JustRunJustLiveJustBe

Several days after the arrival of my sister and nephew and I’m still alive. I’ve been aunt, baby sitter, bottle heater, rice cereal maker, diaper changer and baby-sitting-bottle-heating-rice-making-diaper-changing woman all in one. Who is also an aunt.

So yeah, I’m thinking I’ve got this baby thing going pretty good. I have remembered what it’s like to eat a meal with one hand and to somehow navigate through downtown traffic with a child who will not stop crying for anything. Already fed, napped and changed, he was still quite upset. Seriously, I promised him everything from ice cream to a Corvette to an NFL career and now I know, sometimes babies just cry. AND WILL NOT STOP UNTIL THEY ARE GOOD AND READY. Everyone has survived and is doing quite well. I’m thinking maybe, just maybe there is a chance of me doing this someday.

Along with all the fun and hard work, it’s also been a huge wave of emotion for me. Having a family-like house has been better than I could have imagined. It’s revealed to me that yes, I might actually want chaos, joy and sleepless nights of my own one day. I know a little more about me now.

Well, for everything you think you know, there’s always something you don’t know.

Like our trip to the mall today. Boy, was that interesting. Did you know that ten o’clock on a Thursday morning is Designated Stroller Time in the mall? This is the time when all the baby momma’s that don’t work on Thursdays go to the mall and push around single, double and, oh yes, even triple strollers and chat with each other in Old Navy about how they just can’t lose that last ten pounds. I felt a little out of place having gained my “last ten pounds” from burritos and Starbucks and not incubating a child for nine months but, you know, I nodded along in the most empathetic way I could.

So we’re standing just inside the door of the store and I notice several gawkers walking by looking at me through the store window. What could it be? Am I holding the baby upside down? Is it there spitup down my back, again? I readjust, everything looks okay.

I think.

Yet, people still stare. And I have no idea why. I look around for something, anything. Food in my hair, maybe I’ve dropped something, I don’t know.

I’m getting a little irritated, thinking there are some really rude, judgmental people in this town when my sister comes around the corner, quickly pulls the baby’s hand off the collar of my v-neck shirt and proceeds to recover the left side of my chest.

Watch those strong little baby hands, they will pull more than your hair.

Things you won’t expect to happen ever, happen at the most inconvenient times.

Well, sometimes anyway. This morning I was up early. I am not a huge fan of early Saturday awakenings but seeing baby smiles made it seem like nothing. We decided we needed some things from the store so I threw on some sweat pants and a winter fleece (because yes, Winter has arrived early on the front range and there’s snow on them there hills) and ran to the grocery store.

I had three things to buy and was planning on in-and-out when I bumped into someone I sorta know through someone else. Well, it was actually half of Station 4 (yes, Fire Station) partly made up of a friend of a friend and also, that guy’s cousin. Oh Lord, how I’m so charmed by these chance meetings. Thank You. I don’t exactly know what happened but somewhere between the baking isle and the dairy isle, I gave a guy permission to get my number from our mutual friend. Of a friend. Or something like that. I have no idea how this happened, I couldn’t duplicate the situation if I tried. Apparently, as my sister informed me when I returned home, the attraction may have had something to do with the baby spitup on my shirt. Now that’s hot.

It gets better.

After a protein and caffeiene-packed breakfast I decided today, in all it’s thirty-eight degree (F) glory was a great day to do my long run. I set out for ten miles and somewhere around mile three I started passing a few more runners. I was impressed by this as early cold tends to shock people into denial but also, I was lost in the new Pearl Jam record and wasn’t really paying attention. It was windy, so my hair was blowing out of place- and by “out of place” I mean totally all over the friggin’ place. I was sweating, but also, my nose was running. It was sunny, so I wore shorts- but also, it was close to freezing so my legs were red and slightly numb. (I know, I’m crazy. Blah, blah blah.)

Anyway, about mile three I notice I’m being paced. Okay, whatever. It happens sometimes. I glance over, it’s a slightly tall man that I know can run faster than he is. I say nothing, and continue to zone. A walker approaches in the opposite direction so my pacer has to cross the path and is now right next to me. I glance over, he says “hey.” “Hey,” I offered in return, certain the snot was running straight down my face. We chat a little, I turn down the iPod. He flirts, I try to remember to breathe. I ask myself no less than two thousand times what is going on. Somewhere during mile seven, I agree to a running date next Sunday, weather permitting. No numbers exchanged, barely first names. If the weather is too bad, there is a coffee shop near by.

I finished my run, returned home and immediately went to the mirror to check for spitup. Sure enough, the sleeve of my shirt had some sort of drool-like mark. No one knows what it was for sure, but I’m gonna venture to say the next week of going out in public with evidence of having been around a baby is quite possibly the best way to find dates since Rush Week at college.

Tonight I missed everything. I didn’t watch the television I wanted to watch, I didn’t check email. I didn’t even return phone calls. I didn’t water flowers or take out the trash. Grey’s Anatomy came and went and I completely forgot.

Why?

Because now, right now, there is a baby sleeping just one room away from me. His mother, snugly tucked into bed as well. Both resting from a long day of travel. Both here, both safe.

My beautiful sister- four months after giving birth and back into her skinny jeans- made a cross country trip today, alone, with my nephew. She stepped off that escalator looking like the smartest mom ever; baby strapped on in the front pack, backpack on the back. Hands free, people, listen up!

And my perfect little nephew, I’m not sure there are even words. He’s animated like his mom, laid back like his dad. He smiles constantly, makes cute little baby sounds that could warm even the coldest heart and I’m quite certain each and every person who meets him will fall in love before they even know what hit them. A natural charmer, that one.

They’ve been here mere hours and my house feels different. It feels alive. It’s like there are emotions from floor to ceiling. The rug beneath my feet is softer. The walls aren’t just walls, they’re protection. Everything is richer, warmer.

I peek in at both of them now, faces barely visible through the stream of light coming from the hallway and I realize again, or maybe for the first time, the true meaning of a home.

They all got together for dinner.

Old friends. New friends. Everyone in between.

Then, they went for dessert.

Some left their cars at the restaurant.

After dessert, some needed a ride back to their cars.

“Ride with my cousin, John,” her friend said.

Okay, it’s just a mile or so, she thought.

She and John got in the car.

It stunk.

The music was too loud.

The conversation was bland yet completely centered around him.

The ride could not have ended soon enough.

The music was too loud to think.

She finally got back to her car. Finally.

She survived the ride and possibly, avoided a really bad first date with John.

It’s okay, it had been too long since she’d listened to Bawitdaba anyway.

Last night, I came home and wrote an entire post about anger. About how, a few days ago, mind you, a woman in her sixties driving a large car flipped me off for no apparent reason. It made me angry, and enough that I would bring it up several days later as an example of how anger is just going to happen and there’s no way to avoid it.

But then I thought, why? Why the anger? What’s the point?

I wrestled with my feelings about anger for a while. Then, I didn’t post what I’d written deciding to sleep on it. I woke up this morning still unsure of how I feel about anger. My first instinct is to say no to anger. Let it be, let it go. It’s not worth it and it doesn’t create a positive environment around you. And I believe that. I believe you have to let things go, as much as you can.

Interestingly enough, though, I also believe in strong emotion (I know, shocking). I believe that’s what motivates us. Strong love, strong desire and sometimes, strong anger, have birthed some of the greatest movements in this world. When I work with cancer patients and their families one of the constant and most obvious emotions is anger. They are angry at cancer. They are angry at the way it changed their life, they are angry at what it took away. The anger may not be 100% of how they feel, but it plays an unmistakable role in the lives of those affected. Many times, I often hear the anger is what motivated a patient to be relentless in her battle against the disease. I cannot, having witnessed this emotion, say anger is wrong.

A strong emotion like anger is what keeps us from settling. It can happen anywhere, at any time. Josh mentioned in his Civic Duty post that he just couldn’t stand to see someone blatantly littering. It made him angry enough to say something. And I think it should. There is always a chance of someone coming back at you with their own anger, but is that a reason to keep quiet? We are all too consumed with keeping quiet at the risk of danger when, really, the quiet is often contributing to even worse. Like Josh, I once told a guy to stop hitting his dog because it made me angry. It may or may not have been my business, but it rattled enough emotion in me to say something. And maybe, he feels something different before he goes to hit his dog now.

Once, the single and therefore having limited perspective girl I am, got all upset over how some women treat men. The comments on that were mostly on my side if a little mixed but I made the mistake (or had the extreme fortune, maybe) of sharing that post with a friend (yes, sometimes I share this stuff with people I actually know!). I received an email back that basically chastised me up one side and down the other- if that’s even possible- saying how dare I think those things and how should I know, I’m not in that relationship. But I wrote it, and I stuck by it because I felt strongly enough that the behavior is wrong.

I also approached it in a much more constructive way, which I realized after my chastising. Sure, my friend may have ripped me but for what purpose? I seemed to get my point across without insulting or ripping anyone apart. Well, except for the women in denial because yes, I still believe you shouldn’t treat a man like crap and then expect him to kill your spiders. And this, I think, is where the difference lies. It’s never the emotion that’s wrong, it’s how you handle it. Do you channel it into strength and fighting for survival or do you channel it into negativity and hate?

It’s tough, I know. I know when that sixty year old woman flipped me off I was feeling all kinds of negative. There was nothing in me willing to find a way to channel that into something better. But sometimes, there is.

So go on, get mad. Get angry at cancer and carelessness and cruelty. Get all in a tizzy about people and things that aren’t right. Use that anger to get to a place where you can do something about it, even if it’s only to hope for a change. I’m going to. It is what is supposed to happen. Keeping our mouths shut does not mean we are trying to preserve something. It means we are trying to preserve ourselves and that should not always be acceptable. Of course, keep you and yours out of imminent danger but also, make very certain that the cost of stifling the emotion isn’t even higher.

Somewhere in the last year or so, I’ve stopped using phrases like “when this happens, then I’ll do that” or “wait for _____ and then _____ will be easier.” It just doesn’t make sense any more. Sure, there are limitations- like the bank account and time, just to name a couple- but overall, I find myself no longer creating conditions around my life.

I think part of this is because I’ve accepted that being a dreamer is always going to be who I am. Not the head-in-the-clouds, unrealistic dreamer, but I will always want some part of my life to be challenging. I know I’ll always struggle (things like furthering education, dating and knee injuries come to mind) but I also know that I won’t stop working toward more.

At first, I questioned myself. Am I unsatisfiable? Am I impossible to please?

No.

I’m happy. Thrilled, in fact. There’s so much I feel blessed to have and be that putting it into words feels nearly impossible. But there’s still a need for more. I think what I had to realize is that happiness does not equal static. It’s not an anchor, it’s a good wind.

Somewhere along the line, I had taught myself that guilt was related to wanting more. But I just don’t find myself believing that anymore. Now, I feel like I owe it to myself. And to sound ridiculously cliche, I owe it to everyone else, too- the world, really. It’s not wrong to want more. If I’m not fulfilling my potential in the best way I can, that is what I’m doing wrong.

Being a wannabe is a good thing.

In this last week or so, without my camera, I’ve realized how important it can be to not only experience something but also, to have proof that you actually did. This or any other trip would be no less memorable had I not had photos to show for it, but it’s the images themselves that seem to make those memories last.

A bit of Vancouver, brought to you by me and also, Alamo Car Rental.

(Thank you, Alamo!)

Heading downtown

Chinatown

The neighborhood bookstore

Lion’s Gate Bridge

The rock balancerAnother of life’s mysteries
Cricket, anyone?
You knew I had to throw some boats in
Mountains in the morning
Beach in the afternoon