I'm watching the other "kids" play from my bedroom window.  Like I'm this guy:

I hope I don't sound glum.  I truly have a world of things to be thankful for.  It's just difficult adjusting to new limitations.  Often my mind still believes that I'm capable of doing things my body can no longer accomplish.  There's a lag.  I'll often see someone engaging in a fun activity--jogging, tennis, etc--, feel the urge to do it, and then remember that I can't do it.  

Ah well.  In one of my next few posts, I think I'll focus on brainstorming more interests that I can use to replace the activities I used to enjoy.