It is, in fact, three full days until I get to board a plane and I am probably more unbearable than ever. I’m certainly not going to sneak this trip in on anyone. I’m not really talking about the trip itself so much as with every little task or challenge that comes along, I’ve already got that smug attitude that says sure, drag this out for a few days, I DON’T CARE BECAUSE I AM OUT OF HERE, SUCKERS.  Not a thing annoying about that, right?

I wouldn’t go so far as to say I deserve this trip, because who the hell deserves a trip to the Caribbean?  People who’ve fought in wars? Yes. People who’ve battled cancer? Yes. People who are going through hard but normal life transitions and can hardly spout off a sentence without complaining about it? Um, no. Not so much.

But I will go so far as to say I’ve earned it. That much I can stand behind, because, well, travel is expensive but I haven’t bought a purse or a pair of shoes (minus running shoes) that cost over $40 in years, so there’s a balance to it. Or at least in my mind. At the end of the day, when we work hard, it is a privilege to know we can afford to have some comfortable things around us.  Things we like, love even, no matter what they are.  For some people, that comes in the form of a bag or a shoe.  For me, that comes in the form of an entire sea as warm as bathwater and a little rock in the middle.

I get asked often why I keep going back. Why I’d want to go to the same place, over and over again. I can’t explain it. If I could, I’d drag everyone who asked with me and show you. I’d pull you out onto the beach, rip off your shoes and make you stand in the hot sand and stare out into the impossibly turquoise water. I’d force you outside at night to listen to the chorus of the breeze and the crickets and tree frogs. I’d walk you around all day to meet people, and get to know them. I’d drive you to the top of the most insane hill and gasp at the view right along with you.  And even then, you may not understand. But I do.

There’s a little place there for me, where I can go and stand and feel as if I’m at the absolute end of the earth. And in that spot every trouble I have disappears, every dream I have floats around me on the breeze. Every breath there reminds me of how small yet instrumental I am amongst all the pieces of this world, and to never take that for granted.

JVD, 2008

And so I go.  Again and again, I go.

Last weekend some friends and I went out to dinner to celebrate a birthday at The Black Bear in Green Mountain Falls, Colorado. I am, by no stretch, any kind of foodie so forgive me if I have to skip the formal review.  The menu is basically chef’s choice and after the waitstaff records any dislikes, allergies, etc. from your table, you are left with your wine and the anticipation of what may be coming next. I am sure there is a real, culinary-type name for this style of dining. I do not know what that might be. It was truly a unique experience for me as my adventures in dining often don’t reach beyond the hot bar at Whole Foods.  I know, I need to be better, more adventurous, but without encouragement to try new things, I really don’t think about it.

When my friend told me about this restaurant, I was immediately intrigued.  While I’ve had enough multiple course meals in my life to at least know which utensil to use, I’d never quite experienced a meal in this way.  I was intrigued, but also a little intimidated. It all seemed very grown-up, and who’d have thought that at almost thirty I would still view a lot of things from the mindset of someone who is not only still sitting at the kids’ table, but is actually quite comfortable there, thank you. I can’t help but feel I’m on the outside looking in.

From the moment we took our seats, though, I was refreshed. We talked at our table about everything from siblings to work ethic to sports and beyond. It wasn’t even my birthday, but I had to keep from getting too excited at how wonderful the evening was going. I couldn’t help but compare the difference of friends getting together over food and wine now to what life seems to have been just a couple of years ago. Imagine, you can have a glass of wine with each course (six) and still keep the conversation to a dull roar. I guess it’s hard to explain, because it makes it sound like every experience of mine leading up to now involved a keg and pizza delivery, but something in the evening and the enjoyment that came from it triggered a feeling in me.

Although beer and pizza still sounds like a great time, that night out helped me realize how remarkable an experience it really is to get older. To learn, to grow wiser, and to do that with good people around you. It’s good to grow into a place where you can wake up with good memories instead of exhaustion, and that’s okay. Knowing you don’t have to choose between one or the other, but rather you can appreciate both is probably the best part of all.

And next week, when I’m regressing back again for the sake of being carefree and relaxation, please feel free to remind me I’m a grown-up.

Early last week my sister, brother-in-law and nephew all left for California in my car with graduations, parties, and family visiting ahead of them. The car situation, not part of the plan but an obstacle easily overcome, has left me as a driver of a pickup truck for two weeks. That’s not really the interesting part (which I’m sure you’re glad to know) but it is strange how these little occurrences in life that force us to think quickly and adapt actually become the things that prove to us our resilience, albeit only minor in this situation.

It’s reminded me how often I tend to find a way. Making something okay, that is my goal. Knowing it all will work out is a nice idea, but for me that’s usually only reinforced by the fact that I make it work out.  And isn’t that what we’d all like to count on? To know we’re resourceful and flexible enough to make it work.  More importantly, that we do it in a way wherein we don’t have to worry about it.

Worry is, perhaps, one of my only real struggles. It is so broadly flexible in itself that I have to be careful not to let it take over.  Will I ever want to run again? Will I ever find a happier work environment?  Will I ever get around to painting my kitchen? Will I marry? Have children? Get another dog? Lose ten pounds? Go to Europe? Go back to school? Go to the grocery store and actually stick to my list? I could go on. Oh, how we all could go on.

But then something happens, like a foreign car needing a rare and expensive part that can be ordered and delivered in a week to ten days, and I’m driving a truck. I’m taking a different way home, just for the heck of it. I’m driving with the windows down and the radio up. I’m appreciating the simplicity of something different, of being flexible, of realizing that of all the things that do matter, so many things really do not.

A couple weeks ago, I went to Madison, Wisconsin to run a marathon.  I ran in a skirt, with a guy friend of mine, also in a skirt.  It was a little much, even for me.  But that’s not the point.  The point is, I never got around to forcing anyone to look at the photos from Madison.  Which you should.  Because I liked it there.

So dim the lights, sit back, relax, pretend you’re in someone’s basement in the 80’s, and look at my vacation pictures.  And like it. Or something.

I loved the water. I always love water. That is the one thing missing from Colorado.  Well, that and sub-tropic temperatures nine months out of the year. Which is also something missing from Wisconsin, I think.  Darn.

Madison is the capital of Wisconsin.  Did you remember that from your grade school days?  Because I didn’t, and insisted it was Milwaukee.  Right up until I saw the capital building.  Which is when I went back to taking pictures instead of talking.  Stick with what works, that’s what I always say.

They also love red there. Like, um, really love it. Like if I loved anything as much as they love red you’d talk about me behind my back.  I think it’s like some kind of school thing.  Yeah, and probably that it gets so dang cold in the winter that they have to paint everything red just to remember what hot looks like.

Between that and beer, I guess that’s how they survive winter.

Either that, or they just stand next to this guy:

I’ll bet he never gets cold, playin’ that hot, hot Jazz all day long.

Okay, I made that up. And it was a little weird.

Or it’s possible they go here:

Because we are all majorly stunned that Lesley found the only tiki bar in the Northern U.S., right?  Yes, it is shocking.

My friends had to drag me away. Away from the wafting scent of Bahama Mamas, nonetheless.

(And if you’re terribly annoyed by that apostrophe right now, then you and I, my friend, are not that different.)

Instead, I settled for ice cream.   Yeah, who’s on the summer diet bandwagon?  Not me, apparently.

But they were at least honest about it:

I just loved that mid-west charm.

I can definitely see myself going back again.  There are at least 30-40 days out of the year where I’d be able to survive in less than seventeen layers of clothing.

If only the running part were as easy as the tourist part.

A couple days ago I got an email that said something like “WTF, u need 2 tlk about running.”  Apart from the fact that I cannot stand text speak (yes, hello, I am 90), if you knew me even a little bit two days ago, you’d know I was in no mood for freak emails.  No effin’ mood at all. (Apparently still am in no mood.)  And for this website to get rude emails, you know someone had to really go out of their way.  I mean, the ten of us that are not my blood relative that come here generally tend to scare the stupids off.  I think it was the time I threatened to sing.

But because there are so few occasions the odd emails come in, I have to talk about it.  I mean, they can’t all be the “Wow, we are awesome! Let’s be BFF!” emails, which is the exact description of 99% of the emails generated because of this blog. Thanks to everyone who has been concerned and supportive through this time. It means so much to me.

Text Speak is kind of right, though. I need to talk a little more about running. I need to remember why I love it. I think. The problem is, I’ve only run once in the last fourteen days. I have not really wanted to run, and I haven’t really been bothered by it.  I’m sure doing two marathons in four weeks had something to do with it, but it could also be that I’ve been a little stupid myself.  I’ve sort of let my feelings and attitude lately influence the rest of my life, including running. I’ve let that heaviness carry over, spill over even, into everything else.

I think we all have these things about us, the things we use to gauge how we’re doing. And if something is off, we know it’s a bad sign. I saw that sign a while ago, and if it weren’t for races, I might have given up altogether.  Over the last two weeks, between energy and timing, I feel like I’ve let it slip away.

But I’m trying to get it back. I’m trying to get some positive back into what’s otherwise not my brightest hour. I don’t even have to run again, that’s not really the point.  I just have to want to.

Wouldn’t it be ridiculous if rude email was the thing that got me to do it?

A couple of days ago, I woke up thinking “why?”  Lately I’ve been spending a lot of energy on things that can only be described as a waste. I will try not to complain about work any more here. For one, I know it’s not smart to get into that, and two, I don’t want anyone else to be annoyed with me.  Because, really, my family and friends can hardly stand me any longer.  They are troopers and have been listening to this a lot longer than I would have, but I can’t help but thinking how disgustingly tired they must be of listening to me complain, day upon day, about the way I’ve come to dread my nine-to-five.

So, I’m trying. Because something I dislike so much shouldn’t take up any more of my life, or anyone else’s. Typing those words almost has tears welling up in my eyes, but I suspect that’s due more to it being Sunday night than the idea of not complaining about it.

The reality is, there are more important things.  Like in two weeks, I get to make a run for it. Albeit temporarily, but I’ll still be gone and even better, I’ll get to be among friends.  This afternoon, I spent some time with my grandmother.  She loves talking about my traveling with me, and I, of course, love to talk about it. I was trying to explain to her how lucky it seems to have found friends all around this world, not to mention friends that really, genuinely want you around. Don’t ask me why that seems like such a novel idea to me—I’ve never been a recluse—but the idea that people actually want to be in my life and want me in theirs is pretty remarkable.  There is something about knowing people have a choice, and knowing they choose you that makes me feel very lucky.

My grandmother, who has made more real friends in her life than anyone I’ve ever known, reminded me of this. Recently, I’ve realized some things about a friend of mine. Most important being that she is not a nice person.  Outwardly, she is. And up until very recently, she had been nice to me. But when it came down to it, that wasn’t enough. I don’t need to go into it further, we have all been there. It’s difficult, but I realized that I was spending way too much energy on something that boiled down to a waste.

I was afraid to do it. I was afraid that we had too many ties, too many connections and shared too many mutual people and spaces. That fear kept me trying for a long time. Up until that last moment. But ever since that moment, when I made that decision to put a stop to it, I have never seen things more clearly.

It’s amazing the peace and reassurance that comes with waking up and deciding what’s worth your energy.