JustRunJustLiveJustBe

With the prediction of nearly 80 degree highs today, I can’t help but get annoyingly excited about summer being on its way. I can finally wear the cropped pants and sandals to work that, while not the shorts and flip flops I prefer, are still so much better than wool socks and down coats. There’s something about walking around in summer clothes that just makes me feel better about everything. It’s easier to get up in the morning, to make my lunch, to make the commute to work with some skin exposed to the already warm air.

Of course, this has me thinking summer thoughts, especially about summers past and what I remember about them. There always seems to be that one thing, good or bad, that defines a summer. Like when I was about 22, in true summer kick-off style, I was at a Memorial Day barbecue with friends. Combine the happiness of completing four years of college with a hot day, Julie’s father’s home brew, and a giant trampoline. Well, you do the math. Yep, that was the summer of the Worst Ankle Sprain of All Time. I spent months recovering, and it would be years before that ankle wouldn’t just sporadically hurt for no reason other than to remind me of how stupid I’d been. I haven’t gone near a giant trampoline since.

Then there was the summer I conquered the mountain. Training started early in the year, but from May to August, me and a few other equally insane friends didn’t let a weekend pass that we weren’t running up and down some section of that mountain training for the race. We visited that mountain more that summer than I’d ever thought possible. It’s probably the most dedicated I’ve been to training, ever. There were good days, hard days, and days with lightning and thunder at 14,000 feet, but we kept on it. The training was difficult, rewarding, and totally worth it in the end. That was the summer of the mountain.

Somehow, though not all equal, the memories of summers always stand out in my mind. The things I gained, the things I lost, are all there when I look back. Most went way too fast, while others seemed long, hard, and sometimes unfair. But when I see the sun shining through the spray of a lawn sprinkler or kids on their bikes, everything seems to fall into place.

Makes me wonder what I’ll look back and remember about this summer.

Lately I’ve been living for the promise of a break. Lots of breaks, maybe. I suppose things like seasons and semesters do that to a person. I’ve tried to keep some balance in this time, where every minute seems scheduled, and every day planned before I’ve even finished the one before. I can’t complain, really, because aside from inventing the calorie-less cheesecake and finally buying my boat, I am doing exactly what I want to do right now. Who would feel anything but lucky to say that? I still find time for a good run and a rare lunch with a friend and have somehow been fortunate enough to not give anyone the impression that I’m abandoning them for a choice they may not understand. Pretty. Darn. Lucky.

There’s a consequence though, to keeping up with a certain pace: the creeping thought of what else? Those ideas and the wondering that crawl into your mind, because the truth is they never really went away. It seems no matter the work we’re doing, the changes we’re making, or the lives we effect, the thought of what’s to come is far too powerful to ignore. Even if we’re making the best plans for the best times, we’re thinking about when they’re over. Even if we’re building the best foundation, the most solid it’s ever been, we’re thinking about the house that will reside above it. It is our nature, I suppose, and last night this was an apparent truth for me.

Last night was a perfect evening. The air was warm and light, the sounds floated through the trees not yet muffled by the heat of a long summer day. Taking a one-night break from school work, I took the dog for a long walk and tried to take a few minutes to take in everything around me. For a couple hours nothing was scheduled, and all I wanted to do was take advantage of that. But the evening was too perfect, and as I walked through the tree lined paths that lace through the neighborhood, I couldn’t help but think the perfect way this evening would frame life if my what’s next could somehow be my right now.

It was the kind of evening where you grill dinner, and eat on the patio. It was the kind of evening where the breeze is perfect, and it’s too early in the season for the bugs to bother you. It was the kind of evening where you put on a sweatshirt and pour a glass of wine to watch the sunset. It was the kind of evening that makes you glad you’re a person that can look around and appreciate the good, even with all the mess piled on top of it. Which I think I am—that appreciative person—but not altogether. That, I suppose, is not my nature either. It’s especially noticeable on evenings like this.

Rather, I wrestle between being gratefully content and continually driven. Last night, walking down the paths, I would catch myself thinking irrational things, like maybe this is the last perfect evening that will ever be. This is the last time the sun will shine at just that angle. This is the last time the breeze will be so gentle. Though I know that, one, these thoughts are likely untrue and, two, there are no guarantees anyway, I cannot help but for a small part of me to feel like I’m missing out.

Save the truths of timing and fate of which I am well aware, it doesn’t really change the thoughts from coming in. I think about how in many ways I have come so far and yet, I still see that there is more ahead. Those thoughts come in where ever and whenever they please, especially on evenings like this.

Is it me or have Mondays been terribly long lately?

Let’s escape.

Where do you want to escape to today?

A conversation with an almost-two-year-old:

“Hi my favorite nephew, Ivan… what are you doing?”

“I watch NEMO!”

“Oh, Nemo. What is Nemo doing?”

“Lehleeee*… [laughing hysterically] Nemo SWIMMING!” (Note: All sentences must end with a shout.)

“Good job! And where is Nemo swimming?”

“In the OCEAN!”

“Yes! (Certain I am speaking with a genius here.) And where are we going to go when I come see you?”

“OCEAN! And BEACH!”

“That’s right. And who lives in the ocean?”

“BOOBIES!”

And then my sister fainted on her living room floor.

______________

*Of all the versions of my name given to me by children, this is the best so far.

As I’ve mentioned, over the last couple months I’ve been able to lose some weight. There are, of course, a lot of things I like about being able to do that. I feel better. My clothes feel better. I run better. I eat better. And because it’s worth mentioning again, I feel better. That has got to be the best part.

I wouldn’t really call this hard. Difficult sometimes, yes, but compared to other life challenges it is not hard. (Sidebar: Perhaps this is where we insert the “it’s all relative” statement so as to not give the impression that I believe people don’t struggle with this. Believe me, I know that’s not true. Believe me and the nights I’ve spent with pints gallons of ice cream. Believe me.) For me, it’s been a learning experience. As a life-long preacher of moderation, I’ve pretty much had to confront the fact that I rarely know what moderation is when it comes to myself. (See: Upwards of 200 posts on this site regarding wanting it all.) So that I am learning. In this case—the case of my body—it is, in fact, all in my head.

That mental part, yeah, that is sometimes hard. Because when you start eating in a different way, and you aren’t shy in telling people about it, you have unknowingly opened a locked box in nearly every person’s mind where we keep our ideas about food. Specifically, in this box there are ideas that food is bad, or it is good. And then, without even the slightest effort, we are associated with that food and we become bad or good. “Oh, I’d offer you some cake but I don’t want you to be bad” or “ohhh, look, you are having cake– that’s bad,” are what we start to hear. Just as “oh, look at her, always ordering salad,” suddenly makes us good. Asparagus? Good. Cheese steak? Bad. Turkey burger? Good. Cheeseburger and margarita? Bad. It goes on and on until every day, all around you, you are doing one of two things: hearing about it or thinking about it.

To me, this is so very wrong.

Why? Because the food we choose to put in our mouths does not equal our value. I will type it again: The food we choose to put in our mouths does not equal our value.

Does this food say something about us? Yes. Do we choose it based on how we feel? Of course. Is it tied to our self image and our own perceived strengths and weaknesses? Likely. But it ends there. If you have a cheese steak, you are not a bad person. Unless you stole the cheese steak or knocked over an old lady before you ate it, you are not a bad person. Just as you are not automatically a good person for eating carrots. Still, we’re tied to this idea that what we eat is somehow going to be the direct deciding factor as to whether or not we are a worthy person. For me, that is the heartbreaking part. That, I’d say, is the actual hard part of all this.

A few pounds ago, I didn’t understand this either; however, I feel it more now. I feel it in the way people react to me when I don’t order salad. I feel it when I look into the eyes of someone who feels they’ve made the wrong choice, and how that creates an immediate sense of shame. Of feeling like you’re now defined, in reputation and in worth, as bad. I feel it all around, from so many different sources that it’s almost overwhelming. Some would say I should ignore this feeling. That we’re only to worry about ourselves and nothing else matters. Not to me, though. To me, this matters a lot—too much. Because this time, I have had success. This once. And if this were to be what makes me good, then that means all those other times I pretty much sucked, and I can’t live with that. It’s not true.

Sadly, this is a reminder that needs to come around more than once in a while. This is something we have to convince ourselves is right. What I strive to do, the habits I learn, like moderation, are things built independently of my worth. While making positive changes can often make us feel differently, they do not increase or decrease the good that is already in us. Everything in our lives from the love we have and give, to the blessings we share, and even the goals we reach might be what we associate with our value. But this, this is just food.

It’s common knowledge lately that I haven’t been as likely to do the things I normally do because the school semester is coming to an end and this is the point where I pretty much no longer have a life.  Or, rather, I don’t think the way I normally do because my brain is occupied with a ridiculous amount of information and random terms like interactive illustrations and dotted leader tabs.  What, you say?  Yeah, me too.

I haven’t failed at having a life altogether, though.  I just haven’t been as quick to record it all.  I know, I know.  The camera is another body part.  I know, I know.  I am “the girl with the camera.”  I know.  But I have been taken over by curriculum and text books.  Luckily, I have the best, most convenient and helpful phone known to man that not only allows me to keep up with what Bre is shopping for lately, and what Anne is doing on her birthday (thanks to Twitter), but also take a few emergency pictures proving to all (but mostly myself) that I haven’t forgotten how to get my rear away from the computer desk and out into the world.

Saturday I did, in fact, get off said rear.  A whole lot.  Thrilled with the prospect of 72 degrees (F) and with plans of a huge family dinner for later that night, I could not wait to get out.  I went to one of my favorite trails and began my hike.  Of all the places I’ve been in the world, on this trail right up against this mountain, the sky is bluer than I’ve ever seen it anywhere else. 

The very good but understandably limited camera in my phone doesn’t quite capture the real blue of this sky.  Then again, as I think about it now, I’m not sure any camera would do it justice. 

As much as I’m enjoying most of the work I’m doing for school, something about being an “adult student”, as they say, creates a challenge in living in all the ways you want to, while remembering that the school time is not only important, but also temporary.  But I’ve never been very good at not wanting to do it all anyway.  So I spent Saturday hiking for twelve miles under the blue, blue sky all the while knowing what Sunday had in store.

Yeah, Saturday was good.

And Sunday, I did what I had to do.  The weird thing was, I actually enjoyed it.  That’s a good feeling, enoying the work you’re choosing to do.

Although, I cannot lie–I also enjoyed when it was over.

P.S.  Don’t make fun of my beer. I never drink at home.  Leave me alone.

Thank you to everyone that took the time to send such kind and supportive notes regarding yesterday’s post.  It means so much to know that there are people that feel as strongly as I do about those kind of situations and, especially, that so many of you come here.  I’m so thankful and proud to know that if nothing else, this site manages to attract good people.

It even encourages me to know that, though you might not have sent an email or left a comment on another post, that you might have read my experience and somehow thought about your own.  It’s that small effect that really means something.  Awareness and having confidence in what you know to be right are what causes change.  They are the things that stand out and make you stand up, even amongst fear and doubt.  I don’t mean to sound preach-y, I am just very touched and very proud of people.

Finally, thanks to those of you who asked what organizations I’ve worked with and how you could look into getting involved.  I know that feeling of wanting to do something but not knowing where to start, and I am so thankful that you took the time to ask.

In addition, I do not attempt to explain things like this, but it turns out April is National Child Abuse Prevention Month. 

For more information, check out:

C.A.S.A. - Court Appointed Special Advocates

Prevent Child Abuse.Org

Family Violence Prevention Fund

Child Abuse Prevention Association

Thank you all, again.