Successfully Being

I must admit, being a mother is exhausting.  Like really tiring.  I'm not sure if all moms feel this way, but I have a hunch most do.  I have spent innumerable hours examining and re-examining the art of parenting, trying to reflect on my approach, and improve day after day after day.  I've read books, attended classes, spent hours talking to counselors and therapists and educators.  

Years ago when I had three boys under four years old running around (or laying there and screaming, as the case may be) I developed an obsession with puzzle books.  Every night before I went to sleep, I could be found figuring out logic problems or finishing crossword puzzles.  It was relief to me -- in a whole day where there was no 'atta girl' or definitive right or wrong, but just me just trying all day long to not wreck the potential of these small people too much -- well, to find something at the end of the day that had a right answer -- black and white -- it was like answered prayers to me.  I also remember compulsively reconciling the checking account at this time.  I needed, at some point in my life, a tether to hang on to...add it all up so it all checked out. 

So fast forward 17 years and we find ourselves on the verge of adulthood with some of these boys.  The oldest, by far, has been the most challenging to parent because he does not now, nor has he ever, fit nicely and neatly into a socially acceptable box.  He's a brilliant thinker, a social awkward (I've just now made that word a noun), a kind, gentle soul in a nearing giant man's body.  It's been suggested to me throughout his life that he's mentally handicapped, autistic, or in need of medication.  He's easily distracted, not likely to do or turn in homework, never going to move at the speed I think he should.  

He loves being outdoors.  He loves the night.  He loves thoughts and ideas and contemplation and quiet and repetition and disorder.  He's forgetful and comical and sometimes at the center of what looks to be near disaster.  He often doesn't do what I want or what I think he should.  

And I'm reminded of a class I took once.  Yes, on parenting.  Where the instructor started off (I've taken this class more than once, so I remember) with this thought:  If you're a parent and you're successful, it's a recipe for disaster.  You want your kids to do well, be successful, and you know how....so it's logic...you'll want to do it (it = life, school, social interactions, etc.) for them or micromanage the way they do it.  When, in reality, the art of parenting is letting the kids experience their own it (their own consequences of action and inaction in life, school, social interactions, etc.).  And then, consequently, they get to experience their own successes, too. 

So with this oldest boy...that's a hard task most days...letting him be to do 'it' his own way.  I'm efficient.  I'm a taskmaster.  I'm fairly organized.  And so I spend some time of each week questioning WHY he can't be like me.  Right?

And it's recently occurred to me...his successful life is not going to look anything like I think a successful life should look like.  Except it will look exactly like what I think a successful life should look like.

He hasn't let this world warp him.  He's stayed true to himself through my criticisms or his failures in our society.  He has kept his quiet gentleness even though everything in boy and man culture says not to.  He's practiced in the art of being.  He's spent time defining his ideals and has tried to move in a direction to support those ideals.  

So a few things happened after I had this realization...that his successful life won't be defined by ME (gasp)...

First, I heard the story of Johnny Appleseed read aloud in a first grade classroom.  And I realized we, as a people, DO celebrate the Johnny Appleseeds of this world.  There is a place for the introspective wanderers among us.  

Second, I went on vacation.  And while on vacation, I spent some time running in the great outdoors...here....

...one morning happening upon a coyote in pursuit of its morning meal.  

As I was crouched down on the side of the trail...

...a man came up next to me.  We got to chatting.  He told me about himself as we both sat transfixed on the sight before us.  He told me he'd just packed it all in.  Finished grad school.  Quit his full-time job, bought a car, sold everything else he owned, and decided to take to the road.  Travel 'til he found what he was looking for.  Be outside.  Sleep amongst the stars.  Wander and think.  I felt like I was talking to a future version of my oldest son.  Or Johnny Appleseed.  Albeit, with a larger carbon footprint.

Of course, this is what I asked, "What does your mother think?"  She didn't approve, he told me.  Then he told me he was happier than he'd ever been.  Sleeping out there amongst the stars.  On the side of the trail right then.  There watching that coyote.  

I told him I didn't understand.  I told him about my oldest.  I told him I sympathized with his mother.  

And then he told me something that I had never considered.  He said, "Really?  You don't understand? You, out here in the middle of nowhere, by yourself, watching a coyote stalk its morning meal, talking to a perfect stranger?  You don't understand?  It sounds like whoever your son is, he's just like you."

And this is why I run.  And occasionally stop to watch wild animals.  And always talk to strangers.  

And why I'm thankful for this path I get to walk with these people...perfect strangers and oldest sons alike...

Showdown At the Okay Corral (Oh, The People You'll Meet Pt. II)

Yes, yes...I know it's 'O.K. Corral' but I'm a typist by trade.  And more importantly, it's REALLY the 'Okay Corral' here.  Trust me. 

There are some times in this life when if feels like the Universe has LEFT THE BUILDING.  The earth is spinning off its axis.  The inane is normal and the normal is clearly in hiding with Witness Protection.  

And at certain rare times the usual outlets for process, reflection, quietude are just as absent as the normal and all that's left to do is this: 

1) Put on loud music

2) I mean REALLY loud music

3) Put on running shoes

4) Abandon all the undoneness present 

5) Hair in pigtails

6) Open the front door

7) Run away from home

At these certain inexplicable moments, I've found prayers full of expletives to be particularly effective at eliciting a response from the Universe.  Mine usually sound like this:

(WARNING:  If you are faint of heart or opposed to swear words, don't bother reading on.)

"What the fuck?  You have got to be fucking kidding me.  Now if all this ridiculousness is REALLY the way this is supposed to be the way it is, then send a fucking sign."

And voila: 

I'm sure some just take this as a quarter.  They're free to.  I get a certain relief from believing that I'm getting reassurance -- everything is just fine.  

So today, I'm driving all around hell and gone.  And I see this bumper sticker:  Try Wait...  I don't wait for much.  I'm impatient.  I'm fidgety.  I'm efficient and I want the Universe to be efficient, too, goddammit.  

But it stuck with me.  And I thought to myself, today -- just today, I'm going to TRY WAIT.  

So time passes.  Miles pass.  Headed home.  I see, on the side of the road a few miles from my house, a person on a horse with two pack horses behind him.  I think a million thoughts all at once.  Who is that?  Where are they coming from?  Where are they headed?  How do they know they can pass on that property?  What the fuck?  Who does that?  I WILL NEVER KNOW.  

So time passes.  I -- having another day, like the few preceding it, that seems particularly Universe Left The Building-esque, so I do #1-#7 above and resolve to have a few more choice words with whatever or whoever listens.  

I'm in a state of NON-acceptance.  I'd prefer things to be a bit different.  And they're not.  There's a divide between the way things are and how I think they should be.  And so I'm in unrest.  And I let it all out in my run.  Whenever I got to the What the fucks? or the You've got to be fucking kidding mes...well, money appeared in my way.  

I rounded the corner to come home and who should I run into but Man On Horse With Two Pack Horses Trailing.  I WILL KNOW.  

I didn't find out this name.  But he comes from Montana.  Going to Big Sur, a few hours north of here.  Via Mexico, which I guess you can safely say is the scenic route.  I was intrigued.  A Johnny Appleseed among us?  Adventurer?  I got to ask all my questions and saved the best for last.  How long has it taken you to get here from Montana?  

He replied, 'Since 1993.'

Try Wait embodied.  

Be patient.  The Universe whispered it to me today.  The answers will come.  And furthermore, it will all be Okay (even outside the Corral).

And of course, it was clear, my magic money finds of the day -- well, they belonged to him.  

Confessions of a Non-Running Runner

I may not be a good runner.  Lord knows I'm not a great runner.  I wouldn't even consider myself a *real* runner.  But, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, I got up, moved my body slightly faster than walking, and therefore I was (am?  will be again?) a runner.

Injury.  The great derailer of my aerobic meditation/medication.

It's true, when I look back on the course of this injury, I could just be another unnamed 'runner' in some how-to/how-not-to run book or magazine.  I'm nauseatingly predictable in the way I chose to ignore, ignore, ignore (which, by the way, I claim as one of my great life strategies) the signs and symptoms along the way.  I chose to focus on the something else, push through, run in spite of pain.  UNTIL I was sidelined.

It's been T H R E E weeks since I lopped along.  Three.  Whole.  Weeks.

Right off, I see the good things.  Like I haven't killed my kids or myself.  I haven't flown off the handle or cried uncontrollably.  I haven't even made any rude hand gestures while driving.  All these things shock me because I thought I'd be a raving lunatic without my daily timeout.  I'm not any more lunatic than any other day.  That's good, right?

Second, I -- me -- I followed a practitioner's directions.  I feel like I deserve a medal for this.  I'm not a direction or rule follower by nature.  I'm a rule skirter.  There's a distinction.  I usually follow along just enough to be socially and legally acceptable.  Other than that, it's anyone's guess.

Third, it was suggested and I balked, that in place of running, I take up silent, still meditation.  The good here is -- well, I haven't done it yet, but the idea of it now, today, doesn't make me want to barf near as much as when it was suggested three weeks ago.  That's progress.  I'm not a stranger to silent, still meditation.  It's just nothing that appeals to me these days.  I like my life on the go, two birds-one stone-ness of running in a meditative state.  

Fourth, I've had time to refine my updated 2013 Running For My Life Playlist.  I've chucked tired tunes and included new ones.  Even purchased a few.  My life is changing and it's time for many of my used-up, over-played, yesterday things to move on out the door.  I need space for the new goodness that I see right before me.  

Fifth, ego-check, AKA humility...I signed up for a race, and didn't run it.  I'm having a hard time knowing what to do with my bib...the unused one.  I've never had an unused bib before.  It seems unsightly and to signify freedom all the same time.

Sixth, patience.  Virtue, so I'm told.  Not. My. Strong. Suit.  I'm fidgety and don't make a good caged animal.  But P A T I E N C E has come to sit in my lap and I haven't had to braid her hair with my restless fingers or do a rendition of "Carry Me, Marry Me" with her jiggled on my knees.  We've sat together long enough that I finally got the OKAY to WALK outdoors.  Walk slowly, with intention with focus, paying attention to my footfalls and my stride.  

This practitioner told me, and I believe him, that I'm going to have to learn how to walk again before I learn how to run.  And that's what it feels like I'm doing in this life, at this time, in these days of slow and slowed down and (kind of) stillness...I'm learning to walk before I run.   

Half-Life

I love the idea of half-life.  Partly because math isn't my strong suit, and so the idea that something is half diminished, but not really half gone is intriguing and a bit mysterious.  The reality that half-life time isn't half of the life of something, because right around the corner there will be another half-life, then another, and another -- well, as I said, I'm not a mathematician nor a physicist nor a chemist, so don't rain on my parade if my notion is slightly (or a lot) off -- but half-life seems hopeful.  Like what's on the other side of half-life can be whole-life.  Times infinity.

Except in my house, because if you said that in my house, you'd hear a common refrain:  "Infinity's not a number!  It's a concept." 

So I can't have my half-life turn into whole-life times infinity, but I think as I sit perched on what feels like my half-life, what lies before me feels and looks like whole-life.  If not whole-life plus one.

A friend asked me what I was going to do for my birthday.  I said write a blog post.  She said, "No, I mean, what fun thing are you going to do?"  And such is life.  Whole-life.

I had another friend ask me how I felt about turning 40.  I told him plainly, "It's a timestamp moment.  One of those times in life when you take a look around and appraise the situation.  What have I done and accomplished?  What did I set out to do and accomplish?  Have I become the person I was thinking I'd become?  What more do I have to do?  What more do I want to be?"

He asked about my four kids, where they fit in to what I wanted to do and be.  And I've had to put that in my pipe, so to speak, and think on that.  It's a tricky question.  For me.  

Taking stock is something I do daily.  I've been trained in it over the last many years.  I've had masters show me the way of self-less and thorough inventorying of character assets and character liabilities.  I've been required -- for happy living -- to take note of what's gone well and what went bust in my days.  I've had to -- as I've mentioned before -- course correct, sometimes like fine-tuning, sometimes like changing trains mid-trip -- a full rearrangement of self.

Here's what I see on a look back:  I haven't traveled as much as I thought I would, should or wanted to. I always imagined I'd end up traveling for a living, and that hasn't happened.  In fact, I haven't ever been to Canada or fully into Mexico or even Hawaii for that matter.  I've only been to Europe twice and those were brief stays.  Visited East Africa for a while, which is probably, to date, one of my life's best traveling highlights.  However, the countless road trips I've taken with my boys...well, those are priceless.  I am a SUCKER for a road trip, especially one with good company, oddities, and country roads.  Life with few expectations and the only known is what is unknown.  I can really get into it.  I've loved the parts of the US we've seen together.  I love that we've visited some twice...places we like so much we wanted to go back.  I'm blessed to have quality traveling partners in this life.

Career -- I don't have a retirement account.  I barely have enough quarters for Social Security.  I've given much of me and my life's energy into the growing of a family, not a bank account.  But the growing of that family gave me the best calling....midwife.  And so my job isn't really a job, but a blessing.  And I'm thankful to have found a place where my life falls together.  Going to work, for me, often feels like going to church...and I wouldn't trade that for all the tea in China or a retirement account (but ask me again when I'm of retirement age).

Friends...my life overflows with lifelong and newfound friends.  If there is any aspect of my life that's in deficit, it's because my friend life is in surplus.  Except not really a surplus, because each one plays such a unique and valued role in my days -- each one is vital and just right, right where and how they are.  I feel fortunate to the point of tears for the intense and gratifying exchanges I have with my friends.  And if you're reading this, and you are one, I hope you know the impact you have on my days, my heart, and my psyche.  One of my life's greatest gifts...good friends.

I've been blessed with good health and the ability to see and hear amazing natural wonders.  I do not take this for granted.  I'm acutely aware that there are people who will never climb Half Dome or even Bishop's Peak.  I can't pack into my cells enough gratitude for the time I've spent outside in the dirt seeing, smelling, hearing all Nature's Grandeur.  It is really out there that I feel at peace.  Out in the green and blue.

Likely, I haven't really been 'lucky in love' as they say...but even this is a blessing.  It's given me space in my life to love people wholly -- with my whole self.  Not a romantic kind of love, but the giving kind of love.  It's one of the parts of me I like the best -- this ability to see the lovable in people, especially in people who appear unlovable.

Family...I come from a wacky and large one.  But one of the best ones I've encountered.  We circle our wagons when needed and we shove baby birds out of the nest when needed and howl at the moon together around campfires singing loudly and proudly choruses of "Hey, Jude" or "Rocky Raccoon."

I am probably not as good of a mother as I could be.  I don't like board games much -- mostly because I hate the agony of defeat and someone always seems to lose in board games.  I don't like PTA either.  Sorry.  I'm much more a behind the scenes helper mother, so running for some office, coordinating meetings for school, or being a Booster isn't anything I'm going to do.  I have to draw some lines, and that's one or some.  I'm also not going to kill myself with extracurricular activities for kids, either.  Again, sorry.  I'm sure they could've done more chess club or I should've signed them up for hip hop dance class or we could've done more language immersion or self-defense or organized sports or...or...or swim lessons.  I'm sure I could've done more.  And I didn't.  But I won't lose sleep over it.  Much.

But I have loved them madly.  Intently.  With purpose and devotion.  How could I not?  Have you met them?  They are lovable.  And my role as mother is the best place I've found for thorough self-assessment and reflection -- always room to grow.  And so much of who I have become and how I have developed over the course of the (almost) last two decades is because of their presence.  As a friend recently pointed, I may have birthed my boys, but they, in turn, have birthed me as mother.

Which brings us back to my friend's question about my boys and how being their mother fits in my 40 years.  I am sure if they hadn't been -- for whatever reason -- I would have survived and thrived.  But their existence has enriched my life in ways I could never have imagined.  And today, when I see that family photo of the five of us, I have a deep and abiding sense that this -- this here -- this is whole-life.  

"You gotta live for the one that you love, you know.

You gotta love for the life that you live, you know."

Genesis

I started running consistently four years ago.  There was a lot going on in my world four years ago, but of all the things that went on in that time period, the one event that changed me more than any other event or factor was the death of my cousin, Amber Kathleen Cremeens.  I am sure there are many people in my world and just adjacent to it who would say the same thing.  It was re-defining, that moment in time.  It caused an entire shift and recalibration in my focus and my intentions on the planet.  

It was 2009.  

I didn't know really what to do with the confusion, the grief, the unnameable emotions that were circulating inside, so I ran out the door.  Literally.  I opened the door and started running.  Running away from home at first.  Running away from the realities of life.  Running to exhaustion and rearrangement, so I could just be different, feel different, see different than when I started.  

I signed up for my first race that year -- a half marathon.  I remember registering -- late registration, the night before the race -- sobbing.  Poor registration guy probably still has PTSD from dealing with me.  I was pretty convinced I couldn't do it, but desperately needed to try.  I'd never even run 13.1 miles before.  I went straight from sobbing registration to uncontrollable digestive disorder all night long.  Who was I kidding?  There was NO WAY I could run 13.1. 

The next day, though, still with horrible stomach upset and still crying, I started running.  And almost 2.5 hours later, I was done.  And crying.  

Within four weeks, I'd signed up for a full marathon.  But this time, I knew I'd need some help.  So I called for some.  What came to me was this: 

  
It was a little charm of my cousin Amber's that had been worn by a friend of hers in the Boston Marathon and then sent on to me for me to wear in the LA Marathon.  I wore it like a vestment -- it seemed sacred, powerful, energized.  And as I cried -- again (really sobbed, I have to tell the truth) before the start of the marathon, its presence around my neck gave me comfort and strength, like a sacrament.  And it carried me through all 26.2.

But it wasn't mine to keep and I knew that and there were more people who needed it for their running odysseys.  I wore it for a while after that race and one day when I did, a friend (APH, I'm talking to you) approached and told me she owned a machine that made those exact charms.  She was kind enough to come let me make (a few) look-alike(s).  Then I finally felt free to let the original go...I had one or two made in its image.  I would be okay.  

So I sent the original on.  I've seen it in pictures around other people's necks as it has carried them along their running ventures.  I'm so happy to know it lives on.

Cut to 2013.  This year, for my 40th birthday present to myself, I signed up for a 50K.  And again, I knew I'd need some help to carry me through.  So the day before I left for the race, I dismantled a few perfectly good necklaces to make a new necklace for my look-alike charm.  It was great!  The perfect length.  Great materials.  Good clasp in the back.  I wore it from the minute I finished it until....

...well, I'm not quite sure.  All I know is it started the race with me, and it may have finished the race with me, but I have no recollection.  I can't remember taking it off or putting it in my bags.  I can't remember seeing it or feeling it except for once along my way.  

And so me, the penny finding runner...the girl who cries before races and sometimes after...who's lucky enough to find angels on the trails or at the race starts...well, I seem to have lost an angel out there, too, among the beauty of the foothills.  I'm not sure how to feel about it.  I do keep searching.  I don't feel done with that charm yet, but maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe she carried me as far as she could, and the rest is up to me.  Maybe it was time for her to be free.  Maybe it was time for me to let her go.  Or as my friend said, maybe, just maybe, it was an appropriate resting place.  Finally.

Living Lessons

I'm a goal person.  Single-minded when it comes to accomplishing something I set my sights on.  Self-serving and selfish, really.  When I buckled down and decided to finish school and sit for my exam -- well, my kids only saw the back of my head for months as I poured through books, studied online, ran out the door, just one more time, to pull another  marathon 'well woman' clinic day.  I got tired of hearing myself say, "Just one second.  I'm almost done with this question."  I told all my boys we were taking time off sports and extracurriculars -- there wasn't time for their interests and mine.  I remember amid that chaos, when I decided to take a weekend off, one of my boys baked a cake in celebration.  

For what it's worth, my boys seem to have not acquired this trait of mine.  Perhaps it's best they haven't.  I can't imagine a house where everyone (or even more than one) is focused to the point of exclusion and delay.  We'd never eat dinner, I guess.  We'd all be hunched over whatever the object of the day was ignoring each other and perseverating.  
  
And so it is with this in mind that I'm happy to announce the come-full-circle, cross-the-finish-line moment of my latest running odyssey:  The 50K.   

Every run -- training or race -- is chock full of lessons for me.  I think that's why I love being out there...my body is busy enough and my mind is quiet enough that I can see, hear, experience the lesson life lays out before me.  And almost without fail, what my MIND tells me the lesson will be before I start -- well, it hardly ever ends up being the lesson.  My mind does not know all apparently.  It is not a crystal ball.  

So this run, it didn't disappoint.  Lessons were everywhere.  

I think I asked no fewer than five people if they had any interest in running part of the race with me.  I'm NOT that way.  I'm a lone runner.  I don't run with people for a reason:  I like quiet.  So for me to ask was odd.  For me to find NOT ONE PERSON available or willing?  Well, it seemed harsh.  I've always had boys at the end of a race or people I knew in the race or something to keep me tethered.  This race had none of those things.  It was far from home.  I was anonymous.  And alone.  More alone than I was thinking I'd like or could stand.  50K...that's a long time to be by oneself.  Even for me. 

I stayed with a friend the night before the race, and as I was walking out the door that morning I was expressing my fear about being alone with my thoughts all day.  Her response?  "You're going to be running 31 miles.  I'd think your only thought will be, 'Please, don't let me die.'"  I had to laugh.  

And so I left the house, traveled to the race, believing my lesson would be how to endure 50K alone.  How to endure my mind for hours and survive.  How to travel 31 miles, up hills and down, and not quit -- in spite of wanting to.  And doing it all alone.  A lesson in meditation, solitude, aloneness.  

But as luck would have it, or maybe because the Universe is Kinder than I expect, I wasn't alone.  And at times -- hey, lady in the bright orange shorts, I'm talking to you! -- there just wasn't ENOUGH quiet.  

Races can mess with my head.  I've said this before.  And I'll say it again.  It is like a high school reunion or one of those alumni magazines where people parade their accomplishments and greatness.  Running is no different.  I purposely showed up just in time to grab my number, trying to avoid those horrible conversations.  But, alas, I couldn't avoid them altogether.  I heard people all around me -- men and women -- comparing previous race results, listing races they'd run in, speaking casually in pseudo-humility about their challenging training schedules or their rugged racing line-ups.  It's enough to make you want to vomit really.  Trust me.  

But it gives me a priceless opportunity to refine and fine-tune my focus and my mindset.  You see, I'm just there for me.  To be.  To be in the minute.  To put minutes together to make hours.  To put steps together to make miles (or kilometers in this case).  I'm not there for glory or greatness or cash or prizes.  And so these minutes, enduring people's egos and grandiosity, it gives me a moment to re-group.  To remind me to be right-sized and right-minded.  

I have to pare down all the arguments in my head about my lack of...lack of training, lack of experience, lack of endurance.  I have to carve away the weight of your greatness, because I'm only strong enough to carry me, my body, my doubts, my mind across the miles (or kilometers in this case).  I don't have enough nutrition or hydration, strength training, or mental fortitude to carry the onus of your accomplishments along for my day.  

In the first few miles, as all the runners filed through the singletrack, overhearing people's nauseating conversations was unavoidable.  I wished desperately for loud music and earbuds to drown out the lunacy.  I couldn't decide if I should fall back or push harder to get away from all the talking.  And yet, as Universal Kindness Rules, the talkers disappeared.  And what was left behind was just a lone woman.  A lone, quiet woman.  And she wasn't me.  

We introduced ourselves somewhere before the 4-mile mark (or 6.4-kilometer mark in this case).  I asked her up front how long it would take her to complete the race.  Her response?  She had NO IDEA.  She was just out to have a good day, have some quiet time, do some running.

Sole-mate.

I learned a fair bit about her over the miles.  We jockeyed back and forth, sometimes even moving along together.  Other times, one of us ran ahead while the other fell back.  She was casual.  Humble.  Quiet.  We ran along with each other for miles (or kilometers in this case) hardly saying anything.  She was graceful and rugged and common-sensical.  She barreled through water-crossings -- knee-high, frigid water-crossings -- without batting an eyelash.  She hiked up hills with incredible speed.  She jogged along, sipping water, eating salt tablets.  

We separated for good around the 20-something mile mark (yes, or the 32-something kilometer mark in this case).  And while I ran along this thought occurred to me:  The Universe is Kind.  If I'd had my pre-arranged running mates, I'd have missed this angel on the trail.  I had to have the missing to have the finding.  And so it is...and is often...the thing that looks like loss is actually the open space for gain.  The thing that looks like emptiness is really full of living...overflowing life.

Life is good.

And PS...if you are a blogger and you leave an unpublished post on your desktop on Valentine's Day, you might find this from one of the loves of your life:

mom, i love you no matter what. thank you for being my mom.

I say again...Life. Is. Good.  

High Clouds Kill Runner

High Clouds Kill Runner.

I keep imagining this as the headline in the paper when they find my body.  High Clouds Kill Runner.  It's the lesson of this winter so far.  Or one of the lessons anyway.  

I've headed out several times in the last few weeks to run, bundled as much as I can stand -- gloves, beanie, tights, two shirts.  I run for freedom, so being bound up in winter-weather-wear -- well, it's anathema.  

I go out the door and start on my way as the sun is coming up.  The skies are clear.  The morning is coming alive.  It seems full of possibilities.  And then.  High.  Clouds.  All hope of warming temperatures...gone.  The idea of sunny rays penetrating those frigid mornings...gone.  The only thing alive is the reality of miles ahead in the dimmed light of a muted morning.  What was once full of promise turns to something that merely exists.  And what was anticipated -- a run in the sunshine of a new day -- becomes something more like work -- logging miles because miles need to be logged.  I'm sure I'll freeze to death.  Hypothermia.    

So what keeps returning to me is this:  High Clouds Kill Runner.  The haziness of life.  The in-between.  The undefined.  The lack of direction.  The failure to set a sight.  The haphazard wandering.  The absence of a plan.  The point where clear-sightedness succumbs to the high clouds.  Vision suffers.  Energies are spent.  Movement without going anywhere.  Life loses purpose.  Temperatures drop.  The body takes the brunt of the reality, but the spirit and mind are not far behind.  

And then a friend sends this article about searching for happiness versus searching for meaning, and I'm reminded of the value of purpose in one's life.  And I'm again remembering the hazard of high clouds, hazy vision, lack of clear-sightedness.  

I remember reading one of the books referenced in the article -- Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning -- a few years back.  The book was a product of his time as an inmate in a concentration camp in World War II.  It's serious business about the nuts and bolts of humanness -- what allows us to survive, persevere, make it through impossible conditions, difficulties, unimaginable horrors.  

I read it  at a time in my life when I was in the midst of the redefinition of self.  It feels lonely in those times when all the usual landscape has lost its markers.  When your life has high clouds.  It seems as if the great expanse of unknown will surely drop you into the abyss.  You'll never be found (by yourself or anyone else) again.  You'll lose you.  

And I remember a passage from the book...Mr. Frankl recounts a cold, dark nighttime journey.  While he marches through the darkness, he remembers his wife.  And as the sun comes up, and darkness turns to light, and hazy vision gives way to clear-sightedness,  he finds purpose and joy and contentment even amidst those most horrible of conditions.  He writes, "Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love."  And it isn't the romantic kind of love.  It's the giving kind of love.  And if he can find it there, in that minute, in those conditions...I can certainly find it here in my high clouds.

And so I'm reminded that even my days of nearsightedness or farsightedness or no-sightedness will give way...I bet to an Orange Sky.