When Life Decides You’re Taking a Writing Retreat
- Verla Wade
- Mar 7
- 4 min read
There is a particular form of optimism most of us practice when we hurt ourselves.
Or when we have a small accident.
It usually begins with a confident declaration: “It’s probably just a sprain.”
This statement has less to do with medical expertise and more to do with negotiation — bargaining with the body and with reality.
Ice.
Elevation.
A little patience.
Carry on.
That was the plan.
Except I was in eastern Canada at the time — across the continent and out of the country — on a professional trip, continuing with classes as scheduled while adjusting plans on the fly and figuring out flights home, x-rays, and a doctor’s visit as quickly as possible.
And, as luck would have it, I had packed no flats on this trip. Only heels.
Which, in retrospect, may not have been the most strategic footwear choice for navigating what turned out to be a fractured ankle.
At the time, however, I was still fairly confident it was “probably just a sprain.”
Once I was home, the first X-ray suggested otherwise.
It wasn’t a sprain.
Instead, it revealed a small horizontal fracture near the ankle. Not ideal, but manageable. A boot, a little rest, and some temporary adjustments.
Reasonable.
A week later, near the end of the eclipse corridor, a specialist reviewed the images again.
He leaned forward, studied the screen quietly, and pointed.
“There’s another one.”
Three inches above the ankle — a small vertical fracture the radiologist had missed.
The story changed.
Apparently, the eclipse corridor decided subtlety was overrated.
One small hairline fracture, it seems, would not have slowed me down long enough to hear what was ready to come through.
The revised instructions were simple.
Limited mobility for six to eight weeks.
Boot.
Crutches.
And a home with two flights of stairs inside and two sets of stairs outside to reach the front door.
Driving — not an option for now.
It’s remarkable how quickly freedom and spontaneity shrink when mobility disappears.
Even ordinary social interaction suddenly requires planning, logistics, and the occasional taxi.
Even simple errands now require strategy.
And I’m really missing my drive-thru caffeine pick-me-ups.
The Fire Horse Paradox
According to the lunar calendar, we are in a Fire Horse year — an energy traditionally associated with movement, momentum, independence, and forward motion.
The Fire Horse runs.
Mine, apparently, has been asked to sit down. Foot elevated.
For those familiar with Fire Horse energy, the irony is difficult to miss.
The year favors motion.
Apparently, mine favors reflection.
Stillness, however, does something movement rarely allows.
When the normal rhythm of life slows down, perception changes. Things that normally pass unnoticed begin to surface.
Lately, I’ve been waking between 3:30 and 4:00 in the morning with unusually clear ideas arriving — as if they had been waiting quietly long enough, and now it had become time to finally get through.
With mobility limited and the usual social movement paused, the days have taken on a different rhythm.
Doctors’ appointments and the occasional taxi ride aside, it has become something unexpected: A kind of imposed writing retreat.
Write.
Think.
Rest.
Repeat.
No interruptions except the occasional need for food and sleep.
Interestingly, a few weeks ago, I had declined an invitation to join friends on a twelve-day cruise to Alaska later this spring.
Evidently, the calendar had plans for a retreat — and this time I couldn’t negotiate my way out of it.
Eclipse corridors have a reputation for revealing what was previously hidden.
Information surfaces.
Fault lines appear.
Things that were easy to overlook become unmistakably clear.
Apparently, that principle applies to bones as well.
But eclipses don’t create truth.
They expose it.
So the interesting question now is not the fracture.
The interesting question is this:
What truth is being revealed in the quiet that movement normally drowns out?
And what doorway might be opening because life slowed down long enough to notice it?
Sometimes strength matures not through movement, but through the quiet discipline of learning to govern ourselves well in unexpected circumstances.
Eclipse corridors have a way of revealing what was previously easy to overlook.
I’d be curious what this recent one may have revealed for you.
And until we connect again….
Optimizing words. Elevating wisdom.
©AskVerla 2026
Wisdom.
©AskVerla 2026
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About Verla
Verla is a Life Elevation Strategist with a background spanning human potential development, corporate leadership, and entrepreneurship. Beginning her career as a sales director and trainer, she transitioned into entrepreneurship in 1999 and founded The Living Light Foundation, an organization dedicated to education, healing, and personal transformation.
With over 25 years of training in the Western Mystery Tradition, Verla has a unique ability to translate timeless wisdom into practical, modern-day applications. Having worked and taught internationally, she supports individuals who are ready to step consciously into their next phase of growth.
Through AskVerla, she integrates life experience, business acumen, and heart-centered realism to help clients harmonize their personal, professional, and spiritual lives—empowering them to navigate life with clarity, purpose, and wisdom.
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