All I Needed Was A Ladder

You might think that after my sledding adventure (which you can read about here), a trimalleolar ankle fracture, the excruciating nerve pain, and all the other delightful experiences that came with it, I would have had enough excitement for a while.

Apparently not.

Because while I was lying in bed recovering, something else caught my attention.

A black spot on the ceiling.

Yes. A black spot.

Now, before you start wondering whether the pain medication had finally gotten to me, let me explain.

Gary built our house, and our bedroom has a beautiful vaulted ceiling with an enormous structural beam running across it. The beam is wrapped in drywall, painted white, and finished with smooth, rounded corners. It’s so massive that we actually needed a crane to lift it into place.

A crane!

And there, about twelve feet above my bed, tucked into the corner where that enormous beam meets the wall and sloping ceiling, was this tiny black spot.

It looked like a little separation in the paint. Or maybe a crack. Or dirt. Whatever it was, it seemed like something that could be easily fixed.

And when you’re spending most of your time in bed, looking up at the same ceiling, you start noticing things you might otherwise never give a second thought.

Every time I settled back against my pillows and looked up, there it was.

That little black spot.

It was almost comical. Here I was, surrounded by this beautiful room with its soaring ceiling, and my eyes kept finding their way to that one tiny corner.

Naturally, I came up with a solution.

We had ladders. We had cleaning supplies. There was Spackle and paint in the garage.

All I needed was a willing volunteer.

So whenever family or friends came to visit, at some point I’d ask those five little words:

“Can you do me a favor?”

Now, you might expect someone recovering from a serious injury to ask for a glass of water, another pillow, or perhaps something to eat.

Not me.

“Could you get the twelve-foot ladder and fix that black spot on the ceiling?”

I was completely serious.

I figured five minutes. Ten, tops.

Apparently, nobody else shared my enthusiasm for this little home improvement project.

Not one person got the ladder!

And while I couldn’t do anything about the spot myself, I was quite convinced someone else could.

Looking back, the whole thing makes me laugh.

But it also brings to mind something about the way we experience life.

What we see depends, in part, on where we’re looking from.

My world had temporarily become much smaller. I wasn’t moving through my usual routines, engaging in all the activities that ordinarily filled my days. I was recovering, resting, and spending a great deal of time looking at that ceiling.

And within that limited view, one tiny detail became remarkably noticeable.

We experience versions of this in everyday life.

Think about a time when one comment in an otherwise wonderful conversation stayed with you. Or when a single disappointing moment seemed to overshadow an entire day filled with things that went well.

Perhaps you’ve been working through a difficult situation and found yourself looking at it from the same angle, considering the same possibilities, without recognizing that there might be another perspective.

Our attention is powerful. What we repeatedly notice can begin to feel disproportionately important, particularly when our circumstances limit what else we can see.

Sometimes we call that rumination. Other times, it’s simply the way our attention responds to what’s directly in front of us.

Either way, there’s value in becoming aware of where we’re directing our attention.

Not to dismiss what concerns us, but to recognize that it may be only one small part of a much bigger picture.

And here’s what I find particularly interesting about my little black spot.

It turned out not to be a spot at all. It was the shadow and narrow separation where the drywall-covered beam meets the wall and ceiling.

Something I couldn’t possibly see clearly from twelve feet below.

And do you know what?

It’s still there.

Every once in a while, I’ll glance up and notice it. But it no longer occupies my attention.

The ceiling hasn’t changed. The spot hasn’t changed.

My circumstances have.

My world opened up again. My attention returned to the people, activities, and possibilities that fill my life.

That little corner of the ceiling became just that. One little corner of a much bigger picture.

And perhaps that’s something worth considering when a particular concern seems to occupy more of our attention than we’d like.

Is it the size of the problem, or the space it’s occupying in our current field of vision?

Sometimes a change in perspective doesn’t require us to fix anything at all.

It simply allows us to see more of what’s already there.

Looking back, I realize I had something far more important to attend to.

I needed to focus on my healing, not on the ceiling.

Although I still think somebody could have gotten the ladder.

— Dr. Lorry