“Where are your passions. Quite some time ago, a co-worker asked me this question in response to what appeared to him to be my unflappable demeanor, “What do you get excited about?” Was his follow-up question, Two simple questions, while at first I thought were pretentious, would haunt me. Little did he know that I had just been diagnosed with Parkinson’s.

It’s been an interesting week. A simple decision to share my thoughts with anyone who cared to read them changed my approach to this “hobby”. What began as writing for me has changed; it appears that I now have an audience. People are actually taking time out of their busy lives to read this stuff; not really what I expected. I thought that maybe the size of my audience could double, from one reader to two, maybe to three or even four, all of which had the same last name as me. It’s pretty cool; humbling but cool.

I am pleased to share my world with you, to draw you in to experiences that, to you, may be unfamiliar and give you pause to think about your own health, your own goals and your own passions.

One of the early symptoms that I experienced, and still do, is a form of rigidity that effects voluntary and involuntary muscle movements. It affects not just the large muscle groups like arms and legs, it also affects the muscles that control the more subtle movements, even spontaneous emotional responses. These stoic facial expressions, or facial masking, can be misread as though I am indifferent or inattentive, when in reality the muscles in my face don’t respond as they once did.

At the time, I may have been in a state of shock that was contributing to the lack of emotion, but the perception was that I was aloof, even angry at times. Aside from the physical constraints, the questions were asked and they required an answer, if not to him, I needed to answer the questions for me.

The things that used to excite me, solving a complex business issue, completing a home improvement project that required a bit of skill, were no longer that interesting to me. They certainly didn’t conjure up passion or excitement.  I was more focused on adapting to my new reality.

But the questions were still out there. I wanted desperately to answer them but was at a loss to do so. Months passed without an answer, then a year went by and another. I couldn’t let go of them; I wouldn’t let go of them. The two simple questions demanded an answer. I contributed my lackadaisical demeanor to PD, incorrect dosing of my medications, or a combination of both. I was not depressed or unmotivated, I was just stuck.

Many with PD experience freezing, a common gait disturbance where it is as if your feet are stuck to the floor. Metaphorically, I was experiencing my own kind of freezing. I was having a difficult time envisioning a scenario where I could make a meaningful contribution to my family’s needs, my career development or to society as a whole. I thought I knew what I was supposed to be doing with my life, but I could sense that something had changed. I had begun a new chapter in a book but the pages were blank.

My condition appeared to be worsening more quickly than I thought it should. I was searching for a new doctor at the time, and was hoping for a new treatment plan. Soon I did find a new doctor who adjusted my meds. My energy was renewed and I began to feel nearly normal, at least while I was disciplined enough to exercise and to take my meds at the appropriate times.

But the things that used to excite me, that invigorated me, now seemed so empty. I tried to rekindle my interests in all matters business, but could not. While I was attempting to return to what I knew so well and what was familiar, I became even more stuck in the malaise. I was working so hard at retrieving my interests of the past that I lost sight of the fact that I could create new passions, new interests and hobbies.

Now physicality was not a defining issue in the way that it once was; I no longer felt that I had the same physical limitations as I once had. Along with my physical rejuvenation, came the desire to want more out of life than what I was currently experiencing.

Recently I had an opportunity to tell the story of my journey with Parkinson’s to a distinguished group of healthcare professionals. When I was preparing my speech, it became very personal and to my surprise it came across that way. What I thought would be just a very factual presentation, became a vehicle of healing; specifically my healing. Looking back, I needed to tell my story for me. Unbeknown to them, the group to whom I had presented, people who I had never met before, became a conduit through which my passions would soon be rekindled.

Back to where this blog thing started. I used to write for me, I wrote because I had something that I needed to process. Very seldom would I share them with anyone; if so, only those in my inner circle. Lisa was right; I needed to share what I write with others. People say that I have a gift, and gifts are meant to be shared.

Welcome to my inner circle. It just got a little bit bigger.