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.

My Windshield on the World, Wyoming & Utah Edition (Part 8, probably)

Here we are, two days from the weekend that, in the United States, marks the end of summer. Sure, go ahead and wait until September 21st if you'd like, we'll all sit by while you pretend it's not the end. And we'll secretly laugh at you because everyone knows you're just living in a fantasy. Truth be told, I'll live in that fantasy with you a little bit anyway. We've still got those Indian Summer days ahead of us out West here, and if you think I'm packing up the flip flops before the first snow, well you don't really know me at all.

It has been quite the trip, this summer. Months filled with babies getting older, pirates, unforgettable moments of turquoise water and perfect days, friends and fireworks, live music, oh so much music, refusing to let Summer go by too fast, early mornings, calling it quits, sisterly bonding, and realizing that life, no matter my inability to predict, has some really great things in store. And if all that isn't a reason to take one more week and live it up for all it's worth, it ought to be.

Tomorrow I'll be hitting the road one more time for the year. I'm headed through corn country, then up the corn belt (I have totally made up these names and really have no idea what is or is not identified as corn country or the corn belt). All this for, you guessed it, friends. I'm meeting one, and going to do the race in the hometown of another. Hey, we do what we gotta do.

Upon returning, I'll spend a total of twenty-four hours at home before heading out again, but this time, there will be no race. Remember this little scenario from a few weeks back? Well, a decision was eventually reached. After careful examination of personal schedules, work schedules, flight schedules (and availability) and, well, a little bit of pure fantasy, we decided we'd head to the beach. I know how shocked you are right now, that I would make that decision. I promise, I did not coerce my friend. I can't help it if I'm really super excellent at travel research.

I will admit, it was not our first choice. We considered New York City (more hustle than we wanted, and I mean that in a good way), New Orleans (flights just did not work- this was a huge disappointment), and the West Coast (but then realized there were some flight restrictions and it made no sense to start in the middle of the country, head East and then turn around and head West). So, when it came down to it, South of the border became the obvious choice.

I'm about to cover more miles than I can count, set foot in approximately seven cities, three airports, several corn fields (how could I not) and several more cantinas. I plan to update in between to the two so as not to confuse corn and tequila but in the meantime, I'll leave you with some windshield commentary from my last trip.

Happy Labor Day weekend, my fellow Americans. And happy end of Summer/whatever season you may be leaving behind right now to all.

Utah, via Northern Colorado and Wyoming:

After getting through the madness that is North Denver these days, you're reminded Northern Colorado still has some wide open spaces. And thank God for that.

But as soon as you cross into Wyoming, you're also reminded that fireworks aren't legal in Colorado.

Lucky for us, Pyro City is just a drive away.

Once you're all stocked up on the sparklers, you can head out into the wild blue yonder that is Southern Wyoming. Wind farms, a repaving project and, oh yes, a little red Corvette (look closely, waaaay up ahead) kept me company for hundreds of miles.

Sooner than you think, however, you'll be near Utah and entering the beautiful Wasatch Mountains. Or at least the sign says so.

Then, if you're really lucky, you'll participate in a 178 mile relay with eleven of your closest and sweatiest friends. And it will be beautiful!

And if you're really, really lucky, the van your team uses is a rental so when you back it into a tree in the middle of the night because you're driving barefoot and parallel parking, it will not matter.

All too soon, though, you'll be headed home.

As you drive those hundreds of miles back, you'll stare out into the wild blue yonder that is southern Wyoming and know that every mile, both driven and run, was totally worth it. Because they always are.

Not because I don't like butterflies and fireworks

So I was over at Dawn's reading her most recent post about "soul mates." Or, more accurately, belief in them (or not). I started typing and after I'd spit out a good four paragraphs, I decided it was worth it's own post. Also, Dawn doesn't need my dissertation on her blog. Well, at least not ANOTHER one. (I have no good reason for all those others, Dawn. Oops?)

Dawn said she's "never been a big 'soul mate' person" but wondered what others think. I, of course, had an opinion.

This may come as a surprise but I'm not a huge soul mate person, either. Additionally, I think choosing to initiate a committed relationship is more due to effort on the man's part than the woman's*. Okay, that might not have come out right but go with it for a minute. I think, because we are very different in the ways of commitment, that it really is about timing, especially for men.

You know that guy, the one who'd date everyone? He was nice but he'd never commit. He'd have the perfect girl and somehow, some where down the line, he'd find a reason to break up with her. Then, after all that, he'd begin dating a girl and be married within six months? I think it's largely because HE was ready. My friends and I used to call this the "next girl wins" phenomenon. It wasn't necessarily because she was his "soul mate," it was because a) he was ready and b) they were compatible. That's it.

Now, even typing this, I am a little weary. It all seems very mechanical and not at all romantic. But I think that's why it's so much more attributed to men (in general). It's about logic, not butterflies and fireworks. I know the dudes like the butterflies and fireworks, but I think they see that as more of a given, or a "bonus" if you will. They'd rather know they're ready and that they're with someone who they can stand.

So part of me thinks this is encouraging, because what it all comes down to, for me anyway, is that I want to be with someone who wants to be with me. Someone who's ready and is aware they're at that point in their life. Call me crazy, but I like the idea that two people can decide to be together and then decide to put in the work it takes to make (and maintain) a good relationship.

Now, as Dawn asked, what do you think? Agree? Disagree?
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*This is assuming, of course, you're addressing a male-female relationship, which we both were.

When He Looks At Her

“When I look at Judy, I see her at twenty-seven. And I see her at thirty-five. And fifty. And ninety.”

They’re not yet ninety, but when you’re around them, it seems that’s how many years they’ve known one another. It takes about ten seconds to see what they really are. Real. There are only two possible conclusions you make when you see what they have, either you want it or you have it.

She shakes her head when he makes a sandwich on the bare counter, not mindful of the crumbs. She spends an hour telling me about their first trip to Mexico, and how they never left the room “but not in the romantic sense.” The water was bad. Then he chimes in “well, there was that first night.” And our faces turn red, and she rolls her eyes. Then he mentions the way she tucked him into bed those nights, as if to apologize for making her blush.

He tells me about the time she first met his friends, and how they suggested she may not be his “type.” And how he knew that she was no one’s type, which is why he had to have her. “If I didn’t do something to get her to marry me, my entire life would have been a failure.” He was already successful, had made more money than he’d ever dreamed. Without her, it wouldn’t have mattered. The classic story.

She speaks of him in a way that makes you tilt your head and crease your brow. It makes sense and yet, you feel like there’s a mystery about it. It’s from her heart, the bottom of her soul. “I’m not a romantic,” she says, “but he does the laundry. He’s always done the laundry. I just love that.” There’s some magic they’ve found, some intricate simplicity.

And I think he does see her at twenty-seven, and thirty-five and fifty and ninety. I think they know that’s what it’s about, that life is fluid and when you choose someone like they have done, you choose to be along for the ride.

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!

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.

And then I reached out and gave you all a big hug

It is a little strange getting email from strangers asking questions to which you don’t have answers. Not because you don’t know answers, but because you never thought about it before.

As several who know me as well as my blog-type friends might have figured out by now, I’m seriously bad about getting to the emails. I read them all, I really do. And then, when I don’t have time to respond thoughtfully and completely well, I sometimes don’t come up with anything at all. So I just think I’ll do it later. Like later when I say I’ll update the links or when I say I want to revamp this site but then I never do. Because I run out of time, or don’t know where to go or what to do and am too busy/tired/dense to say HELP ME.

Anyway. Tangent. Oops.

Some things, though, beg a response. And being that I’ve had the question before, I’m even more excited that I now, too, have an answer!

I can’t figure you out. You talk about so many different things and seem to have too many different passions. I just can't figure out what kind of blog this is?

That was the inquisition I read over my caffeine yesterday morning. At first, I wanted to blow it off. “Too many different passions.” What 's that about? Perhaps, though, I know what it means. I do bounce around a lot here. I’ve had people say “I thought ‘Just Run’ would be more about running.” But you know, I never did. I thought, when I started writing here, that running was just a huge part of me, but not entirely me. And over the last year and a half, it’s been apparent that some people don’t want all the rest.

When I talk about running, races, shoes and knee injuries, I do enjoy it. Love it, in fact. If I didn’t have running, it’s tough to tell what kind of shape I’d be in (in every sense). But my emailer is right, there’s a lot more. I can go for weeks without talking about running because I’m hung up on people, the beach, music and a host of other distractions. Equal to running, I don’t know what life would be like without all these other obsessions, either.

Then I got to the part of the email that I found really interesting. The part I know an answer to for sure.

What kind of people do you expect to come here?

In short: Any people.

All of you I’ve found “out there” are who I want to come here. It matters not what you look like, what you wear, where you work or what you drive. It doesn’t occur to me that you might be different than me or that you have lost your hair or that you might write run-on sentences. I don’t think about if we like the same movies, make the same amount of money or have been to the same places. And I am so thankful that is the case.

Our lives and passions all intersect in some way, and somehow, we’ve all intersected here. That, for me, is what it’s about. You come to see me, I come to see you. I comment, or not. You comment, or not. It is what it is. This is all likely to end in much the same fashion it began, fairly uneventfully. But when it does, I’d like to think I opened myself and my words to everyone and always made it clear that you don’t have to be a woman or a runner or single or flip-flop wearer or anything else to relate to me. You just have to be you.

We are what we are. And I can’t thank you enough.

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.

No Fix

It's hard to see someone you love hurting. It's really, really hard when that someone is the person that so often has taken your hurt away. No matter what the pain, talking to her somehow made it better.

When you fell into the pool, because you've always been graceful like that, and scraped your entire leg, all you wanted was her. When you didn't get picked for the team (probably the lack of grace again) you just wanted to see her. To tell her. When your friends gossiped about you, when you tripped in the hall, when you got your heart broken, she was the only one you wanted to see.

This person, as if there were any question, is my mother. And she's hurting now. Because of life, because of love, because of death. And all I want to do is take it away. I want to reach inside her heart and mind and remove the memory for a while. I want to take the feelings and coat them with sugar so they might go down a little easier. I want to have answers.

You never really realize, until it stares you in the face, how your happiness can be wrapped up in those you love. How one person, in just their being and who they are can symbolize things in life that you've come to know. Things you've come to count on.

Now that I'm older, we have better conversations. Conversations that are deeper and more real. It is a blessing, but it is also a realization. I remember that feeling, I got it for the first time in college. It's when you realize your parents are just people. They know a lot, but not everything. They have passions and dreams and feelings, just like you. It's so odd, that feeling. Knowing that this person, when it comes down to it, is someone you love beyond even your own ability to understand but also, that they're real.

It's the real that I see right now. It's not because I think I can save her. It's not because I think she can't handle it. It's not some parent-child reversal. It's just my reaction. She's scraped her knee and me, well I can't find the right band-aid.

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.

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.

One of the Best Valentine's Dates I'll Ever Have

Would it be entirely cliche and annoying to say I don't really believe in Valentine's Day?

I do believe in love, though.

Like I said last year, I think the day is like any other and really ends up being what you make it. Whatever it may be. Funny how that works, isn't it?

My "it" this Valentine's Day?

Bob Seger.

And The Silver Bullet Band.

I ought to be sufficiently tired at work tomorrow, but it's worth it. Yes, it's Real Love.





Love somebody. Namely, yourself.