Going the Distance

We ran 4.5 miles on Sunday, my younger sister and I. We left my driveway, headed East and followed the main roads out of the neighborhood. 

I’m much slower than she but she stayed with me anyway. We chatted a little which is unusual for both of us as we typically run solo.

I told her about our Lean In Columbia group, who had joined, what our plans were, and how excited I am about the future.

We crossed over the community road and into another neighborhood where we ran the back side of the top loop and then down into the bottom loop and made the full circle.

We talked about our running habits, what we like about running, how we motivate ourselves, how we keep warm.

At the bottom of the first big ascent I stopped to find inspirational music. I chose the Rocky song "Going the Distance."

We made it to the top and I said, “I feel lazy today. I really don’t want to run anymore.”

We were in mile three. We kept the pace. At the stop sign we turned right and took the long way home.

“Go that way,” I said, “Just because I don’t want to run doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.”

Gaining Perspective

This morning I worried about paying myself, paying my bills, earning more clients, finishing my dissertation, getting some classes to teach, establishing credibility, and whether I should bother trying to publish my fiction at all.

This morning someone I know is sitting in the waiting room while her sister has surgery for cancer. Right now. She’s there, waiting, right now.

When I reminded myself of what she’s going through, I felt a new but familiar kind of space.

Perspective.

When I reminded myself that nothing is permanent and every moment is a gift,

When I reminded myself that there are people on this planet living separate but equally important lives,

When I reminded myself to get over myself, I felt space.

Building a Life

I am looking for a transformation.

Girls on the Run -- Kalamazoo

Anyone who’s been to Clemson Road before knows I am a change junky. I crave it. I used to travel frequently which satisfied it but now I can feel myself, daily, taking stock of my surroundings, evaluating my circumstances, and seeking transformation.

I could start a new fitness challenge.

I could paint Hollie’s bedroom.

I could go get a real job.

I’ve agreed to participate in the 2013 WordCount Blogathon. It means blogging every day for 30 days. Get ready, subscribers, a blitz is coming! I agreed to it because I think even this blog needs a transformation.

For over a year now I’ve been writing about Life on Clemson Road, an incredible journey from our old cushy life in the Upstate to our new home, new jobs, new friends, in Columbia. I’ve written about visiting my Nana every week and I wrote about her passing. I’ve written about what I’ve found on the internet and how it made me feel. I’ve written about what I know how to do and whether anyone will or should hire me to do it.

I’ve alluded to but haven’t exactly written about my older sister and I’ve mentioned but haven’t dwelled on some challenges I’ve had with fitness and body image.

I have tried to be honest about myself while motivational about what I’m doing here.

“There are three ways to build a life,” 

I told Charlie yesterday. “What you are, what you do, and what you have.”

I Drink & I Cuss & I'm Okay

When I graduated Clemson I borrowed my friend Elena’s cap. It had a paw and crossed oars which represented her well. I was a crew team drop out so I taped a sign over it that said, “Sponsored by Budweiser.” 

It fit. I’d just completed 124 days in a row of having at least one alcoholic beverage at Tiger Town Tavern.

Yes. I’m a drinker. And unapologetic about it.

But at 22, graduating university, knowing the true things about me, in this order, were: I’m a drinker, I love Charlie, I’m a writer, and my family’s a big hot mess, I removed the sign before the processional.

My father told me to. He said professors who were considering me for graduate school may not think it was funny.

Fuck that. 

Wish I could have said that then.

My favorite part of Erika Napoletano’s brand is her vocabulary.

She cusses a lot.

And I love it.

A Difficult Reflection on Courage

I couldn’t even look at it.

I followed the link through a tweet. I knew what it would be. Just one look would make me cry. I closed the window before it began.

It’s the Faces of the Dead slideshow and it has pictures of the first 2000 service members killed in Iraq and Afghanistan who have been identified and whose families have been alerted. 

That’s 2000 families whose lives are forever changed by the irrevocable sacrifice of their fallen soldier.

And my cowardly self cannot even view their pictures.

Perspective

Lately I’ve been pretty wrapped up in the personal drama playing itself out in my small world. I have been in the water, as David Foster Wallace might say. I have been convinced of the hardship of my own experience.

 

But I am really good at changing perspectives. Like removing colored filters from theatre lights, I can adjust the temperature and shade of the scene I’m in. 

Though sometimes I find myself dangling from the rafters, high above the stage and sometimes I forget mine is not the only stage in town, I can usually do the psychological work necessary to put things in perspective.

Adding Shadows

I am fiercely patriotic. Not in the way that I think there’s nothing wrong with the U.S.A. or in that Dixie-Chick-hating-fervor way that mistakes loyalty to one as hatred of all “other.” I am patriotic in the way that I really believe I would do anything for my country.

Ever since September 11^th and even more so since we went to war, the National Anthem has brought me to tears. Not just small drips of pride but sobs.

I cry for the soldiers on that slide show. For their families. For the great loves of their lives. For the loss of what else they could become.

I didn’t join the military. I didn’t sign up and put myself in harm’s way to defend our freedoms. I believed I could serve my country by making it a better place to live.

Get Busy

And what have I done, to that end?

I have been teaching English to people who want to improve their lives through higher education. I coach and mentor young girls interested in running. Book clubs and writing clubs and running clubs and YMCAs. I have the activity-suggests-a-life-filled-with-purpose approach.

I care for my family, obey the law, and write.

Define "hero"

I am lucky enough to experience the “quandary of self-actualization” as my friend Lynn wrote. In my playhouse, I adjust the setting, the actors, and the lights. I move the plot along.

But I need to remember mine is only one such playhouse. There are countless other stages upon which significant personal dramas are occurring.

When I write about perspective I expect to be helping others step away from their immediate circumstances. Think about those other stages, those other playhouses, those other dramas of which they may not be fully aware.

Hide from nothing

It’s a tremendous gift to have the means by which to ponder such things and the security in which to do so. I am grateful for those whose physical courage has given me the freedom to exercise my psychological courage.

Experience and exposure are the shaping agents of our immortal souls. To open oneself to both is to try to live one’s fullest possible life.

I’m going to watch the slide show now.

What personal reflection have you avoided because it would challenge you? Is it your career? Your family? Your fitness?  How did you overcome that fear?

Don't Bother Toweling Off

“Work the kid into your life, don’t change your life to be the kid’s,” said my friend Tom between laps at Westside Aquatic Center. It was 2008, I was very pregnant, and struggling to keep any kind of pace beyond simple flotation.

Not knowing any better, I took Tom seriously.

I’m what is referred to, politely, as a non-traditional mom. I take HB to a big girl lunch every Saturday; on St. Patty’s Day we actually bar hopped. She has her own season ticket for Clemson football. She sings Lady Gaga. She’s three and four on her birthday so she has three tutus, four pairs of sparkly shoes, and two princess dresses, all of which I allow her to wear to school whenever she wants.