Losing You

A close friend recently shared her work in dealing with a relationship and problems from the past in a desire for healing and wholeness for them both. In our correspondence she spoke of her fear of damaging our relationship by doing this work. It was a surprise to hear that fear about us, because my initial response was that nothing could hurt us.

Thinking about it further, however, I realize that losing people is often less about a dramatic incident, and more about my slow distancing. It is like watching a tree die, limb by limb, as I slowly become less personal or open, to the point that we both stop calling. I often feel sad about the numerous people who I cast off in this manner. Great friends from HS and College who loved and believed in me and wanted to  know me. At the time I could not meet my own expectations of being good enough or available enough or open enough to what I thought they wanted and so I caved under my own pressure.

The people who did not accept this are my closest friends. They continue calling when I will not answer and then pick up when I finally dial back. They inspire me with their fights for what they believe in often in direct conflict with upbringing, family and friends. When we are together they tell me repeatedly that I am a good mom, that I am a good writer, or whatever it is they know I need to hear (and that they sincerely believe about me). I want to be like them. And I want to be able to tell my friend there is nothing she could do that would make me lover her any less, because that is what faith and hope and Christ's love are about.

I recently forgave myself for all my failing people and decided God would cover my losses, my lack of relating and that some day we would be restored and together, like in old times. For you who I cherish today, I am so thankful for moments and glimpses of deep love we have together and I hope there will never be anything that separates us.

Community of Women

I stayed for three nights with a friend in Chicago last week. While there, she mentioned this notion of everyone needing a place where they can be taken care of, loved, and supported. I can't help thinking that this is what community should be about.

During the days together, we were full of energy, hope, despair, while seeking after the silver linings. She questioned how we live in the moment and embody our experiences, rather then shutting down in an effort to survive the next hour or day or week. She shared the concept of living with overwhelming despair in the midst of fierce hope (from a Pastor Chuck sermon).

It was beautiful to wake up, eat cereal and drink instant coffee. She packed PB&J, grabbed a stroller and we were set to go anywhere. One of her goals is to be out and let her kids play. We did not have to be anything, but walked and sat and moved from beach to park to bus while talking about anything and everything and nothing at all. We had the nights to sit and ponder. I felt the numbness come over me the instant I arrived at my own home to find a sick family, TV blaring, dirty house with sugar ants and endless hours alone with my kids.

I have to believe there was a time when family was more connected, lived within a block, shared the work and kept life simple, cooking and cleaning to eat, but not worrying so much if others liked the flavor. I long to be with real people that I can trust, knowing we will cover each other in our weak moments and fight to defend hope when we have more to give.

Maybe I will start some women and children retreat center, where women can get away with their kids and all be unconditionally loved and taken care of (or maybe this will be Heaven?).

The Race is On

So I had several clear indications that I was not to run the race set out for me on Sunday. My husband asked why I would do it to myself. I had to get childcare, illegally purchase a ticket on Craigslist for $45, manage Navy Pier for the race bib (a long and expensive traffic jam) and on top of it all, I lost the bib number just before leaving, which is the item you need to get into the event (and time it). On top of all of that, it took over twenty minutes from the start time of the race to even get to the start line. That left me with almost 20,000 recreational runners and walkers to manage. I cut along sidewalks, ran the outer edges, slid between people and tried my best to feel like I was running, but in the end I was moved by the forces around me. The redemption in it all is that I raced my way from Grant Park to Foster beach, feeling both tired and exhilarated from the sixteen miles of faster speed and with the the sense that no matter what the pace, I could keep on going.

36 Years Old

Today I am in my later thirties. My husband was the first to congratulate me when we both woke up a 3 am for no apparent reason, beyond the hot weather. I have received cards, presents, hugs and kisses, along with the usual electronic happy returns. It is at first wonderful and then I get the pang of regret at not being a better reciprocator of well wishing. I am a bad friend around the small moments that matter, such as birthdays. Why is it so complicated for me to give and receive?

I have been confessing to a few friends that I am taking depression meds and always feel shy about it, because people act surprised, saying I thought the running made you happy or commenting that they did not know. I am not sure what they are thinking, but assume they are worried or disappointed for me. One recent opinion offered was that meds hide the real you. This is complicated as I don't want to wonder how to take the label or the defeat associated with something like prosac. I think that it has helped me get out of some negative brain talk, though this mornings post might prove otherwise. I still struggle with guilt.

My dad is a good example of change, in that he called me a few times this morning until I finally picked up and then he wished me a happy birthday and promised a visit in late April. It was nice. He is making time like he never did before.

After this many years, I can't tell if I am getting better or worse. Are my mental stocks up or down? Am I slipping further into the patterns that will leave me scared of my own shadow one day. Am I too frightened to use my voice? I want to live faith, believe in my husband, build up my kids and connect with you all out of freedom of language and not by withholding myself out of perceived self-protection.

In my version of being, I will never give enough, be enough and live expecting to fail. The truth is I am failing, but that history does not promote my further attempts at success. I am not good with saying Happy Birthday or sending Thank you's, but I am good at thinking about you on runs or while I sit watching my kids run around the yard. I love you and I want to be there and let you be here and I will continue to fight for that in this year.

So now I sit drinking my second store bought caffein drink and anticipate an afternoon of watching David and Isaac frolic in the hot Spring sun while I anticipate our next hug and real conversation.

Running Chicago

I am reviewing marathon training plans this week. In doing so, I anticipate the intensity of longer and longer miles, more two a day runs, and wonder what it will take to get faster. Why faster? Because I want to know that I can. I am worried about the obsession, but also grateful for it. The sense that I can fly up another big hill or push the group pace or finish in under 7 minutes here and there is exhilarating.  I still can’t fathom running under 7 minute miles for 26 though. I want to go fast, though I don’t know what for. I don’t think anyone in my current world would know the difference or care.

I am embarking on a road trip with kids to Chicago for a race, a friend and am planning to accomplish untold feats in social connectedness. I am telling people I am coming this time. I long for hours with my old co-workers, a chance to play with friends kids in the city, a few hours with my non-kid friends who I used to spend whole days with, and of course mornings of running with my racing companions. I would also love to shop and walk and sit alone in my old haunts and drink endless cups of great coffee. The idea translates so much better then the time and energy it takes to put my kids in the car and tell them that we are going to see another one of mommy’s friends or are going to play with some new kids, where I want them to play while I do "talking."

So I guess my prayer for today is that I live without expectations.  That I can be available and let people come to me or not, without worrying about pleasing or feeling guilt for my lack of trying. I am too full and too empty to manage it all, so just have to take on Chicago as it comes. I hope that all my friends know how much I love and long for time with them, despite my lack of contact. You are stars in my universe!

Survival vs Surrender

In this season of warmer weather and longer hours in the sun, I am lethargic and uncertain. I ran my first 5K since 2007 and could not let go of the outcome or fight for a faster time. I watched three women pass me and then decided that I could catch them later, except that in this race, there was no later. I did 6:13, 7:02, 6:31 and finished with 1:02.

I can't help wondering why I race. Is it so I can brag, feel some sense of external affirmation or live in the disappointment of always knowing I could have gone faster. When I have run fast, the sense of euphoria has held me captive in its brilliance. Is slower ok, or a failed attempt at greatness? I am minutes slower then I used to be and wonder at my fear of commitment to the whole game.

My season of life feels slow. The days start early and I curl up in oversleeping exhaustion and physical fatigue. I am saying yes to everyone else, because it is easier then writing, or finishing my book club read.

I would like to pin it on the anniversary of my mother's passing, or the fact that I am moving into my late thirties this month. I know in my gut that I must move forward and race again, blow out my candles and choose to face the face in the mirror. I might run in the Chicago Shamrock 8k, because I can't get a bib and because then I could run my heart out with no strings. You don't need to ask my how I did and I don't need to decide how to respond, because it is for me alone and no one else has to know about it.