The Day After, The Day Of

Yesterday I was headed out of town and stopped at the middle school to get one of my sons.  As I was walking to the office, my phone rang.  I stepped off the paved path to take the call.  As I was looking down into the bark chips, I noticed this:

Since I wasn't going home, I put it in a safe little spot in my car, went on about my day, and didn't think of it again.


When I got home late last night, I cleaned out my car, threw some stuff in the trash, threw our spent sunflower seeds in the planter bed.  Didn't think anything of it.  Then all the sudden, I felt sick.  I scrambled back and looked for my found penny, but it wasn't there.  I fumbled for my phone, found my flashlight app, looked in the car.  Nothing.  Looked on the path to the trash.  Nothing.  Looked through the planter bed.  Nothing.


I got up this morning kinda feeling sick.  I have a tradition with my found money.  I keep them all together.  Some of them are so recognizable, they're like old friends.  I can tell you where I was when I found them.  Some of them are so unrecognizable that you have to trust they're actually even money at all.


I went out and retraced my steps in the daytime.  I looked in the car.  Very. Closely.  I retraced my steps to the trash and peered in.  Not very closely.  Ick.  I went over to the planter bed and poked through all the bark chips.  It looked a lot like the picture above, except without the penny.


Now I'm not superstitious, per se.  But I do value tradition.  And I do like to keep tabs on special items.  I was a little sad.  I'll be honest.  My found pennies are worth so much more than one cent to me.  They're priceless.  I'm not fanatical about them.  I understand they are THINGS.


So I turned to get in the car and I rolled the events around in my head.  


Perhaps I'm not supposed to keep the found money?  Turn the car on and put it in reverse.  Perhaps I'm supposed to be giving it away to people who need it?  Put the car in drive and head down the street.  Or perhaps I should be chucking it out my window as I drive so other people can find it?  Head out of my neighborhood.  Perhaps there's a reason why my latest found penny is found no more?  Drive out into the wide world to my littlest one's elementary school.  Perhaps I should just be open to the idea that everything is in perfect order, that all is as it should be, that there hasn't been a mistake here.  Park at the school, get out, walk across the street, and look down.

And Then...

So two weeks ago, I ran a little race.  It's the only race I run for time and placement.  I run to get in the top three for my age group 'cause I want the prize.  The prize is to die for, in my opinion.  Cash?  No.  Fame?  No.  Coffee cup?  Indeed.  Handmade, gorgeous, travel mug.  You'd run fast, too, if you thought you could put your grubby hands on one.  Isn't she a beauty?  

I want to start a collection.  Top three for my age category...I can do it.    

It was a week full of rain.  And a cold front.  But did that stop me?  No, it did not.  I got to the race at 6:30 AM, froze my ass off, pretended to "warm" up like all the real runners were -- small, tenuous stretches, railing against a body that wanted to be cuddled up and warm in the hotel room.  The moments before a race are laid with snares, pitfalls for someone like me.  I will never measure up to the real runner.  

The race gets underway and the conditions are less than friendly.  It's cold, windy, cloudy, muddy.  Much of the course is off road in slippery, gritty mud.  I could feel my hips working extra hard to keep me from sliding.  I shortened my strides and slowed my pace.  I felt the bits of cold, hard mud fling on to my legs and back, saw splatters on my glasses.  All was going fairly well into the last mile, when I tired out.  Really tired out.  

***Insert a completely random aside:  The one song that seems to fit this race the most is this.

I'm not sure why, but I love to sing it loud and proud along my way.  I think because I'm working something out -- something about the value of words versus the words of value.  Exit completely random aside.***

The finish to this race is half a lap around a track.  As we entered the arena, a woman came up alongside me.  I looked quickly.  But I could not tell her age.  She wasn't young.  She wasn't old.  Was she my age?  I watched her pull ahead of me and I let her go on.  I was done.  And then, I heard my very own self say to me, "If you don't try, if you let her cross the finish line ahead of you, and she's third place, you will hate yourself later.  You have to try.  Just try."  So I kicked it into high gear, not sure I had much more left in me.  Pulled past her.  Crossed the finish line exactly one second ahead of her.  I was third place.  I did it.  

She told me when we crossed that all that mattered to her was that she had "negative splits."  I don't even know what those are.  I'm sure I could look it up, but why would I?  I don't run with a watch or any form of timekeeping.  I'm not out there for that.  I don't think.  

So I hung around the race, although there were other places I needed to be.  I stayed and waited for them to hand out the prizes.  Freezing.  In the cold windiness.  It was frigid.  I was elated.  Life was good.  

Until it wasn't.  You see, this year, they decided to NOT hand out prizes to the top three finishers...only first place.  Second and third place finishers were treated to some made-in-China crap medal.  Mine with a sticker on the back that read, "Third Place."  I was shocked.  Speechless.  I ran my ass off, placed, and walked away with it freaking medal.  WTH?

I won't even get into the fact that the run is for charity and a religious organization.  My dismay stretched far that morning.  I cursed everyone from the ground up.  I can shock myself with my reactions...the thoughts that cross my mind. 

I brought that medal home.  It felt like it weighed a ton.  It was weighty and inert.  It just sat there.  No function.  It was NOT my prized prize.  It was a medal with a sticker stuck on that read, "Third Place."  My mind could not compute.  

I walked in the door and hung it in the kitchen.  That's where I spend the bulk of my home time -- in the kitchen -- in some form of food procuring, creating, or cleaning up after.  The kitchen is the center of my home life.  I had something to work out with this medal, so she joined me in my kitchen.  I wasn't sure what I was working out.  But she and I were going to do some serious talking.  And we did.  Mostly me.  I cursed her all week.  And she took it.  Like the lifeless blob of nothingness that she was.  She just sat there all week long and took my stares, my snide comments, my lack of respect.  She was like a doormat, a wet noodle, a peeled zero.  She was so not a coffee cup.  

One evening, one of my boys, picked her up and held her in his hands.  He remarked about how proud he was of me for placing.  He asked about the emblem on the front.  "Why is Texas on here?  I don't get it."  "It's not Texas," I explained.  "It's a dove and a cross.  It just looks like Texas."  For my Texas-sized anger, I thought to myself.  My sweet boy replaced that medal, Texas side out -- no more "Third Place" staring at me.

The very next morning I came out and I doled out my morning glare in her direction, and I was shocked at what I saw. She must have been telling me all week.  But I was too busy talking to listen.  She was just laid open there, defenseless, with her true message.  

Run for Relief, the medal read.  On the Texas side, that is.  Run for Relief.  Oh. My. God.  Run for Relief.  

Of course.  I had it all wrong.  I don't run for prizes.  I run for relief.  I run to run.  For the time spent doing it, not the whittling away of seconds off my time.  I run for relief, to work out life's troubles, to mend the broken places in me.  I run because I run, not because of negative splits or the competitive spirit or the outcome.  I run for the journey.  The miles of roadway and trails.  The scenery.  The quiet.  The measured pace of my breathing.  The using of my able body.  The aloneness of it.  The peace.  The dove.  The faith.  

I run for relief.  The run IS my prize.  I get it.  I. So. Very. Much. Get. It.  

The Post You Can Skip Reading

I have a confession...I had to quit writing.  I have a writing policy -- I can't start another until I finish the one I'm working on.  So although many things have happened that I wanted to write about, felt called to share, I had to skip them because I had this undone post in my Drafts Folder.  If not for the counsel of my friend, L, this would still be in my Drafts Folder.   


I quit writing this post because it was about death.  And then someone died.  It seemed callous at that point to post my latest, so I waited.  But then another person died, and it seemed, again, that it was inappropriate to post it.  


But then life stepped in...read on.  I'll explain more in a minute.  


Know this was originally started on April 7, 2012 -- weeks ago.


I am a true believer in what I used to call coincidence.  My cousin AF told me it's actually called synchronicity.  I've read it described as "The uncanny coincidence.  The unlikely conjunction of events.  The startling serendipity."  I'm open to it, and it seems to happen regularly in my life.  It makes me feel alive and lively in my days.  It makes me feel like an active participant in the wider world. 

So each morning I spend some time reading.  One book I like to read is a book I've had for years, although I've loaned it out more than a few times, meaning I've been without it for months at a time.  But it came back to me just yesterday.  And this morning, I opened it up randomly and this is what I read:  

Tao te Ching, Verse 48

In the pursuit of knowledge,

every day something added.

In the practice of the Tao, 

every day something is dropped.

Less and less do you need to force things, 

until finally you arrive at non-action.

When nothing is done, 

nothing is left undone. 

True mastery can be gained 

by letting things go their own way.

It can't be gained by interfering.  

-- Lao Tzu

For Christmas I got another book I'm really enjoying reading.  Today's contribution was this:

The whole world could praise Sung Jung-Tzu and it wouldn't make him exert himself.  

The whole world could condemn him and it wouldn't make him mope.  

He drew a clear line between the internal and the external. 

-- Chuang Tzu

For my birthday, another friend gave me a really amazing book.  I'm loving it.  Here's today's reflection:

That life and death could be aspects of each other seems unbelievable to most people.  

Will this ever change? 

I doubt it. 

-- Chuang Tzu

And perhaps you ask yourself what does this have to do with synchronicity or even with each other?  And this is what I'd have to say...

Last weekend, I was with three of my sons working on a project at the elementary school.  We were working with another family.  I heard my 11-year old chatting with his friend. "I've known four people to die already in my life."  His friend audibly ooohhhed.  Then my boy went on to tick off each person on his fingers by name and cause of death.  "You forgot one," I said.  "What about XX?"  "Oh, yeah," my son excitedly replied.  "I forgot about XX.  I've known FIVE people to die already."

I'm sure this kind of conversation is age-appropriate and even socially acceptable for 11-year olds.  It's remarkable when people you actually know quit existing.  It's totally understandable to be awed by death, I would think.  There are aspects of this world that we take for granted until we learn otherwise, until we learn the transient nature of our very lives.  Until we learn how haphazard breathing in and out can actually be.   

Several weeks back I visited my mom's house.  I just needed some time away, but as an added bonus, there was a big get together of family friends -- my brother's friends -- people I'd grown up wanting to emulate, the heroes and rockstars of my youth.  I hadn't seen most of them in a decade?  Two?  Honestly, I'm not sure.  It's been years.  It's a beautiful group of friends -- men and women who have stayed close and in touch through marriages, divorces, children, illness.  And death.  

Of the friends, each seems to have suffered a senseless family loss.  Shooting, illness, suicide, car accident.  It's a common thread in their shared experiences, a tether that holds them together in their distinct life trajectories.  

And it got me thinking.  I would have a hard time counting the people I have known who have died.  There have been so many.  Death has been alive and well in my life.  Tragic deaths -- babies, children, teenagers, young adults, middle age, elderly.  


So cut right here...stop just for a second.


First, I no longer own the book I got for Christmas.  Just like that it whispered to me that it  needed to be free, so I gave it to a person who looked to be its true owner.  Gone. 


Second, there are now two more people to add to my list...so my countless list is even more countless.


Third, synchronicity prevailed.  In my devout refusal to post this post, I got a typing job.  A eulogy.  Of all things.  And here we are.  I'm now completely brushed up on The Book of Common Prayer.  It was the perfect antidote to paralysis and indecision.  


So let's continue.


Death happens.  That's why there's a portion of The Book of Common Prayer dedicated to death and dying and the rites of the dead.  And it's not just to the body that death happens.  I see elements of dead spirits in my every day life.  I see dead and dying relationships littering the ground around me.  I see dead ideas, old notions, outdated thinking lining the path that's brought me to this place.  


I remember one time a hospice worker telling me that the will to live is the strongest will there is.  So much of the pain of death and dying isn't of the body at all, but of our spirits -- that intense desire to hang on, to keep alive that which is familiar, no matter its condition.  So much of our pain comes from not letting go.  A lack of surrender.  


And so what I gathered this day, weeks ago, from these readings was this...life and death are intricately related.  We can't have one without the other.  And although death and life happens to us, it is not us.  We are more than the act of living or dying.  And if I am in tune with the everydayness of my life, I will see the process of birth and life and death in each of my minutes.  Life is hallmarked by an untold number of beginnings and endings.  So many, that we've all lost count.  


I had someone, in the not too distant past, tell me that I seemed "ho hum" about death and dying.  I was somewhat shocked.  I believe the opposite is true about me.  It's in my understanding of the mundane nature of dying that I'm strong.  It's in my realization of death's inevitability that I gain space to experience living.  It's in the recognition of the process that I witness the limitless beings of those around me.  


And so as I go forth from this post (the post I'd rather not post) I'm comforted by the sure knowledge and certainty of the cycle of life for living bodies as well as for living relationships.  As I witness the falling away of people and relationships, I'm gaining in hope, as I know the most fertile ground is that which houses decaying matter.  And so I think, at least today, that my life is primed for growing a garden of new life.  

Really Ideal vs. Ideally Real

I am an anthropologist by training.  Among other things.  I'm fascinated by people -- individuals and groups -- what they do, how, and why.  There were incredibly helpful lessons I learned when I learned to study people.  One I'm thinking of today is the difference between real and ideal.  We, as humans, are so hellbent -- for no good reason -- on projecting our ideals, when the reals just seem to sneak up on us and bite us.  You know what I'm talking about...really, you do.  But if you're struggling, I'll give you an example:  Taxes.  I tell myself every year that I'm doing them early.  Every year, I believe it.  And every year (it's the very end of March now and I haven't started them), I'm surprised -- sincerely surprised -- when I find them undone come mid-April.  That's the difference between my real and ideal.  


Perhaps, procrastination isn't your issue.  Maybe ideally, you believe you exercise five times a week -- as recommended -- but in actuality it's once, maybe twice.  Maybe you classify yourself as honest, but you fail to clock out for lunch every once in a while, essentially stealing some money from your boss on occasion.  I'm not even going to get into the deception we employ with ourselves in relationships at this point.  Just know that relationships are prime breeding ground for the divide between what we believe about ourselves and how we really behave.  We have a difficult time telling the truth about ourselves, assessing ourselves accurately.   


So here's the post I want to write, my ideal:


A few days ago I went for a run.  I ran one of my usual loops, but ran it backwards.  It includes a tiny bit of trail running up a hill that I know and love.  The rain and warm weather have been kind to my area and the wild grasses are as tall as I am.  I love running through the grass, not really being able to see where my feet will land, feeling the wisps of feathery edges as they pass my face and legs.  


But I ran it backwards.  I couldn't quite find where the trail started.  It seemed to start and then stop.  I slowed my pace.  Doubled back.  Tried again.  Found some more trail.  Dead end.  Doubled back.  It seemed like I needed to be over a few yards, like I could see the outline of a trail on the horizon of tall grass, so I headed that way.  Only when I got there, that wasn't the trail either.  So I abandoned my efforts at finding a trail altogether and just blazed straight up the hill.  Through the thistles.  Ouch.  But I wouldn't stop.  Burrs in my shoes.  Scratches on my legs.  And I kept running.  To the top, to one of my favorite views.  It was soggy out and by the time I reached the summit, my shoes were heavy, my shorts were soaked and my legs were sufficiently poked and prickled with red marks.


It was a great run.  Exactly what I needed.  

So yesterday, I ran the loop again, but the usual way this time.  And as I ran, I wrote in my head.  I analyzed my previous run.  I marveled at how by merely reversing my usual course -- running the exact same route I always do, but backwards -- I could completely lose the trail, lose my way.  And I realized how vital perspective is to any situation.  Shift it 180 degrees and the entire terrain becomes foreign even though it's the same exact terrain as every other day.


How often conflict between two people takes this form -- same event or time or space, two perspectives, decidedly different -- opposing -- and boom, conflict.  


Thinking about the trail, the value of shifting perspectives, the challenges of re-viewing a situation from another angle, another's sight, another vantage point...well, in the moment it was profound.  The bumps and bruises I received while on that previous run seemed like the cost of being willing to try something new, accept a different way, forge a new path in a familiar landscape.  Those bodily scars seem a small price to pay for being alive and responsive and stepping outside the norm.    


And here's what I need to write, the real:


And so I traveled along yesterday, enjoying my way, the usual loop...the miles I've tread so often.  Up the hills, down the hills, up more hills, to my familiar trail, to my view of forever -- the place where I can see the intersection of my past and future.  And. I. Got. Lost.  


The grass had grown more.  The paths -- even when I knew they were just there -- weren't there.  I couldn't even see over the spot where I stood to see where I should be.  And the thistles.  Again.  And the pokes and the prickles and the scratches.  Ouch.  


And most ouchy, the loss of my theory.  Because it's not just when I'm trying something new, seeing something from a different perspective, venturing outside the norm -- it's not just then that life is challenging.  I can lose my way even when I'm on certain ground.  Bodily scars can happen even when I'm walking down the path I've walked down countless times before.  


Let me repeat, bodily scars can happen even when I'm walking down the path I've walked down countless times before.  


There are no guarantees.  The usual landscape of my life can become unrecognizable in a minute.  I can shift.  I can change.  I can see differently.  People can leave.  People can stay.  Nothing can be different and nothing can be the same.  I can be lost in a sea of familiarity.


How true this has been in my life of late.  I have the scars to prove it.  How frightened and fragile it can make me feel in my humanness.


And as I continued on my path back home, I noticed as the divide between my ideal and my real grew wider and wider.  Until it disappeared.  

Humility

I've run merely twice in the last two weeks.  It's a different kind of endurance, not running.  I believe that I can endure anything -- hold my breath however long it takes to get to the other side of the pool.  But when the however long it takes is indefinite, I flounder.  


Then I come up with the stuff that makes me me.  


In January, after a rather stunning (as in surprised) blow, a life rearrangement of sorts, I realized I needed a spot on the horizon to shoot for.  I've learned in this life that it's not enough to run from what I don't want in my days; this girl needs to be running towards something.  So I signed up for a race.  As I've said before, I'm not fast.  I'm not graceful.  I don't ever win.  I've only placed once in the top three for my age group.  Winning, improving my time, fine-tuning my form isn't the point of a race for me.  It's the training.  I sign up for the training.  I need to commit to using my time, the time that I do have, in a way that's life-giving and creative.  I know too much about me and what I can to do with spare, unstructured time.  It's better that I aim for something.  It's kindest to society that way.  


So I recommitted to training.  I bought new shoes.  The pain in my ass from running on old shoes went away immediately.  I started eating better.  I drank more water.  I tried to sleep, but I suck at sleeping.  


And then life happened.  


Pretty early on in my training, I noticed an overuse injury on the horizon.  I had to alter my running schedule to accommodate it.  


Then all sorts of mamas decided to have babies, and 'on call' being what it is meant days and times were limited of when I could run.  


And then finally, you see, before I signed up for the race, I signed up for raising kids.  And I've had to put a lot of attention and energy into that bunch of kiddos lately.  For several weeks on end, one was very, very sick.  It was an all day and all night job just attending to him and getting by with the others.  


Work has suffered.  My 'quality me time' has suffered.  And my training has suffered.  And so here we are....I'm four weeks and some days out from this race, and I'm completely unprepared.  And I know there's only one thing to do, and it's the thing I'd least like to do.  I have to bow out -- at least of the full.  Maybe the half is in my future.  I do not  know.  But I know I don't have 26.2 miles in these legs at this point.  


And just to drive home that point, after weeks of caring for another, I too got sick.  And although I'm better every day, I know my oxygen exchange isn't optimal, and I know too much training will wreak havoc on my body.  


So HUMILITY has come calling on my door.  I tried not to answer.  I kept ignoring the knock.  And now, not only have I answered, but I'm hopeful, I've invited her to dinner and made her bed up for her to stay a while.  


Humility -- that grace that allows us to see who and what we actually are and then the grace, courage, and fortitude to claim that, be that, live that, and strive to be all that we can be -- well, it's not for sissies.  That's for sure.    


There's nothing I like less than acknowledging my humanness, my limitations, my realities.  I spend a great deal of life energy trying to overcome them, rearrange them to use to my advantage, or ignore them completely.  But in the end, they always win.  My humanness always wins.  


I think as I grow, I will begin to understand the value of claiming my limits sooner rather than later.  But today, as I sit here, what I know about me that I am a believer that if you sign up for something you complete it.  I am a believer in stick-to-it-iveness.  I am captive of that German heritage that marches on to the end, cost what it may.  


And then I'm not.  


Because in the same breath, I fashion my life anew.  Or maybe my life is renewed.  And it's a life that looks little like what I thought it might.  And it's a life I wouldn't trade for anything.  


As an aside, I found five pennies yesterday in five different locations, at five different times.  That's a record for this girl.  I'm not sure what the Universe was trying to convey to me -- and even if I had an inkling, I think it would be too personal to mention here.  But my penny finds felt hopeful and reassuring and surprising and delightful.  And I'm all for feeling like that.  

It's O Week

It's O week in Kindergarten.  This creates trouble.  Because when your assignment is "come up with a word that starts with O," and your own rule requires you to not use a word that your classmates have already shared....well, you can see where we're going.  


So we burned through oval, ovoid, ocelot, orangutan, orange, octagon, oak, oatmeal....on and on and on and on. 


We settled on ostrich.  


This was a compromise, as someone, he was certain, had already shared about the lovable ostrich.  He made a concession and we proceeded.  Picture drawn.  Word guess-spelled out on the paper.  Done. 


Except he's six.  So he's rarely done with anything when I think he ought to be.  


As I'm clearing breakfast dishes away this morning, he says, "What if the ostrich wants to fly?  I know they can't, but what if one day one wants to fly anyway?"


I hate to admit it, but I've installed a certain filter on my ears.  I might hear all of what my kids say, buy I listen to only a portion.  It's some sort of mom-filter for self-preservation, I'm sure.  If I had to take in all they said, every one of them, every day, I'd surely perish.  Or my head would explode.  Ears can't absorb that much sound and brains can't process all that information, most of it -- in a house of boys -- having to do with bodily functions and superheroes.


So I'm guilty, as charged.  Only some of what they say summons my senses.


This was one.  


PAY ATTENTION.  INCOMING.  WAKE UP.  ALERT. 


What if you want to fly when everything says you can't?  What if your body's not designed for it?  What if your social circle devoutly believes in its inability to fly, no questions asked?  They devoutly believe and want you to pray at that altar, too?  What then?


Wait for a friend.  One that has the know-how.  They always appear.  They'll lead the way.    


We've been sick, really sick, in this house.  It's been endless.  That's for another post, one on endurance.


But last week there was a pleasant surprise in the midst of all that illness.  A mysterious envelope in the mail.  Its contents mysterious as well.  It looked like this:

Puzzling.  Pleasantly.  A puzzle letter...picture on one side, letter on the other. 

Put it together and you get this. 

Which can only mean one thing.  It's from my friend, Missy.  Last year, out of the middle of nowhere, Missy invited me along for a 'small' hike.  In gallant fashion, we two single moms left our gaggle of boys behind, packed our gear, and headed out one afternoon.  We got to the park in the early evening, crashed a campsite for a few hours (yes, I found a penny on my way to the bathroom in the pitch black of night), started out before dawn on the hike of a lifetime.  One day, out and back.... 

...to climb this behemoth.  It was a bold venture.  

And yet, by midday, here we were...that's really us.  Out there on the diving board.  Those little specks.

The lessons of the day were many for me.  So much of my life is about endurance in the face of challenge and overcoming my beliefs about limitations in order to access the Universe's limitless bounty.  Through the miles and miles of hiking, the altitude gain, the physical fatigue I was blessed to move past those ideas of what I thought I could do, achieve, and be and catch a glimpse of what was really available to me.  

I'm at one of those places again these days where I'm standing on the precipice.  I know I'm on the path to that certain kind of freedom that comes from surrender and letting go.  That freedom that comes from uncovering and honoring my inner truths.  That freedom that comes from actively practicing faith.  I know the freedom I'm looking for is the one found by boldly jumping off into the abyss.  

And so, in answer to my sweet six-year-old's question this morning...if you want to fly and you can't...

...you skydive. 

Change

Blogger changed its format.  I rebelled.  Quit writing.  It seemed/seems stark and unfamiliar.  Unfortunately for me, even when my normal is outdated and no longer functional, I still tend to stick with it.  I'm a creature of habit and the known.  Change is daunting.  New is not my thing....except when it is.


There is another kind of change, though, that I do welcome wholeheartedly.  It's this kind...

You see, I find money.  I find money frequently.  And I have for a long time now.  I'm not sure why...perhaps it's because I'm looking?  Perhaps it's because there are a few people who know I find money, and maybe they run around in front of me all the time emptying the change from their pockets?  Perhaps it's because there are souls in the great beyond that don't want me to forget them and they sprinkle my way with Abraham Lincolns as their personal galactic calling card?

I'm really not sure.  I am sure, however, that I'm reluctant to talk about this fact of my life.  I'm afraid if I call attention to it, it will stop happening.  But I believe, today, that kind of thinking is outdated.  There is no reason to believe that pennies will quit throwing themselves into the path of my oncoming feet.  They've been there for so long now.  Why would they just quit showing up?

I love the money I find...this was my latest.

One of my friends said, "This doesn't make cents."

Sometimes they try to blend into their surroundings.  This one above was almost missed.  I had just walked this way not ten minutes before, then on the way back down the street, there it was.


I have found money on my way into big girl business ventures, just outside the doorway of my future.   I even found a penny in the middle of the LA Marathon.  I have found money right outside my car door on way more than one occasion.  


I find money in the weirdest places...out in the middle of my country road runs.  And even on trails....

This one above I found in the middle of a five-mile hike...just right there in the middle of the trail.  I'm sure it's possible, but oftentimes it seems not plausible.  I once found four pennies in four different locations on a four-mile run.  I never know where I'm going when I start out on a run, so I'm always surprised when I find money...it's not like I plan my runs for high-pedestrian traffic ways, and therefore high likelihood of finding loose change.  I'm usually running in the middle of nowhere....

Like this one above.  I found it just three weeks ago.  For the first time in years, I visited my hometown.  I needed me some mama time.  While there, I decided to sneak out for a run.  I hadn't been much of a runner when I lived in that town.  I don't have designated routes, and even if I had, the whole place has grown and changed so much, that they'd likely be covered over with Wal-Marts by now.  

My hometown is set up on a grid system, so it's fairly easy to keep track of where you are.  Except when it's not.  To be honest, I kind of got lost out there.  Some streets didn't go through.  Some roads seemed a little wicked to be on alone.  So there I was, out in the middle of the desert.  I'd forgotten how windy it could be out there.  Wind from every direction.  Wind so loud I could not hear the music blasting from my earbuds.  Wind so strong I could tell my legs were moving, but I didn't feel like I was making any progress.  

Then I stumbled upon the penny above.  Just out there by itself.  Minding its own business.  Not a building, not a car, not a sidewalk in sight.  Out in the middle of stinking nowhere.  

When that happens, it feels like the Universe is spurring me on.  It feels like I'm being assured that I'm on the right path, that I took the right route.  It feels like I'm getting a pep talk, like there's someone there saying, "I know you feel like you can't go on, but you can."  Or maybe, "I know you're tired, but keep moving this way."  Or maybe even, "Surprise!  I'm still looking out for you even though you think I've forgotten you."

I have this ritual that I practice every time I find money.  I say a prayer of thanks.  I thank the Universe for all the unexpected treasures in my life, for abundance, for the element of surprise and for reminding me that my greatest gifts come in really small packages.  It's my reminder to be grateful.  It's my reminder of mystery.  It's my reminder that the miracles of this life keep on appearing...

...over and over again.  If I'm willing to see them.  

***EDIT***

So this very morning (March 11), the next day after posting this entry, I went out my door in the misty rain for a little run.  A mere half a mile into my run....just there, in the middle of the road I found this. 

Haha!  


Signed, 
Happy Me