Somewhere between pressure cooker and all-out bonfire*

I suppose there is risk in everything. There is risk in liking, most definitely risk in loving and hopefully some kind of assuring risk in committing. There is risk in expression as much as there is risk in keeping your thoughts to yourself. And though I don't have a site meter and doubt there are more than a couple dozen people around here on any given day I sort of feel like I've had this blog long enough to understand the risk in having an opinion. An opinion on the Internet, that is.
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I've had plenty of opinions prior to my blog experience, of course, but I'd venture to say this is it's own kind of special risk. Perhaps that's just my way of feeling good about what I write and how I share it, or because I love other blogs too much, but whenever there's a little bit of disagreement I wonder if I'm not getting scared. I mean, I want to share my opinions and I don't mind if no one agrees but I start to wonder if that's okay. I start to think about the chance of offending others.
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I struggle between writing from my gut and writing in a way that will allow me to relate to my known readers. I mean, without naming names, how does one go about sharing life's details without offending anyone between the ages of twenty-three and fifty-something? How do you write if you're constantly thinking about what the college student, or the father of four or the wacky cyclist or the pastor or the One You Call Your Internet Mom are going to think? How do you even begin to be authentic? And I don't mean what those people are going to think of me personally, I just mean in general. While I'd say I pretty much do whatever I want, I do like to think I do things with intention. I believe we can be careful without being too self-conscious.
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I'd also like to think I make an effort to think about what I say and how I say it. So when I write about the peace I feel floating in crystal clear water, it is really how I feel. And it is not just because I had a beer on the beach that day; though I can honestly say I feel like being able to experience moments where you feel at peace in your life and where you are, where you've chosen to be, are a blessing, even if they include a beer. There is nothing wrong with that.

I struggle a little about sharing some of my adventures and the experiences I'm able to have, fearing they'll come across as gloating. And though I've said many a time that a life well lived ought to be shared, the natural doubt that comes from so much good contributes it's share of guilt. I want to be sure that somehow, through sharing, I absorb the experience and the gratitude I feel in an otherwise impossible way. It is not just the experience itself that feeds me, but the perspective I get by possibly relating to another that makes it better. Richer.

The truth is, there are hard times in life. There's bad stuff in my life and your life and the life of the guy next door. There are things I don't like about myself, that's for sure. I try to work to make these things better, sometimes. For instance, I know I can become a better writer and photographer and maybe even a better runner. I know I can be a better friend to some and I know I can become better at knowing when to let things go.

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I am learning. I keep telling myself I can learn to like créme brûlée, but that's probably not going to happen so I'm learning to be okay with liking mole (pronounced mo-lay, F.Y.I.) and finally building up enough of my oh-so-white-girl tolerance to handle food with some kick to it.

But you know what I think? I think we all know that. We know all about the hard stuff. We live it and deal with it every day. We all struggle with our choices and the demands in our lives and try not to lose our minds on those days when we have seventeen different things to do and, oh yes, they are all important.

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So when it comes down to it, when I sit down to write a post and wonder to myself what is sitting in my mind's queue waiting to come out, I guess I don't think about the risk I might be taking as much as I'd thought. I try to aim to create something a little lighter, perhaps more interesting than the oatmeal I had for breakfast but less interesting than, say, politics. (Heh.)

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I guess my point is, when I might be so lucky to have people read what I write and then have something to say about it, I'd rather it happen in a way that feels good. I'd rather enjoy the little bits and pieces of life we can be so quick to glaze over. I'd rather be serious yet still joke about ridiculous, silly things. It's a tricky balance and it's not always possible but I've tried it both ways and I think it's better this way. If it's true that there's a place for every one of us, and all our words, then let mine be the place where I can slow down, do my best to absorb everything that's good and most of all, share it with care but without worrying about the risk.

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Coming to that conclusion here, in black and white, as they say, is a lot more refreshing than I imagined it could be.

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* Alternately titled: No this is not just a sneaky way of posting more photos

You can have cake either way

Yesterday I was sitting in class when a girl two rows over announced "in two more weeks, I will be twenty-one." I'll spare you the monologue about how hearing this made me feel old and so nostalgic I could almost smell the scent of a dorm room again and just say I was intrigued. I continued to listen as she described all the ways she planned to celebrate this milestone birthday including, of course, the almost obligatory "club hopping" night she and her friends were going to head out for on the weekend of her birthday. (Sidebar: Is it not okay to call this "bar hopping" anymore? Or even a pub crawl?) She proudly announced that, on the day following her umm, hopping excursion, she and her boyfriend were going to spend the day together.

"I told him there are three rules," she went on. "One, he has to make it all a surprise, two, it has to include cake and three, he cannot burp or fart or watch sports all day!"

While I wholeheartedly will agree with rule number two (because when is cake a bad idea?), I still cannot wrap my mind around this rule thing altogether. First, making rules? Um, high-maintenance much? Second, "he cannot burp or fart or watch sports all day?" Okay, is she trying to kill this guy?

I watched as two of her friends nodded along in agreement. "Awww, how sweet" was among the many phrases uttered. It was like they were saying yes, this is a good idea. Force the guy to do something, give him all kinds of conditions and expect nothing but perfection. This is true love. THIS IS REALITY.

I tried to think back to when I was twenty-one. There's no doubt there were things I did that I can look back on now and think my gosh, that was hugely stupid. Like the time the idea of a twelve-hour Checkers tournament fueled only by tortilla chips, Velveeta cheese and Arbor Mist seemed perfectly normal. Twenty-one is no doubt a great age to learn that the choices you make today, the beliefs you're tooling along with so happily can all come to a screeching halt tomorrow when you wake up and realize cheap cheese* ["product"] and even cheaper wine are getting you a whole lot more than you'd predicted. In other words, you learn to think ahead. And you learn to detect what's right and wrong for you, and what's real. Perhaps you even realize it's a choice.

I think that's what, at twenty-one, most of us don't realize about love and adult relationships in general. Rules are not always going to apply. There is going to be imperfection and unpredictability, and heaven knows there is going to be burping and farting. I'm thankful I realize this. I don't know what age it happened and while there is some charm in the fantasy, I'd rather choose the reality.

Later yesterday, while I was Interneting instead of homeworking, I read a short blurb from an interview in Essence magazine with Duane Martin and Tisha Campbell. In this portion of the interview, they were asked by the interviewer to defend recent divorce rumors.

Interviewer: So for the record, are you getting a divorce?

Tisha: Hell no!

Duane: Listen, let me tell you something. I will chew her ass up and swallow it before I let someone else have her.


For some reason I like that approach more.

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*Okay, so I sort of still like cheap cheese.

Sometimes More Than Others

On my recent trip to Mexico, we signed up for one of those guided tours. Not the kind where they stamp your hand and shuffle you through like cattle but certainly the kind that you take when you're in a foreign country and you want to go through the jungle without getting eaten by jungle creatures, lost, or worse, be out so late you miss the Red Sox game.

Through some streak of luck, reservation confusion and the magic that is "Mexican Time" (which is just like Island Time for any who may be more familiar with that concept; believe me when I say EXACT SAME THING), we ended up on a smaller, later starting tour with only four other people. And our guide, who was this hilarious self-proclaimed Mexican-American who immediately made you feel that even if you hadn't ever been to camp as a kid and had the "cool counselor" that the next six hours were going to totally make up for anything you might have missed. "I have a Mexican girlfriend now," he said, "I had a Dominican girlfriend before. And all that means is now instead of everyone getting their ass kicked, it's now just me." This is how the day started.

As we went on our hiking/biking/snorkeling/zip lining adventure, each activity became more fun than the last. Also, being in a very small group, we had a ton of time for a lot of "extras" that wouldn't otherwise occur. At one point our group was having a really hard time deciding if we wanted to eat, float in a cenote or drink beer first. "Float, eat, drink," I told our guide. "Dang, are you single," he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. All I could say was "let's not go there." Sure, a little retro but I was serious. We did not need to go there.

Which sort of brings me to my point, the point of all this. There was a moment, when I stood at the top of a tower that was something like a billion feet in the air, looked at the three hundred sixty degrees of jungle canopy around us, took a deep breath and lifted my feet off the platform and felt, without any doubt, that there was no other place I would have rather been on Earth. Think about that for a minute; that feeling of knowing you are one hundred percent right where you think you ought to be. I didn't need anything else. I needed no one else around me. I wasn't anything but right there.

I felt a similar feeling when I walked in the door tonight. It's been drizzly and rainy all day. I'm still getting over this cold and the feeling that my head weighs sixteen pounds. I let the dog out, kicked off my shoes, and put on my slippers and a sweatshirt. I put the teapot on the stove and while I waited for the water to boil, I sat down at my table and looked out onto the patio and thought, this is good. It is good, like that zip line in Mexico. But with one difference, I really would have liked to have someone sitting at the table with me. At least once in a while.

Pieces of perfect

We stayed at this little darling hotel on the quiet end of town. We walked through the rainy streets with bags and no umbrellas to get there and if the warm colors and adobe spiral staircase weren't welcoming enough, the staff was. They knew our names from the moment we walked in the door and offered us everything from directions to umbrellas to comfort us. The manager, whom I nicknamed Pavarotti because he was singing when we walked in, helped me reacquaint myself with Spanish. It turns out I can find more than the beer and the bathrooms when I'm in Mexico*.

It was an interesting place to see the fusion of different cultures. It always amazes me how if you take the time to talk with people and make the effort, you'll get an amazing response. You go from feeling slightly lost and very out of practice to knowing that yes, even with the barriers of language and culture differences, you can make friends anywhere.

Like the young lady at a small bakery we stopped in for dessert one day. Though it was simply apple pie, there was something oddly magical about her teaching us to call it tartleta de manzana as we ate it and read magazines while Springsteen tunes floated out from the back room. It was a fantastic contrast that settled me. One step up, two steps back, indeed.



The sky also happened to stay in a constant state of bright blue, of which the thought only causes me great discomfort today. It is fifty-four degrees (F) in Colorado right now and I didn't see blue sky all day. Call it nature but I think it's Colorado's karmic way of getting back at me for pining after others.





Mexico, and likely any place if you'll let it sink in, is filled with detail. And just a couple steps away from the mainstream, you'll see this more and more. Little things people do and say that show an effort to be unique. An effort not only to stand out but to do it in a way no one else does. We should each be so lucky to have these efforts noticed. We should be so lucky to always try to make the effort at all.


I must admit, was not enough time. But when is it ever? I took an entire week off running (not to mention every other endeavor) and I have to say, for the first time in a while, I really miss it. I miss the open road and the air being stolen from my lungs. I miss the sweat and the way it clears my mind. Oddly, though I so badly believed I needed to be taken away, I missed my feet being on the ground. And if we know anything at all, we know it won't be long before I'm floating again anyway.

* See Me: 101, #70.

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Last week's guessing game answer: C. I made it up. And if the above didn't make it obvious enough I will just explain by saying I think it would be nearly impossible for me to be friends with someone that so decidedly hated warm weather. There's just a certain basic level of understanding that must occur between friends.

Don't listen to me, I'm high on corn

Today I returned from a whirlwind road trip from Colorado to Iowa, via Omaha, Nebraska. All I can say after roughly 2,800 miles on the road, 13.1 of those miles spent running and yet another reminder of how blessed I am to have wonderful friends is I'm exhausted and I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

It was the change in scenery, the miles put on the car, surviving a half-marathon I was entirely unsure about and being around running friends (with whom, you know, no subject is off limits) that put me right where I needed to be. I wasn't sure about this trip, for many reasons. One, of course, being the running but also being so unsure of the steps I've been taking in other parts of my life. It turns out packing a lot into the last bit of Summer is just the thing to remind yourself that those steps, both running and otherwise, are inevitable.

And there's nothing like being with people who accept you, your choices, and your bad jokes just the way they are to reassure you that by taking advantage of every minute, you are doing just the right thing. Because when I think about that inevitable "end" we all will reach one day, it will not matter that I ran slower than I should, or that I passed up a chance for promotion because it didn't feel right or that I put off getting the carpets cleaned. Yes, all of those things might bother me, but it really doesn't matter.

So after an all-too-fast weekend and keeping myself up late tonight to do homework that I just didn't seem to get to before now, I can at least be assured of a few things: we really do only race one person, weekends and life go far too fast, and you shouldn't wear a skirt in a cornfield.

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P.S. I am so sorry to my Minnesota and Iowa blogging friends. There was just no time for an extended visit. I totally think this should be in my life plans soon, though. Believe me, I need no excuse to meet strangers from the Internet. Heh.

Cure-all

Don't ever let anyone tell you there aren't at least a few go-to cure-alls in this world for a long week.

But I'll back up a little. I'm still getting used to balancing a new pass time in my life, you see. It's school, of course. And learning to make room for learning is an interesting transition. I anticipated this, or as much as I could anyway, but what I didn't know was how much I'd enjoy it. Through all the years I wanted to go back to school, I waited for it to feel right. I resisted the idea of going back for something I "should" do and waited until I figured out what I wanted to do. And now that I'm doing it, I'm into it and it's great.

The tough part, when you're making room for the books and the reading and the homework is that nothing else goes away. The dog still needs to be walked, the floor still needs to be cleaned and that project at work, you know, the one that pays? Well, there's a deadline. Oh, and have I mentioned the half marathon I'm registered for next weekend? No? I haven't? Well there's that, too. Which means making time for running. And if you were running as slowly as am right now, you'd know just how much time that's taking.

All of this sort of came together last week. I was all the sudden pulling the balancing act again and though you know me too well to know this was not a unique situation, I still managed to claim that it sneaked up on me. Sometimes I think that's why we're all here, for me to play mind games with myself and you to put me in check with a comment that says hello, liar, YOU DO THIS ALL THE TIME.

Speaking of comments, thanks for all of yours on the 'butterflies and fireworks' post. Though I did receive one choice email from Patty, a nineteen-year-old college student from Atlanta, I really appreciated all the insights. You people are really remarkable. (But FYI: Do not ever, ever tell a nineteen-year-old Southern girl there is no such thing as an effortless relationship. She will disagree. And she has seven (seven!) paragraphs to tell you why.) The more I think about it, the more the idea of soul mates and timing really go hand in hand, don't you think? Several of you commented that you believed people came into our lives, all people, at certain times for certain reasons. I couldn't agree more. I have friends I've met, it seems, at just the right time in my life and for all the right reasons. These people, I have no doubt, are some kind of "soul" person, if you will.

So do you see all this thinking going on? This is the sort of thing adding to the full plate. And yeah, OF COURSE I know we all have this. I'm just saying, it got a little rough last week. By Friday, I was ready for a cold one all the while knowing I had zero energy to stay awake long enough to drink it. I thought this was going to be my cure-all.

But lo, it was not meant to be. Instead, I got a last minute invite from a friend with a spare ticket to a concert. So I cancelled everything I'd planned for the evening (read: decided cleaning the toilet could wait another day) and met up with my friend. For a few minutes I was thinking, gee, does this make me a loser? The fact that I have nothing happening on a Friday night and can just say 'yes' to plans at the drop of a hat? I'm now Extra Ticket Girl. Nice. But then the music started and I knew that was definitely not a loser, I was lucky.

And there you have a cure-all. Live music, any live music (well, almost), just makes all my worries and stress go away for a little while. I take a deep breath, look around and for a while, everything is a little lighter.

We may also have done the Footloose dance in the aisle. So I guess that makes two cure-alls.

The part about the run isn't really the point

Yesterday morning I got up at about 5:00 a.m. (yes, on a Saturday) to get my run in. I wanted to do twelve miles and avoid the heat. I'd also had a thrilling Friday evening of watching Music and Lyrics (we thought it was just "eh") and going to bed early so I figured I was setting myself up for a great morning run. Aren't I mature.

Well, almost because for some very non-mature reason, my idea of carb loading on Friday night was cereal and popcorn. I know. So for miles 1-3, I felt great. It was easy. Just about that time when I started feeling that great I-could-run-forever euphoric feeling that never comes around often enough, my poor choices from the night before came back to haunt me. We'll just say it felt like someone was putting a citrus peeler under my ribs and stirring. And trust me, I could get much more graphic than that, but even the memory alone is far too painful.

And you'd think I would have stopped, but no because despite my upper abdominal muscles being in some sort of seizure, I was determined. Well that determination took me another five miles before I gave up and walked the remaining mile home. Nine miles felt like nineteen. I sat down on the couch and stared at the wall, asking myself why I'd ever gotten up to begin with.

But I'm not really telling the entire story, here. There was actually another reason I got up early yesterday. I wanted to get that run out of the way because I had somewhere to be.

Some friends of mine have a small ranch property in Eastern Colorado- you know, horses, cows, pastures- and I'd been invited out to ride. Yes, horses. I am not going to lie, I was Christmas morning excited about this all week.

I've been around horses on and off my entire life. I can't remember my first ride and I've never owned my own horse, but I've always had friends with horses and I've always known enough to get by. So when I pulled up yesterday after having driven down miles and miles of dirt road and my friend said "are ya ready?" I was. At this point, I still had no idea we were actually going to be doing anything with a purpose. Sometime during the whole "saddling up" process, my friend says we're going to move some cows. Wait, what?

I'll save the whole story of how I had an internal freak out and managed to stay calm and just tell you, this is some of the most fun I've ever had. And the most tired I've ever been. Some friends from up the road (or "over yonder" as I started calling it- I know, I'm hilarious) joined us and we herded and moved the cattle from one pasture to an adjacent pasture in less than an hour. I probably just used five words incorrectly and sounded like some ridiculous city girl, but that's fine.

It was hot, dirty, tiring, and so much fun. And when we were finished, and did some "fun" riding, we came back to the house, had a couple beers, watched an incredible rain storm blow across the prairie, followed by rainbows and a beautiful sunset.

I was told I am allowed to come back and help again. And I will, next time I'm over yonder.

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I think I'm ready for my spurs now.

I Have No Idea What's Next, I Just Know I Can't Wait

I was reading Bre's post about, well, life last night and I got to thinking about it. I left a comment that if I had some kind of "solution" that would give us any clue as to what we were supposed to do to know the direction of our lives, I would have bottled and sold it by now. When I think about it, though, I guess that does take all the fun out of a lot of life. The knowing and the ever-mysterious questioning is part of the journey, right?


I mean, don't get me wrong. If I could bottle and sell something that no one else ever had bottled and sold before I would totally do it because that would probably mean I'd earn some cash which would then lead to me being able to finally buy every pair of flip flops ever made. And if you know me at all, you know that having all those flip flops and wearing them would then entitle me to run around making declarations that I am The Happiest Woman on Earth.

Speaking of happy, though, and the original point I started, I think I might already be there. Not that there's no further to go, I know (and hope) there is. But what I also said on Bre's post was something along the lines of "I don't know when he's coming along but when he does, he's going to run into one really happy girl." (Yes, I am too lazy to go read the comment and quote myself. I know. Shush.) Which, if I do say so myself, is pretty cool.


I've been going about a million miles a minute for the last few weeks. I'm not going to lie, I've been stressed more than an astronaut's family during a spacewalk. (I know, random. But I had never considered how stressful that might actually be. Have you?) I'm currently staring down the double barrel of job changes and becoming a student again. I've got more family around right now than I know what to do with, friends that want to take me places with them and, oh yeah, the dog needs to go to the vet. There's a guy coming to fix the door on Saturday, that project due at work on Monday, that resume you need to revise and oh yeah, it'd be nice if the bathroom were clean. I'm still tired from an awesome Tuesday night of four hours (FOUR HOURS!) of fantastic live music and still reeling from the four miles I put in on the treadmill (and I usually cannot stand the treadmill, you know).

And when it's all together like that, in a mass of words and happenings and "things" it doesn't sound stressful at all. It sounds good. It sounds full, like that "mmmmm" noise you might make when you give a really great hug to someone you love. It sounds like life.

So with my comment, it was just what came to mind. That's what good is meant to be, what it's meant to give. Happiness. Hope. Faith. The times, they are not perfect. The days, they're long. But that solution, that "solution" to accepting what life is and where it might lead, I think it might be balance. Finding satisfaction somewhere between what you've chosen and what's chosen you. It's not reading too much into something* and yet, purposefully looking for what you know you shouldn't miss.



* I feel a little like I hijacked my own comment and therefore, hijacked Bre. Sorry, Bre. Now let's all go distract her by talking about shoes!

Not having done it in fifteen years didn't make it any easier

It never gets easier. I count myself lucky that I've seldom had to do it. I've been blessed with good people, I've chosen well. But recently (and reluctantly) I had to let someone go.

It was sort of like firing; I had to fire her from being my friend. The chances were out, the strikes, way beyond three. I gave it time, a lot of time. I thought having the bigger heart and waiting it out was the way to go. After all, my friend was going through a hard time, and if I couldn't hold on then, what sort of friend would that make me?

I held on, I let time pass. I let the emotional roller coaster cycle through, time and again. I thought as long as it wasn't my emotional roller coaster, I could let it pass. But then, she discovered this. She realized that somehow, my choice of not letting her decisions affect me meant something was wrong.

We now know this something as drama.

I saw right through it, though it wasn't her plan. She wanted to pour oil on the flames, I had the extinguisher. She was sliding down a steep, slippery spiral, I wouldn't sacrifice to go with her. I couldn't. It wasn't because she was asking too much, it was because she wasn't. She assumed I could be there, without question. Or morals. Or self-preservation.

I did question, though. And chose morals, and self-preservation. I had to.

The entire thing felt very business-like. Sort of similar to when I'd have to give bad feedback reports on volunteers, in my college internship days. I didn't want to ruin anyone's day, I didn't want to be negative, but when it came down to it, I had to be. It was hurting the cause, affecting more than just me.

She wasn't always bad, which is the part that makes it difficult. There were good times, times of hard work and play. But choices were made, and roads were chosen. Priorities changed, in ways I never expected, and very few people surprise me. (Us closet cynics have that sense.) Sooner or later, things like that just bring everything to a halt. A grinding halt.

So I let go. It's not easy, not without a share of guilt. But it's right.

I told her we all have those moments

My sister, always the athletic one, wants to start running again. She asked me to help her, to get her into some training. Maybe motivate her a little. (This is how we know we're grown up. She can ask for help, I can give it, and we both come out alive.)

So today, after my long run, I met up with her and we did a little "trial run." She needs some time to get acclimated, not just to running again but to living at six thousand feet. When you run here and you just start out, you are pretty sure your lungs are going to burst into flames. It takes a couple weeks to adapt to that- the feeling doesn't go away, but you get used to it.

We set out for three miles today, with planned walk breaks. We made it through a half mile, she was still smiling. We walked a bit, and then ran another half mile. I stood there, beaming at her with pride. A new or returning runner is always so exciting, but when it's your sister [and you're me] it's all you can do to not jump up and cheer her on with pom poms.

"You just did something 99% of people cannot do," I told her, as we took another short walk break.

"What?" she asked me, while she gulped her water.

"Most people on this planet cannot run one mile. How do you feel?"

"Dumber than most people on the planet, to tell you the truth."

This is going to be great!

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Thanks so much to everyone who commented and emailed regarding my last post. I know that by and large, everyone I ever "know" here or anywhere else on Earth is great and sometimes, there are exceptions. It makes me appreciate you all more, that's for sure.

Between you all and being able to look at this little face everyday, I have no worries. Life is good.

Life is more like a river than a lake

Yes, there is a possibility that I have just been allowed to have it too good lately. Though I've been working hard enough to come home at the end of the day and tell myself "you've worked hard, you need a break" I also think I've been pretty lucky with the breaks so far.

If nothing else, I've at least been lucky to have spent them with really wonderful people. Although the places and the weather have all been beautiful, I can't help but think the people you spend your time with, if they're really awesome people that you love, would be people you'd be with anywhere.

I found myself thinking that a lot over the weekend. Around the campfire or on the lake shore, I just sat back and took it all in. I'm always in fear a little of bringing up the good. I don't want to brag anyone to death or, heaven forbid, make it all go away by talking about it. At the same time, though, that is what the good is about, isn't it? It's there to enjoy- to celebrate as if this feeling, this moment itself might be what we always use to define good.

Earlier in life, at times when I didn't know what awful really was, I wasn't great at recognizing life's truly good moments. I didn't really know the stark, meaningful contrast between love and hate or peace and fighting. Hate was the girl that purposely kicked sand on me, war was a yellow button I wore on my jacket.

Growing up, growing old, is such a bittersweet contrast in itself. The nostalgia, the lust for those days gone by is only overshadowed by the appreciation that develops over time. Over the weekend, as is often when friends get together, the question came up of would you ever go back in time?

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My first instinct is to say yes, knowing what I know now, of course. But then I think about it, and realize nothing I remember would have been remotely as grand had I not had the privilege of innocence. I wouldn't have cared deeply about getting a perm or missing an episode of Beverly Hills 90210. I wouldn't have gotten butterflies at the thought of a boy sitting next to me on the bus or have been surprised by Halloween haunted houses. So no, today I'd say going back would just not work. Mostly, it would prevent moving forward. It would prevent weekends at the lake, to be with friends and reminisce.

And what are good weekends with empty margarita glasses and clear blue skies worth if you can't reminisce about being seventeen again? I certainly wouldn't be able to tell the story of the last time I was at this here lake, when the girls met up with the boys, likely all having stretched the truth with the parents. Where we walked shoulder to shoulder, wondering if he was going to take our hand. The boathouse where the girls would go to tell one another which boy liked them and which was a "loser." The hill where, in the late night hours, you might sneak off and, you know, read.

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I don't need to go back to that. Remembering it is part of the magic. And life, in it's sneaky, quiet way just keeps getting better and better.

Dancing

It started almost as soon as we were dancing. We’d talked a little before but the conversation continued on the wood floor. It was a slow dance, as all the sweetest ones are, and the music was low. It allowed for time to talk, to joke and laugh a little. It was just small stuff, but in my mind, things were jumping ahead.

I knew his name, his work, some of his friends. The ball started rolling. I wondered if we liked the same things. Did we share beliefs? Backgrounds? It all started flooding in.

It continued on the drive home. I started the list, the list of the few but important things that mean the difference between interested and not. And then, I freaked out, which had nothing to do with him, or anyone, for that matter. It was just me.

I was not surprised by this, really. You just start to wonder. How will a person fit into my life? How will that work? Can any person fit into my life? Will they be up for all that entails? And how can I fit into their life? It sounds like panic, but I justify it by calling myself a planner. To me, it's smart. Did I need to be doing the planning right then? No. But I'm somewhat glad I think that way anyway. Long gone are the days when I don't need someone to "get it" to be with them. Understanding is more important than I used to think. For lack of better wording, I have things I need to do right now and though I'm not afraid to put it out on the table, I'm also not willing to give up on what, to me, is a very possible dream.

And I know all those things about “the right person, right place, right time.” I know we don’t give up dreams for people or people for dreams. I know there is such thing as happiness and compromise. I know all this. I know we always have a choice. Still, it makes me wonder (and freak out a little). My mind wrestles between the enormity of possibility and the desire to see another chair filled at the dinner table.

The things that seemed ideal a year or two ago are no longer. People don’t seem to get that, how things can change. Or maybe it’s my mind that changed, I don’t know. What I do know is I can’t compromise some things right now. There’s too much riding on what might be, what dreams combined with planning and serious intent could bring. I can’t stop that now.

It’s strange what a dance can do. The thoughts that cross your mind when you move in a circle close to another person, with their hand on your back and their breath on your shoulder. It’s no reason to freak out, though. It’s no reason to worry about giving anything up or changing your life. You can’t think about what you’ll say when the phone rings or how you’ll say it.

I know I don’t need to worry about it. I can’t. I know things work out and life goes on and in spite of momentary breakdowns or lapses of calm, everything is going to be just fine. I don’t need to think about it. It was just a dance, and the dance was pretty good.

A Whole Mess of Gratitude

Sometimes I realize how lucky I am and it stops me in my tracks. I'm on the way down the hall to fill up my water bottle at the drinking fountain and I get half way there and I just have to stop because I'm nearly consumed by the thought of just how good I have it.

I am still high from all the feelings of the relay experience. I just can't believe the way twelve people can come together and accomplish something with such strength and humor and spirit. And it doesn't just stop there, I have a wonderful family, too. A family who watches my dog while I'm away and waters my flowers and brings in the mail. I wouldn't be able to have half the freedom I do without the foundation they provide. And a grandmother who turns eighty-one this week. Eighty-one! I'm just amazed by her, and her stories and wisdom. I'm so thankful she's healthy and here to share with me.

And I have friends, near and far. Running friends, school friends, and yes, even blogging friends. I do consider that a friendship, you know. We learn together, laugh together, share some good times and some crap times. That's got to be one definition of friendship and don't let anyone tell you it's not.

Things like this are so easy to overlook if we aren't careful. We can be so driven to what's next that we forget to take stock in what's right now. I don't want to forget that. I don't want to be the girl that's so upset she didn't win a trip to Mexico on the radio this morning that she forgets she has plans every night this week with friends and is going to sing [badly] at the top of her lungs at a concert on Saturday. And I am so definitely not that girl because do you know how long it's been since I've gone to a concert? At least three months and that, my friend, is far too long.

There have been some bad times lately. Some disappointing people, some crud so deep even your tallest boots would fail you but you know, today is just one of those days where it's not front row. Yeah, those troubles are out there, looming somewhere. But all I've got to do is let them be, let them stay out there in the back for the moment. You see, there are these bright, blazing lights shining up front here and for now, that's all I need.

Maybe it's just a life full of plans or having just come off a great running experience but my gosh, I have some good stuff and good people in my life and I'm just so incredibly grateful I can barely stand it.

Living Anyway

At it again. There are roads to drive, roads to run. I’m off to do the relay thing. It’s brand new to me, I really don't know what to expect. I’m doing it anyway.

I haven’t conveyed my anxiety about this event to anyone. There are a couple of reasons but perhaps the most important is I’m just not properly trained for it. In my mind I’m not, anyway. If you look at either of the training schedules and then compared them to my log, it is, in a word, frightening.

The race organizers encourage diligent training for this. From what I hear of my team and dozens of others, many choose not to follow the plan anyway. This does not make me feel any better. The plan has you running two or three-a-days (I have done a few), doing speed work (does not compute) and running hills (which I’d like to avoid but here in mountain land, I fortunately cannot).

I have not been running this way.

I have been running for fun. I have been running for stress relief. I have been running to get the travel weight off and the sun on my face. I have not been wearing a watch. I have been running just enough to not piss off my knees. People around me are very disapproving of this. They think I am crazy or "asking for it" by running. I am running anyway.

(Sidebar: These are the same people, however, that send me ridiculous email "surveys" that I never answer because they ask questions like: If you died and were trapped in a bubble and could see no one for the rest of eternity, what three things would you take with you? And then they get upset when instead of saying photos of my family or inspirational novels I respond with beer, birthday cake and Jimmy Buffett. I just don't think about being trapped in a bubble of the afterlife. I prefer to think about life.)

My doctor, the ever-wise, blue-eyed comedian that he is, says running cannot make my knees worse. It is up to my discretion and my pain tolerance, at this point. That’s sort of like putting me behind the counter at an ice cream shop and telling me it is up to me what to do with the ice cream that day. Does he not know me at all? I have permission, I CANNOT CONTROL WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.

There’s another side to this, though. It’s the me side. The side that cannot wait to get on the road for 500 miles just to complete 178 more with my team. A team of men and women of all ages, from all over, of all different abilities. The fun, the running, the work, the up all night, the celebration, the smell of the van after fifteen hours or more. I cannot wait.

So there might be a little pain. So I might be slower than I’d like. So I might stink. Might. Might. Might. If I can’t make it any worse by running, then I’m going to go ahead and make everything else better.

I won’t live in the might, I’ll just live anyway.

Token Things

This afternoon, when packing my suitcase (hello, procrastination) I was trying on clothes just to make sure nothing fit weird or had holes in it or something else equally as likely to surprise me when I'm thousands of miles from home, or a Super Target. As I rolled things neatly into place in my bag, I came across a strange-looking wooden token. At first, I could not figure out where this might have come from or how it got into my tote. There was some lettering on it, but it was mostly rubbed off and looked like it had spent a lot of time in someone's pocket.

I looked at the token, turned it over in my hand and searched every file in my mind about when and where I could have come across the thing. As it often does, my mind wandered, and I thought about all the traveling I've been able to do over the last year. I've been with friends and family, tasted new foods, stamped the passport, stood at the top of mountains and at the edge of the sea. I've run, I've been lazy, I've taken long drives down highways that were once only a place I'd read about. I've seen the sun rise in the East, set in the West and many places in between. I've met remarkable people, heard incredible stories and have been continuously reminded that being with people, talking with them, and connecting with them is an amazing privilege.

It is truly a small, small world and also, it is a blast. I have and have had more fun than anyone ought to be allowed. For all the reasons I feel confused or somehow lost, there are a thousand more to make me feel profoundly blessed and at peace. I can't explain how the things in my life, like work, writing, running and travel balance me. To have the opportunity to be rewarded and challenged by the life you choose is a very special thing.

The last couple months have not painted a perfect picture. There has been death, anger, sadness, strife, bad news, worse news, and many an akward moment. I thought about this as I held that token in my hand today, and the memory came back to me. The token, at least as I've known it, was laying in a crack in the sidewalk as I trapsed in front of a small shop on a humid, sunny, perfect island day. In a quiet mood and waiting for dinnertime, I bent down to pick up the token. It ended up in the pocket of my shorts and a few days later, while on a boat docked in the Caribbean, the token fell out of my pocket and onto the ground.

"You dropped this," said the man who'd been intently cleaning the boat.

"Oh, thanks. I have no idea what it is, I just picked it up the other day."

"It looks like a token... I wonder what it will buy?"

We laughed a little, and joked a lot about what you could get "these days" for a token. We talked for a while but never seemed to come to any real conclusion, though I do remember laughing for a good twenty minutes about the hilarity of the word "squall." (Say it a lot of times, you'll laugh too.)

Though I still don't know what that token was meant to buy, for me, today, it bought a memory. So I'll take it with me on this trip, too. With any luck, it will buy a hundred more.

******************

I'll be away for the next couple weeks doing the token Caribbean things: sitting, watching, sailing, snorkeling, thinking, breathing... you know. There is a chance, if I take advantage of some friends, that I'll be able to post a bit while I'm away. I know that if I spend twenty minutes laughing about random weather terminology, my bloggie friends are going to want to know, right?

Heh.

So anyway, I'm off for now. Thanks for taking the time to come to my blog, both new and "old" alike. That human connection thing I was talking about earlier? Yeah, that includes you. And you... and yes, even YOU.

There Are Worse Things

I spent many hours of last week on what seemed like a scale. I teetered back and forth, weighing things in one side, then the other. The good and bad, the action and the consequence, the effort and the reward. Much of this was, of course, due to the marathon I was "missing."

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I no longer consider my knee pain an injury. My knees, like much of my body will continue to be in life, I'm sure, are now just a challenge. Something I have to take special care of most, if not all, the time if I'm going to keep doing what I love to do. And I do love running.

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The product of loving running, though, is sometimes not running. This is what I decided on this weekend. Last week's decisions and vacillating were so difficult because I was focusing on all the things that wouldn't be if I didn't run. I wouldn't see the course, I wouldn't see the beauty, I wouldn't be with other runners, I wouldn't cross the finish. But, on Saturday morning before I left for the trek up to Northern Colorado, I met some friends for breakfast (Sidebar: they are truly a breakfast club. If, you know, the breakfast club were made up of four older men in their forties and fifties that both befriended and defended me for the first two years I was out in the "real world" working my very first Big Girl Job in a very male-dominated organization. They are like my uncles/brothers/fathers, depending on the need. And, they are great.).

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As we were talking about the race and me running or not,I still hadn't really made up my mind. Not completely, anyway. We were walking out of the restaurant and uncle/brother/dad #3 looked at me, put his hands on my shoulders and said "kid, there are worse things, you know." And I did know.

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I remembered that all weekend.

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As I drove up North with a friend in the car, singing loudly and badly to Bon Jovi.

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As I drove across the still somewhat empty Northern plains of Colorado, past the heifers and the sheep farms.
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As we mixed drinks and ate an obscene amount of grilled food at another friend's home later that night.
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.

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When I stood at the finish line and watched people cheer, cry, rejoice and smile.

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When we giggled in bed that night, as if we'd stepped back in time fifteen years. As the sun shined and the clouds stayed away. As we traipsed through the little college town, gazing at the boys we're now way too old to date. When we told stories in the car, laughing until we cried. When my jaw hurt from smiling for all the cameras.

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I didn't see but the last mile of the course. I didn't cross the finish this time or wear the medal. And I didn't like it, but I didn't mind it either. There are worse things.

High-Profile Survival

Over the weekend, yet another relationship split has been in the news. Prince William and Kate Middleton's break up has been a top story on several news websites. And of course, following any high-profile break up, there's loads upon loads of speculation as to "what went wrong."

London tabloids, often leading the pack in "reporting" celebrity splits, wasted no time jumping on the assumption train. It was pressure from the Queen, one says. Another says it was Prince Charles who urged William to break off the relationship if he could not "commit to marriage." Yet another says the fate of the relationship was neither influenced by family nor the two people actually in the relationship but rather, a royal summit.

None of these, in their ever scandalous tabloid nature of course, are suggesting that maybe they just broke up. Maybe it just didn’t work. And when there’s any suggestion of Kate, at the age of twenty-five, deciding that she didn’t want the lifestyle of a princess, well that’s just squashed immediately. Not that I claim to know anything more than I’m reading in the news (which equals basically nothing) but if that might be the reason, well I can certainly relate to that.

Just before I began this blog, I had made a decision to no longer be in a relationship that, though no crowns were being placed on any heads, certainly felt high-profile at times. I dated a man who was a very kind, intelligent person who also happened to already be married. To his career, that is. He was a physician, a surgeon in fact. Anyone who has ever been married, dated or otherwise in any relationship with a doctor knows this: It is not a job; it’s a lifestyle and a calling. It is first, last and best. I saw this from the beginning and it’s not at all something I ever held against him. In fact, I admired it about him. Up until we met, I had never witnessed anything like it. I never knew someone could dedicate their entire life to a career of helping people like he did.

In the time we dated, which I’ve heard since was a “record breaking” duration for most doctors in their residency, there were numerous instances in which I felt our relationship was under intense scrutiny. Looking back now, I can see it was mostly because, well, he was a catch. In addition to being in his residency, having graduated at the top of his class and giving his spare time to research and international medical outreach programs, he was also very popular. No one had to tell me this, it was one of the reasons I was attracted to him in the first place. He was friendly, and before I had any inkling as to what his work was, I was impressed at how easy to get along with he was. This, of course, translated into all of his life. People liked him and therefore, were very critical of who else did, too.

Any event we attended, any time we’d run into anyone somewhere in town, it was a little like a test. A pop quiz, really. When you go to a baseball game, in your shorts and tank top, the last thing you’re really planning for is to run into five nurses looking you up and down like you have arms growing where your ears should be. I was assured by my boyfriend that this wasn’t an issue but when it happens enough times, it stays on your mind.

There was also the issue of time. While I don’t claim to be the most available person in terms of time, dating this man was sort of like what I’d imagine scheduling the launching of a space shuttle would be.

6:04 – meet for dinner (not 6:00 because, well, the only thing that starts on time is surgery)
6:04:42- wait while cell phone is answered
6:05- order dinner to go, emergency call
6:06- say “bye and see ya later”
10:00- finally eat dinner, reheated
10:00:25- boyfriend passes out because he’s worked eighteen of the last twenty-four hours

The time we were able to spend together was, at best, erratic. This also made life challenging when it came time for those stages in a relationship where you meet each other’s friends and, when you meet the parents. In the end, it resulted in me meeting a few of his friends, which also happened to be fellow residents, (because yes, that part of hospital life really is like Grey’s Anatomy) and him meeting about as many of mine. We never did meet one another’s parents, either (and this had little if anything to do with my hesitation to bring people home). Yes, it was strange.

That wasn’t really what any of it came down to, though. The demanding schedule, the exhaustion, the scrutiny, those things can be overcome, I think. The real contributing factor, the one it took me months to be able to accept, is that it just wasn’t the right relationship. Toward the end, which also happened to be toward the end of his residency, I started talking about taking a trip together. He started talking about getting married and moving across the country. At first, I thought we were just on different pages. I thought if I’d give it time, I’d be ready. For the move, a marriage, a lifetime with this man. But I wasn’t, I never got there.

Eventually, we had to break up. Taking a step back and looking at our relationship, there were loose ends all over the place. There were parts of our lives, personalities, likes and dislikes, and life goals that just didn’t match up; that weren’t going to match up. Love was, as wonderful as it could be, not enough. It too would have faded. So we (yes, shockingly, WE) made the decision to break it off. To this day it remains one of the hardest yet least regrettable things I’ve had to do and I think that’s partially because things looked so right to everyone else; which I’d use to fool myself into thinking it was right for me, too. The question of “why did you break up?” could not have been answered by the standard replies. It just was.

That’s why it’s so odd to me that we’re fascinated by break ups in the media. Heaven forbid people in their twenties (or any age, for that matter) decide that things just aren’t going to work and they need to go their separate ways rather than spend any more time on something that’s not right. Maybe that’s what William and Kate think, too. I don’t know, of course, but let me assure you, it’s likely not nearly as interesting or scandalous a process as the tabloids might have us believe.

Believe: to have confidence in the truth, the existence, or the reliability of something, although without absolute proof that one is right in doing

UPDATE: I meant to add this before now but this "Believe" exercise thing is, apparently, something well known on NPR. I don't know who came up with it or how it came about, but I think it's awesome.
_____________________

Well first she did it, and I thought "wow, I cannot attempt that." Then, she did it and I thought "dang, this isn't going to be easy." Then, she did it too and I thought "this is just too much."

But, like most things I do, I wasn't one hundred percent sure about it and yet, I did it anyway. After all, I am, if nothing else, a believer.



I believe that it’s okay to like stuff. I believe we are too hard on ourselves for wanting to consume what’s out there. The issue isn’t spending or buying, it’s control.

I believe happiness is a choice. Every thing, every day. Digging through crap will result in finding a pony.

I believe in the little things, like holding a door and saying “good morning.”

I believe life is very, very short but too long a journey to travel alone.

I believe our bodies are a gift, and we should make every effort to learn to love and treat them as such. I believe we are built to break a sweat.

I believe in kindness, and empathy.

I believe in the power of family, babies and puppies.

I believe you can find peace on the sea, at the top of a mountain or on your living room sofa.

I believe we were created, because I believe there are things that science just cannot explain.

I believe there is absolutely no replacement for education.

I believe music should move you, even if it’s just dancing in the car.

I believe you should approach every situation as if those involved have the best intentions. You will sometimes be disappointed.

I believe, when all else fails, you should laugh.

I believe the ocean has the capability to cure.

I believe shoes should not hurt your feet. This is probably also why I have forty-two pairs of flip flops (a.k.a. “thongs” for my Aussie friends).

I believe in Fall football, drinks with friends, and Sunday afternoon walks.

I believe you can make friends anywhere. I believe I have.

I believe a group, whether your soccer team or your entire nation, must believe in itself to succeed.

I believe we have a responsibility to our planet. I believe most of us don’t take this seriously.

I believe in questioning “the way we have always done it.”

I believe some things are worth the calories.

I believe in travel and broadening your horizons.

I believe harmless superstitions are healthy.

I believe in working hard, and playing hard.

I believe, even with all this, I’m really only on the cusp of knowing all I will truly believe in this life.

Pursuing It

I have a friend who is picking up his life, quitting his job (with a company he started) and moving across the country. To me, that's massive change. But he says he just wants to be happy. He knows it's a risk, but something stronger than fear of that risk is driving him.

I know some other people, apparently not happy in their lives, who decided to go outside their marriages to find happiness. They claim they've found it, even though there are consequences. Honestly, I don't even think they know the extent of the consequences yet.

I consider myself lucky. I believe happiness, or even the act of looking for it, is largely a choice. I believe even with the bad days and the hard times in life, you can still find a way to be happy. I believe that even with mountains of debt, life-threatening illness or great loss, there is still a chance for happiness. I have seen people do it- it is entirely possible. I'm not sure we're all cut out for that though, half the time I'm not sure I am. But that doesn't stop me from trying.

I suppose that's the basis of the two situations I mentioned. When moving your entire life for a shot at happiness is less frightening than staying where you are, and being unhappy, the choice seems easy. With the second situation, though, I can't agree. Because the other thing I believe about happiness? It cannot come at the expense of others. Once your choices begin to affect the life of someone else and their shot at happiness, it becomes wrong. And selfish.

I'm always amazed, though, the extent to which people will go to find a place where they consider themselves happy. Blinded by the thought of love, or change, or the ever-elusive "newness" of it all, I wonder if they're really conscious of any reality at all? I know our happiness comes in different packages, but are we sometimes fooled by the thought?

How do you find your happiness? How do you know that it's real? How do you know that it's right?