I have been trying (again) to write posts.
It hasn't been working.
I think because as I write and then read, every one of them (at their worst) ends up sounding pathetic and whiny. And every one of them (at their best) just ends up sounding...stupid. And believe me, the last thing I want to be is pathetic and whiny. Or stupid.
I'm honestly not quite sure how to fix this. I want to because I really love writing and I have grown very attached to the blog. So I have tried ignoring everything hard in my life and just writing the fun stuff. But there has seemed nothing of interest left to write. I have tried facing the hard head on and writing it out. That worked for a minute, but that's about it. Because the truth is that most of this hard stuff really needs to remain private.
I think maybe the bottom line is that the good stuff in my life is just that. Good. And while I really like good it can be a little boring. At least to read about. The hard stuff is also just that. Hard. And since I don't really like hard it can be a little pathetic. At least to read about. There are always the Ah-Ha Moments (I've had a few), but writing about them can be arduous and in print they often end up losing the luster that they hold deep in my heart.
So I have thought about stopping the blog. Just wrapping it up and calling it done.
And I have thought about just stopping writing altogether. Never to write again.
But if I do either of these what do I teach myself about pushing through difficulty?
What do I teach myself about trying, and failing, and trying again?
What do I teach myself about transition and transformation?
What do I teach myself about driving to know better, do better, be better?
Exactly nothing.
So I will keep trying.
And for today there is little more than that admission. Except for a short story of a profound realization I had a couple weeks ago. Well... profound for me; the telling of which looks very different this time than it did the first five times I tried to put it down. Yes, really. Five times. Until I am now at the point that I don't care how it reads, as long as it is honest.
So here we go...
The other day I went running outside for the first time in a loooong time. This winter has waxed on and on, and as always, I have hated stepping out into the cold. So I haven't very much. Add to this the fact that I have hardly hit the treadmill and you can reasonably come up with a recipe for nothing less than miserable running.
And this is exactly what this run was. Miserable. I spent the greater portion of the first 30 minutes playing mind games to keep myself pushing forward, all the while wondering why the heck I was trying so hard to find pleasure in something I was completely hating.
Deep inside I knew the answer to this question. It was because I used to find so much safety, and reprieve, and strength, and even joy in running that I wanted desperately to find them there again. So I worked harder and harder at the mind games.
...Relax. Run gentle. Smile. Listen to your body. Feel your heart. Close your eyes. Open your eyes. Look and see every beautiful thing. Express gratitude. Breathe deeply. Relax...
Round and round it went. Over and over again. (Yeah, I know. A little Zen, but whatever.) Until I finally convinced my body to just settle in and be happy to be there. With a smile on my face. Even if it was a little fake.
But lost in all of this I also lost track of where exactly I was on my run and soon realized that I had missed my turn around point.
Frustrated, tired, and rudely jolted out of my Zen-like state, I took a quick mental inventory of the next good turn around I was familiar with, just on the other side of an upcoming tunnel, stretching under the noisy highway above.
As I approached, the non-Zen me could only think, "Yay! Light at the end of the tunnel!"-- quickly followed by a cliche-meets-reality reflective pause -- quickly followed by a, "Hmmph. I wish there was light at the end of my tunnel. I am tired of this run and I am tired of my tunnel. And every time I think I see light at the end of it it just seems to get longer. Will it ever end?"
I may or may not have begun to cry.
And then I noticed this:
Lights.
In the tunnel.
That's when I realized that all those times I thought there was light at the end of my tunnel it was not the end of my tunnel at all.
And instead of there being just one light at the end, there were many lights. All along the way.
Lights to guide, lights to protect, and lights to brighten when the dark seemed too dark.
My heart took a moment to reflect on what those lights might be.
And with gratitude I counted each one.
It is neither accident, nor coincidence, that nearly every light was someone.
This whole epiphany may seem small or even obvious to you, but it was in fact very big to me.
Big enough that in that moment I gained a little perspective.
And regained a love for the run.
I know that my tunnel will end one day. Probably soon enough that I will look back in paradoxical wonder that I even ever made it to the end; also completely aware that it passed quickly and represents but a fragment of my existence.
Life has also taught me that my tunnel of now is not my only tunnel. The future, as in the past, will present more tunnels made just for me. But I don't think I will ever look at a tunnel the same again.
Because going into them now I can be sure that amid the dark, the scary, and the uncertain, I will find light.
