Unmoored

(Art by Nichola Moss)

I'm not lost, but I definitely feel unmoored. And I have a hunch that is ok. I have lines I can throw to a dock if and when I decide to set foot ashore again. It's not all drifting in bliss of course, being unmoored means being susceptible to storms, high seas and monsters of the deep. Terror and exhilaration are once again intertwined. And in the midst of the two I find myself acutely aware of minutia. An impossibly long eyelash resting on my son's cheek. The sheen of a taut and new apple. Dust in the sunshine. The sensation of being enveloped by steam in the shower. Cloth against skin. The texture of strawberries. The space between breaths.

I feel in touch with it all, my senses awash with the connectedness. Minutes take days.

There have been dark clouds, lightning flashes, crashes of thunder. I was naive to think I could avoid them. I am suddenly aware of the depths beneath me. But turning back to shore doesn't feel right. For better or worse I'm unmoored NOW. And now is really all I can focus on for the moment.

The days do pass though, and things happen in each one. For instance, I have a new job. Another one that I had not interviewed with before called and invited me in on a Wednesday morning. That very night they called and offered me a great position doing what I want to be doing. I gave my notice the next day, my last day is Thursday, February 28. My first day isn't until March 10. I'm going to enjoy some more of these long long minutes in between.

I managed 12 miles yesterday. I say managed because I didn't run all of them, I did 5 minute 1 minute run/walk intervals. With a couple of extra walking bits on two truly brutal hills (West on McLendon towards Little 5 Points and up N. Highland through Old Fourth Ward towards downtown). I had fallen very far off the wagon in the two weeks previous, so far that all I could see of it was a dust cloud in the distance. I managed a couple of mornings of Tae-Bo videos but that was all. Very unfocused. Still, I did the 12 miles, in a not totally unrespectable time (2:39). A sub 3 hour half is still attainable. I wore my ipod for the first time during a run because I was alone for all of it. I actually enjoyed it, it was really reflective, I have a lot of bluesy and soulful stuff on my ipod at the moment and it all fit. Running through classic Atlanta neighborhoods, many of them scenes out of my life, and just BEING in my own skin. I finally found a glorious downhill at the end turning right off Glen Iris onto Ralph McGill with my car off in the distance just as Unwritten by Natasha Bedingfield came on. That song, top 40 and all, is totally my mantra at the moment, I couldn't believe the timing. I flew down the hill, my soul fluttering in the brisk wind. And to top it all off I think one of my toenails is dying! I can't tell if its turning black or not because of the nail polish but it totally feels kind of loose and dead. How cool is that? Jennifer Daniels has a song where she talks about scars being the tattoos that God designs for people to remind them of significant moments. I think that is so true, and that is definitely what my tattoos mean for me. Its also why I like scars and quirky injuries so much, seeing wounds like that transports you instantly to the moment you received them. In my case each one feels like I've earned something through the pain.

Finally, the house will officially be listed tomorrow. It is all pristine at the moment, ready for the first wave of potential buyers. As right as I know letting go of the house IS, I know I will cry at the closing table. And then I'll go to wherever my new home is and I'll appreciate some more of those long minutes. I'm learning, finally, how little I really need to be happy.

Simplicity

You know how angst breeds art? Turns out contentment and peace breeds complacency, at least for me. I'm doing well, therefore I have felt less impetus to write. My running continues to go well, it is more interesting to write about struggles. But for those who keep clamoring that I need to update . . . here goes:

I'm on boot camp hiatus for February. I plan to attend when I can in March but for now Clint is in South Africa on an extended visit and I don't have childcare. Once he's back we will be sharing custody and I'll be able to go to boot camp on mornings Chase is with him. I've also been juggling a lot of other stuff (some challenging, like getting the house ready to sell, some fun like getting to know new friends better) so I must admit that my workout schedule last week was kind of pitiful. I need to find some good cardio to do in my living room, I'm getting really bored with jumping jacks! And I haven't managed to run during the week because I get home with Chase too late to have him go to a friend's house. I'll figure it out.

Two Saturdays ago (ok, it has been a while since I've updated!) the OBC ING training team dropped back to a 5 mile run after our 9 miler the week before. I had such a great run with the 9 miles that I expected the 5 to be easy but it was actually very challenging for some reason. I've really discovered that no matter how many variables I try to influence, some days my body wants to run and some days it doesn't, even when my mind thinks it does! That 5 mile run was like that, slow and heavy and painful. Despite that, yesterday's 10 mile run rocked! The first 8 miles I felt awesome, strong, sure of myself, breathing well. The last two miles got longer and longer but I knew all the way through that I'd get there. It was also a great run because I really circled all of midtown and downtown. I was born and grew up in Atlanta but I'm getting to know the city so much more intimately now, at street level. I was amazed at the number of buildings that I took a good look at yesterday realizing that for all the times I've driven by them I'd never noticed them before. We started on the GA tech campus, headed north, through Atlantic Station, across the 17th St. Bridge, all the way down Peachtree past Underground Atlanta, across on Mitchell, back up Spring past the GA Dome, through Centennial Park, back over to Marietta St. and all the way up back to the Tech Campus. When I was running north through Centennial Park I had a clear view of the Wachovia Building at Atlantic station, which I had run by earlier. It was amazing to have that sense of perspective, it seemed SO FAR away from Centennial Park.

The other thing that was amazing about this run was the solitude. Jojo couldn't run because she's nursing a sore knee. Instructor Michelle checked on me a few times during the first part but I spent 90% of the route by myself (don't worry I had my cell with me). That was two hours in my own head. I was in such a great space mentally that I actually really enjoyed it. I feel like I'm so ready for the challenges and the joy that I know are in my future. I feel more open to the future than I've ever been, and more comfortable with not knowing what it brings. I know that I am strong, I know that I will thrive even in the face of heartache. I know what happiness looks like and I know how to appreciate it, how to allow it to just BE with me. I've finally learned the value of being in the moment. The rhythm of my breathing, of my steps on the pavement, of my heartbeat has quieted my turmoil. I appreciate my lungs. My heart. My entire body has been taken for granted for too long, I'm so connected to my tissues and bones and muscles. Step by running step I am whittling away at the excess that has obscured me, physically, mentally, spiritually. I am me. Nothing more, nothing less. I am me and I run. It is good. And it really is that simple.

Here we go . . .

Most all of my favorite bloggers are doing posts about the end of 2007 and the rise of 2008. Last year I was wholly resistant to any sort of resolutions, I had a lifetime of failed ones behind me and it just seemed cruel to heap what was sure to be more failures upon my own head. Perhaps a committment to not setting myself up for failure WAS a victory of sorts for me. The endless cycle of failing to meet my own goals and then hating myself for it was crippling me. And it wasn't that I didn't know how to break my goals into baby steps, I did. But I would still talk myself into believing that they weren't important, that I didn't deserve them, and that none of it really mattered. And then the year would wear on and I'd internalize how worthless I was for abandoning goals which, objectively speaking, would have been good for me.

My resolutions were always centered on what I SHOULD be doing. Because I didn't think I could be happy until I was the person that I SHOULD be. A thin person. A fit person. An organized person who just straightens up and puts away and doesn't suffer from CHAOS (Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome - www.flylady.net). Someone who irons her clothes and NEVER NEVER fishes out something from the dirty clothes pile to wear if it doesn't smell. Someone who sends out Christmas cards and remembers birthdays with thoughtful homemade gifts. Someone who decorates appropriately and charmingly for each holiday. Someone who keeps frozen casseroles on hand for other people's tragedies. Someone who NEVER NEVER suggests a shorter book for her son to read at bedtime so that she can get back to the couch and mindless tv faster. Someone who reads for enlightenment and remembers to pray at the appointed times. Someone who doesn't go through the motions ever but always does things with intention and feeling and gratitude. Someone who loves her family unconditionally, even when they drive her mad, and shows her love and patience no matter what. Someone who doesn't get snarky and gossippy about other peoples misfortunes just because it makes herself feel a bit better knowing that other people struggle too. Because someone not at all like that doesn't DESERVE happiness. It's like in college when there was this REALLY REALLY cool class on the schedule and the description just embodied everything you were interested in and excited about but you couldn't take it without 15 horrible prerequisites or the special permission of the instructor.

So, here goes. I hereby give myself special permission. F*&K the prerequisites.

For 2008 I will laugh more. I will cry more. I'll wallow in chocolate fondue every now and then. I will try new restaurants. I will go dancing. I will make it to the finish line on March 30. I will make it to more movies and I will argue with my friends about them over coffee. I will buy myself some cute new clothes (actually, got a jump start on that yesterday). I will walk into more job interviews knowing that they'd be damn lucky to have me. I will plan my next tattoo just because I enjoy them. I will play more. I will focus on ridiculousness. I will not assume that my son's future is doomed and that I'm a terrible mother if he talks back to me. I will treat myself as I treat others. With tolerance and forgiveness. When I fail to do that, I will try again. I will live like the badass that I am.

Driving myself

I write this at my peril. I didn't even bring my logbook to bootcamp this morning because it seemed pointless. And I DID stay for "extra encouragement" but I avoided being "tsk tsk'd" by the instructors by staying on the downlow. I went TOTALLY off plan all weekend. I started out ok . . . avoiding the most amazing bread pudding with custard in the world at my firm's annual client seminar. But then I went to a friend's gallery opening and drank wine. And as the weekend took an emotional turn for the worse on Saturday I took a hard turn for the chocolate. And hot wings. And the half a box of snackwells. And the Bangors and Mash and Pims. Ok the last bit was prepared by our English neighbor in honor of Guy Fawkes day, and my South African husband was almost disturbingly excited about eating a big ol' beer soaked sausage on a bed of mash potatos swimming in gravy. And homemade (real butter) apple crisp with full cream ice cream. I feel like I'm describing illicit and delicious sex acts.

So the emotional crap bounced me right out of my wagon. My inner sabatour spoke up and convinced me I DESERVED chocolate and fat because I was feeling sad. WHY do I always conveniently forget that too much of those things makes me feel worse. Every time. Well, ok, I do get some initial pleasure in the eating. And in feeling sassy about it. But then the aftermath is feeling overfull and ick for hours.

So, I'm bruised and bleeding from bouncing on the hard packed earth but I've clambered back on. I just need to learn to do a better job of making a conscious decision to stop the wagon, step down carefully and gently explore the temptations along the way. I need to stop leaping out of the wagon when part of me isn't looking and trying to devour everything in site before I get caught. From here on out I need to drive this wagon. Not just hang on for dear life.