Launch Day

My mom was dropping me off in downtown Richmond for the marathon, and it reminded me of all the mornings when I was a kid that she had the same thing. 
Most days pass by, one after the other, with little memory to differentiate them, blurring together. Days and weeks and months become one blob. Fleeting moments will come, acting as waypoints on the journey.
And then, there comes a day. A cold, sunny morning when you’re walking through downtown, past crowds of other runners, in the same boat as you. Those months of training, of sacrifice, brought together from disparate places and climes–all to stand in line, shivering and waiting your turn to dash into the port-a-potty. Yep, few things say ritual like that pre-run pee. No matter the color, gender, ability, age, that run before the run is as communal a moment a runner knows. 
And so is the wait. Being a slow runner, I’m almost always in the back, meaning a long wait to the start. A couple of weeks before, it took nearly an hour for me to get the line for a half-marathon. With 15,000 runners, it’s to be expected. In Richmond, though, the wait was only 10 minutes–manageable and easy, with only 4,500 for the full marathon. 
I was standing next to this guy also running his first marathon. And I admired his courage—his longest run was nine miles. The fact that he was a smoker didn’t help matters–he even had some smokes on him. (I checked–he did finish). 
There was an advantage for me in running in a city I had spent time in–familiar with the landmarks, the people. It lent a measure of comfort in an endeavor that was anything but. And in the journey, I saw some areas of the city I never thought to go to, or ever had a desire to see. Like Lee’s Revenge. It’s a big hill in the West End, near the Country Club of Virginia. Back in the early years of the marathon, runners had to climb up it. And no, I’d rather not imagine trying to pray my way up it. It was a late-race feature, I think, which made it all the more daunting. This time, the challenge was different–take it easy going down the hill, to leave the quads in one piece with 19 miles left. 
This will sound like I’m shilling, but I’ll roll the dice. The Richmond course is really beautiful–the Monument Avenue stretch, the Hugenot Bridge, the stretch along the James, heading under the Pope Avenue arch. The beauty of the course somewhat eases the pain of the pounding. 
What I remember about the journey that day wasn’t just the pain. Yes, I had to stop several times after 20 miles to stretch my calves. But there was also the woman who stopped to pet every dog along the road. (I lost sight of her around mile 5). There was the older man who cheered me on at mile 4. And at mile 14. And then at mile 24. I’m trying not to tear up at that, but it meant a lot, especially at 24. I was almost there, starting to feel like, ok, I think I can do this. This stretch on Brook Road is long, and mentally tough. And on the side of the road, there he was, yelling out my name. It was a great lift.
Just down the road, I made the turn into Virginia Union, and that’s where it started. I can do this. I can finish damn thing. 400 miles, countless hours, craploads of doubt and fear, a lot of early mornings. Making the turn onto and down Grace, my thought was–I don’t remember any of these inclines when I was at VCU. They sucked now, as I had to walk more than I would have liked to. But I kept chugging along, until I got to the corner leading to 5th Street, where Penny Lane Pub is. Making the turn, you hit the final straight for the finish. It’s still a good ways off, but I felt, I did it. This is mine.
You have to be careful on the finish for Richmond. It’s a pretty decent downhill, and you have to manage your speed so as to not blow out your quads. Or eat pavement, like one runner did earlier in the day. After 10 minutes of gathering his wits, he did finish. 
And so did I. A steady trot downhill, not too fast. This hurt enough, no need to hurt more. When you come into the finish chute, you hear people, but you hear crowd noise, you don’t hear specifics.
Unless your mom and dad are there, calling out your name. 
They weren’t there for those early runs and all the quiet moments of uncertainty. All I asked of them was to be there at the finish. And, they were. I wanted them to share this with me, and I’m grateful they did. Most of the races I run are solo endeavors–I show up and skitter off without a cast or crew. There’s no wife or girlfriend there to share in a sweaty hug, and I’m good with that. But this one, I needed someone to be there. Not just for the ride back. But because for this one moment, I didn’t want it to happen alone. I had done most of it solo. I have a friend in Princeton who paced me for the first part of 15 and 16 milers. My best friend gave me moral support. I had inspiration from the friend who got me into running in the first place. 
I have pictures of me with mom and dad after crossing the finish. They will mean a lot to me for a long time to come. 
So will the memory of being sore for three days. My god, I’ve never been so physically wrung out in my life. Getting into and out of a car was its own production. And the next time I do this, I’ll walk up the stairs backwards.
Next time…It took me three months to decide that yes, I want to run another marathon. It won’t be this year, though. The time commitment is intimidating. The physical toll is tough, as it the mental toll. But…I’ve done this before. I made it through the fires, and a different person came out the other side. If and when I decide to give this another shot, experience teaches me that I can do this. And do pretty much anything.
The week after the marathon, I went on a date, my first in months. It went pretty well, and we dated a few more times before it sadly ended. It didn’t take very long to recover from that and continue with life, with living. There were times after the long runs, where I would be lying on the floor, or on a porch, and wondering why I was doing this to myself, and being grateful to have made it. But by the middle of next day, I was fine. I gave myself the chance to rest, recover and reflect on what I had done. The marathon showed me how to be resilient, to forgive myself, to be easy with myself. I can survive much, and I have to remember that, no matter what endeavor is next.

——-
Epilogue 

Instead of walking to the start of the local 5K in a steady steady, cold rain, I drove. Lazy, I know. This course isn’t easy–downhill first mile, then uphill for at least a quarter-mile to a third. I’m slogging along, nearing the track where the finish is, and thought–how in the absolute hell did I ever make it throw a marathon? 
I got the hell out of my damn way, that’s how. 

Taking the slow road

Where have I been these months? Oh, the places I’ve been. Some of these places required getting in a car. Others, a schlep to the airport. Still more, nothing more than stepping out of my building. And running down the street.
Memorial Day weekend, I decided to run a marathon. I’d been shuffling along for two years, running 5ks and completing a couple of half-marathons. In that time, I’d look at the mirror and say no. Or wonder why I was thinking crazy thoughts. 
Then Memorial Day weekend happened. A five-miler on the shore, a good weekend with friends. Then a look at the mirror. 
It’s time.
There’s always that moment of buyer’s remorse, that fleeting feeling of, what have I gotten into. And deciding to run a marathon maybe one of the bigger ones. 
I circled the date and choose the site of the run, close to home, where I would have support and some familiarity with the streets. 
And so it began–five months of early morning runs, early bedtimes. Watching what I ate, getting the proper fuel in me. Saturday mornings of long runs, then long stretches on the couch in recovery. 
And the idea constantly chasing me—will I die doing this? I’ve heard of runners passing away from runs, and I gave up avoiding the thought. (Though I did avoid stories on those deaths.) That meant I had to pay attention–what was my body telling me? Slow down, you’re going a little fast. Ok, walk here for a bit. Alright, chocks away, let’s go. Breathe.
As the training progressed, and I was doing longer runs, I’d choke up a little when I finished. I made it through another run. I was grateful for making it, surviving. But something happened on my 20-mile run. That was the dress rehearsal–I had to make sure I had all the gear ready, just like on marathon morning. I drove to the park, got the GPS watch ready, strapped on my hydration pack. I started out on the odyssey–and started choking up. The tears came much early that I thought, maybe in some recognition of what I was about to do, mentally and physically. And some recognition of the journey that brought me to that park on that morning. 
I’m going to endeavor to write a bit about the race itself soon. But the least stressful day I had was marathon day–I knew that I’d done as much as I could to get to the start. Or had hoped so. The journey to get me to the start changed me in ways that are subtle, but unmissable. The journey continues to reverberate.

Slowing down, and still moving

The winter in the northeast sucked if you have to and want to run. I’m not one of those hardy souls who can run in single-digit weather and ice on the road, so I’m familiar with the treadmills in my gym–when they’re working. But when they are, they’re good for regulating speed. Which is important for a slug like me. But sometime in late January, I became more of a slug than usual. I ran my short runs faster at the start of the year, and I felt confident about my speed, and my state after the run. Then came snowstorms, ice, a pile of work and staying in the city a couple of overnights. It was a perfect storm of ryhthm-destruction. I tried to do some core work, but that’s no sub for cardio. At the start of February, trying to recapture that pace. And…it was a struggle. Getting through four miles was an awful slog, so much so that I felt light-headed, a rarity  for me–and a warning sign. What’s wrong? What’s happening here? Was it the food I was eating? Was it my health? The self-diagnosis was terrible; I had to look back at what I was doing, and not doing, and figure out how to fix this. It looked dark for a while, as I’m preparing for a 20k and a 21k–would I have to abandon the first run? (I’m not abandoning the second–too much money sunk into it, plus timme is on my side there). Then, the thought quietly came–slow down a little. Ego says you need to be building, building, building, faster, faster, faster. But even getting through a 5k on the treadmill was a struggle. It wasn’t fun, but a chore. One evening run, I slowed the treadmill down just a little bit. And it made all the difference. I was happy going slower. Speed and times are fine, but with running, the experience for me is paramount. I want to finish in decent  shape, feel the relief of hitting the finish, listen to strangers cheer me on. I can always look up the times I finished, but the memories of races–the snow, the sun, the signs–mean more to me.

how i need to be loved

or…how i want to be loved…swapping need for want can be easily done here.

Let’s be real

The passion of the run (and the bike)

Out at dinner one night, a good friend told me it was gratifying to see that I had such a passion for all the running and cycling I’ve been doing this year. I told her I’m more amazed than anything else. From where this all started to where I am, the journey has been enlightening. And it’s been some of the hardest stuff I’ve ever done–early mornings, heat, cold, cramps, and questioning whether or not this is the smartest thing to do.

On OkCupid, there’s a question on what’s more important in a relationship, passion or dedication. I answered dedication. It doesn’t sound terribly romantic, but for a relationship to work, you have to put the work in. Flying on the autopilot of lust, desire and attachment will only get you so far. Once that fades, then what?

The initial rush of that first run or bike is great–I’m out on the road! I can feel the breeze! This is wonderful! The flow, then ebbs. Dragging yourself out of a warm bed to pull on your running togs and face a cold, hard dawn, is a…drag. The question of why the hell am I doing this is a constant. You tell yourself, there’s a payoff…somewhere. When you’re not running, you’re still preparing–passing up that doughnut for a banana. Parking the car a little farther from the store.

Soon, it becomes natural. You make the time to run in the morning. You take a pass on happy hour because you want to be right for the early ride. You judge the weather on how good a run day it would be. When you don’t run, or bike, you miss it. You don’t just run for the 5k shirt, or bike for the medal or water bottle you’ll get–you do it because you want to.

That’s love.

I think.

The question on OkCupid (like many of the questions there) is too damn binary. It’s both–the passion gets you in the door. The dedication keeps you there, and helps ride out the bumps that will come.

TFTD

I can’t think of a less worthwhile pursuit than sitting at a restaurant assessing each other’s suitability.

–Seen on an eHarmony profile

I don’t think it’s cynicism at play here, it’s cutting through the pretension of dating, the kabuki dance, the game-playing we all do. But hey, that’s the socially acceptable thing to do–and it helps keep restaurants in business.

Over the hill

Never mind how the race went Sunday. I ran my first duathlon–left the transition with the wrong shoes on, and cramped up twice on the bike. Never mind that. It’s what happening, or is seeming to happen. The experience seems to be transformative. There’s an energy now that wasn’t quite there before. Maybe it’s from the accomplishment of having put in months of work towards a goal, and having it pay off (despite having finished last in my category). The world seems a little different. It looks the same as it always has, but perhaps it’s a little more open now.

There’s a Sojourner Truth quote I saw just after I finished the race…

It is the mind that makes the body.

No question…I could have thrown in the towel from the cramping. But I persevered, walked up the hills with the bike, got back on, and completed the ride. That was huge–and transformative.

TFTD

Love can never be a means towards something else.  True love has to be aimless and pointless lacking purpose to keep its beauty, its fragrance and its joy.  When there’s a destination in mind, the journey loses its value.  Love can have no conditions.

via Why Love Is A Selfish Affair | LonerWolf.

I absolutely love this. This is so worth remembering.

TFTD

Haven’t done one of these in a while. Seen on a friend’s blog…

“A beggar had been sitting by the side of a road for over thirty years. One day a stranger walked by. “Spare some change?” mumbled the beggar, mechanically holding out his old baseball cap. “I have nothing to give you,” said the stranger. Then he asked: “What’s that you are sitting on?” “Nothing,” replied the beggar. “Just an old box. I have been sitting on it for as long as I can remember.” “Ever looked inside?” asked the stranger. “No,” said the beggar. “What’s the point? There’s nothing in there.” “Have a look inside,” insisted the stranger. The beggar managed to pry open the lid. With astonishment, disbelief, and elation, he saw that the box was filled with gold.
I am that stranger who has nothing to give you and who is telling you to look inside. Not inside any box, as in the parable, but somewhere even closer inside yourself.”

– Eckhart Tolle

Seasons of change

They’re both gone.

My dad’s mom had a heart attack on Mother’s Day, and died that afternoon.

My mom’s mom had a stroke a few weeks later. She passed away just before Father’s Day.

One grandmother I didn’t know well; the other, raised me when I was little. On my refrigerator, there’s a picture of my mom’s mom and me on the edge of her bed, her with a smile, and me sucking my thumb. Why, I’ll never know. 

There are scenes from that week at home after my granny died. The wheelchair ramp that was over the stairs, now in pieces in the yard. The steady stream of family and friends visiting, with food in hand. The visitation at the funeral home, with my grandmother lying there in her casket, finally at rest from a life well-lived. The prayer circle in her yard the morning of her funeral.  The heat of that day. Seeing family I hadn’t see in ages. The crying. The moment in the church when they closed the casket, the last time we would see her face.

The deaths made me look at some things differently. My job, my life, my friends, my family. What’s important now? What’s not? It re-enforced the notion that nothing is permanent. Everything changes and evolves. We can’t fight that, as frightening as it is. If we fight change, we suffer. We have to roll with the tides of change…

*******

My mom’s mom was quiet, determined, independent and caring. Those are things that she gave me. And I hope that I can keep cultivating them. 

Back on the good foot

Yep, it’s been a while, so it’s time to get back at. 

 

I feel guilty about not doing it (like I do now). It continues to occupy my head in a way that, frankly shocks me. I don’t thing I’ve ever done anything that hurts so much while I’m doing it, and feels so good after I’m done.

 

I’m still running. As much as it can hurt, I’m still on the treadmill and the road. All winter, I ran at least twice a week, prepping for a stretch of runs in the spring and hoping that I could improve on the slack-ass run I had on New Year’s Day. A 5k, an 8k and a 5k later, I’d say it’s mission accomplished. The first run, on a cold and damp day, saw me finish about a minute faster than my very first run last summer. Given that I hate running in that stuff (it’s chilly, and cold weather make strenuous activity that much harder for me), I was pleasantly surprised. 

 

Next up was the 8k, a distance I’d only completed in practice runs–a couple of weeks before. Race weather was a little bit of a shock–nippy 50s at the start, but 60s at the finish. And this was the best race I’ve been so far–6,000 or so at the start. With these runs, I try to run the first mile completely, then run-walk the rest of the way. Imagine my surprise when I felt fresh enough to go almost a mile and a half without stopping. Don’t knock it–I was still moving. 

 

I was slogging toward the finish as the two top finishers in the half-marathon blew past me (I know one of those guys). As cresting the hill toward the line, I could hear the crowd, and that gave me a little boost to make it. I have to say, it felt great to hear my name from the MC as I crossed the finish–in under an hour. As with many of these runs, you get a medal. It makes me glad to have run the 8 and not the half–the 8K medal was a helluva lot better.

 

On to the next run, this time, in my hometown. It felt wonderful to walk back in to my hometown school, see folks I hadn’t seen in decades, and run a 5k for the school’s bands. The one advantage I had over the other races was that I grew up in this place and knew the roads and streets. 

 

The morning was sunny and warmer that I thought–I didn’t need the running tights I had on. The run started, and I slogged to the first mile. It was a small field (lots of little kids, though), so the runners were strung out a bit, a little more alone on the course than I’ve been used to. But rounding a corner and hitting one of the main streets, the energy came back. My strategy was to run two blocks and walk one. And it worked–I hit a PR. Home cooking tastes good.

 

And so, this Sunday, on a bit of a lark, I’m running another 5k. The races help me train toward a goal–like being part of a triathlon relay team in mid-July. Running feels like jazz felt when I was in my early 20s–something I can do and keep up with for a very long time. I’ll have about two months between races, so I have to–sorry, want to–keep training, eventually hitting a duathlon and then, by this time next year…a half-marathon. That’s my moonshot–that’s the one I want to complete. 

 

To the time machine…

From my scattered writings…

6/24/12

this dating thing is really a grind, a bore. it truly is. i went out on a date the other night, and it was fine, ok. no sparks, but it was nice to go out with someone who’s really still a stranger. i often wonder what is wrong with me in terms of this dating thing…am i overthinking things, or what. friends say that i should show some more vulnurability. like some of the vulnerability that i show to them. it just takes me time to open up. 

but i’m bored of the process. i dated a woman at the beginning of the year. two dates, that’s all. she was a lawyer, attractive, funny, but we really didn’t connect. probably because i felt, in the middle of that second date, that the process was dull, to the point of stultifying. the dating routine for me is ritual. go to a site, see someone you’re interested in, email them, then hope they return that email. or, what’s more likely for me, have someone reach out to me. then you trade emails, looking for some connection. then a phone call or two (note: if you’re quiet, hoping for me to hold up a conversation, that will be a long call). then the working of the schedules to find the right night for a date. and then, the big night. pick the right time, the right restaurant, the right wine. it’s really a performance. i have to be a performer. that’s not to say i’m lying as i’m on the date, but there’s a part of me that has to come out, another side of me, that i don’t bring out often. and sometimes, that performance is tiring, and i sometimes wonder why, in the middle of the date, i’m there. to combat some fake loneliness? to be social acceptable? what? why?

i’m not saying that i don’t ever want a life partner. and i’m not saying that i’m stopping trying. it’s like a combination lock–there’s a combination that someone unlocks that gets me open. and that’s only happened twice in my life.

 i’m lucky to have a few close friends. i don’t want many–i want good ones.

 self-examination is a tough thing. in the job-changing process i’m going through, it feels like some scales are falling away from me. self-examination is not a bad thing for me, or for anyone.

**********

9/22/13

here i am again, bored of dating and bored of the process. just once, it would be nice to have a woman just fall into my lap, without having to leap through the requisite hoops. won’t happen, so what to do? keep trying, but remember something–you’re fine. you’re ok as you are.

**********

2/28/14

i’ve put myself on a dating moratorium. no more dates for a couple of months. it seems like that’s all i’ve been doing for 14 or 15 months, with varying degrees of success. and in that time, it feels like i’ve lost some sense of me, of who i am. in brussels, talking to my old girlfriend, she said the notion of having to date sounded awful. and recently, I read a story on how the French and the Americans differed when it came to sex and love, and a young French woman also thought the idea of dating sounded dreadful. and for me right now, it is. It’s very set-piece like, with an unofficial checklist and boxes that must be ticked. and both parties are on their best behavior. The very anthesis of humanity. I think the thing I hate about dating is that being me, may not get me a second or third date. I’m quiet, a little awkward, very observant, willing to listen. i’m a little standoffish, and may not always be willing to make the first move (yes, even at my advanced age). Dating sometimes feels like a test, and I don’t always pass it the first time around. So, for a couple of months, I’m not taking the test. 

**********

I’m noticing a theme here…

I’ve been toying around with the idea of rewriting my OKCupid profile, to better reflect reality, to better reflect me. This has given me some incentive, especially this passage.

We all are flawed and have been broken. But, too often, we date people on a surface level so we can tiptoe around that seamier part of ourselves. We don’t let our core flaws show, and try to hide them, or purposefully suppress them for fear of our partner judging or rejecting us. We are even willing to fight to deflect them.

The fact of the matter is, eventually we realize that lying is lying, whether it’s to ourselves or to our partner, and nothing good will come from a relationship that’s built on suppressed truth. We begin to see it’s about letting it all hang out.

This is something that I’ve been fighting for for a while–or to put it a better way, something that I know. The goal is to be fully human, flaws and all. I know my flaws, and I’m always working to improve them. They come with me everywhere.

Even at that nice restaurant at night, across from that attractive woman.

TFTD

For there to be true intimacy, you must begin with the process of truly knowing, understanding and falling “in love” with yourself. A healthy sex life cannot rely solely on your partner, it must begin with you and the relationship you have with yourself.

– from a Huffington Post story, The Search for Intimacy

Reborn–again?

It was 10 years ago that I was laid off from my job in Brussels. The time was sad and uncertain–I was looking for work, and was fairly sure I had to leave a city I loved to do it. But the previous three years for me were a rebirth. It wasn’t that i was running away from anything, but I think I had to hit the reset button. A couple of relationships were meh or emotionally draining, and being in my late 20s, I was still trying to figure things out. And Brussels seemed like it would be an adventure. I remember the fridays and saturdays I spent wandering the city, walking down blocks I knew nothing about, until they became familiar pieces of a puzzle. I remember sitting in a cafe, marveling over the wonder of drinking coffee from a cup (a rarity in brussels a decade ago). The nights wandering back home after some jazz. What has changed in the ten years? I’ve been captured by thre hamster wheel of work. In Brussels, the formula would be to go, have an adventure, then oh-by-the-way, go to work. Here, it’s work, then try to squeeze something in–if I’m not too tired. But I’m slowly waking up. I’m running, entering 5Ks. There’s traveling on the agenda that does not include going home. I’ve re-realized that my happiness depends on me. The invisible weights that seem to find their way to my shoulders are disappearing. It’s becoming time to live again.

TFTD

This is awesome, and Chris Hadfield is awesome. Thank you, Canada.

If you view crossing the finish line as the measure of your life, you’re setting yourself up for a personal disaster. … You need to honor the highs and the peaks in the moments — you need to prepare your life for them — but recognize the fact that the preparation for those moments is your life and, in fact, that’s the richness of your life. … The challenge that we set for each other, and the way that we shape ourselves to rise to that challenge, is life.

Explore – If you view crossing the finish line as the….

Back on the good foot

Most sensible people would spend New Year’s morning nursing a well-earned hangover. I was suiting up to run a 5K in the cold. It was the fourth run I’ve done, and the worst one, in terms of the weather (below freezing) and time (a shade over 40 minutes). But the sweatshirt you get for registering was worth it. 

This running thing is becoming a test of will now. Running is not comfortable for me–I can run a mile nonstop, but it can be a struggle, especially in the winter. It can be painful for my knees. It can get boring–there’s no way I can run more than five miles, lest I lose interest. If I were faster, I wouldn’t worry about my attention being held. 

It’s a struggle–getting up, getting dressed, huffing and puffing, wondering why I do this. 

Why I’m doing this, isn’t just for the physical payoff. It seems like the mental challenge is the biggest hill to climb. I told a friend that I want to be an “international man of leisure.” This running is as far away from that as you can get from that. While I like being on my bike, that takes little effort–it’s natural. The running isn’t; it feels like a Rube Goldberg-like process to get out the door. 

And yet…I got out of the bed and out the door this morning. What running is doing is pushing me to be in places in my head that I haven’t been before. Even though my time on New Year’s wasn’t great, the sense of accomplishment was still there. 

There’s always a lesson to be learned, and it’s  to prepare. I wasn’t ready to run the last one (six miles on the bike the week before doesn’t count). So this winter, I’ll be on the treadmill, running twice a week. It’s not much, but it’s a restart. I’ve got runs coming in the spring–I want to run a little better for those. 

The year of reconciliation

2013 started on a sunny, but bitterly cold, Montreal morning, sitting across from a woman I hadn’t talked to in five years. I still remember the moment along the old port when she said “it is what it is”–a phrase she used to hate.

It continued in the spring, emailing again with a woman I hadn’t spoken to in a year and a half. 

They say three of anything is a trend, so the line continued when a woman I hadn’t spoken to in four months reached out. and we went on a 15-mile bike ride. 

I’m not sure what’s happening here. Has this year been the year of reconciliation? Possibly. Things happen sometimes when you aren’t looking for them to happen. Carrying drudges or harboring ill will does no one any good. You have to grow up, and continue to grow up. That means forgiving, letting go of hurt and evolving. Maybe that’s what i’ve done this year. 

i’m not looking to get back with any of these women. I’m looking to clear the air, and let go of some weight that doesn’t need to be there. 

Maybe I’m looking to close a circle. Or some circles. While I was in Brussels in November, I had dinner with another ex-girlfriend. We spent a very good night together, with her sons, as we reminisenced, reconnected–and her asking me a couple of questions that have stuck with me ever since. 

And just after Thanksgiving, the cycle repeated itself, back in the U.S. back in New Jersey. She went from girlfriend to life coach, and really helped to sent me on my way to many of the life changes I’ve made. 

As I was driving to see her, I asked myself, again, what’s going on here? This year, I’ve either dated, or have talked again to women I’ve dated. What does this all mean? Is there some greater meaning here? What will 2014 bring?

Winter’s rest

I’m alone this Christmas, and I’m happy about that. No, really I am. I could try a dash home and back, but that involves a 700-mile round trip in 24 hours; I’m not that crazy. And I have to work Thursday. 

 

This is not to say that I won’t miss my family; of course I will. There will be phone calls FaceTime chats and text messages. But I won’t miss the stress of the drive there, then the dash to see as much family as I can, then the swallowing of the food, then the drive back. That I will not shed a tear over. 

 

Yet… the feeling I feel is light, dare I say, almost magical. There is no weight on me, having to worry about the six-hour drive, or the weight of family issues that inevitably creep in. Instead, there is a lightness  of my soul that feels amazing. I can’t help but smile, and be happy. It feels like, there’s a soul at rest. At peace.

Finding freedom

M asked me the question, somewhere in between the bottles of wine we had. It was asked innocently, and has stayed with me since that foggy night in Brussels, as we got to know each other after not having seen each other in nine years.

Do you need to be in a relationship? 

I answered no then, and the answer has stayed with me. As the weeks have worn on, that answer rolling in me has been replaced by another question: what will I do with this newfound…freedom/power/revelation/liberation? Ah, that’s where the fun begins, I think. It’s like a clean slate, having been unshackled from having to keep up with appearances of needing to be coupled. And it’s not that I don’t want to be coupled. It would be very nice to. But who I am as a man and as a human can’t/shouldn’t be defined that narrowly.

I can pursue relationships on terms better suited to who I am–the multitudes that Whit Whitman wrote about. M asked me what I was looking for in a partner. I said four things: an ally, a lover, a friend and a consigliere. That last one she laughed at; I meant confidant. What I seek isn’t complicated–or at least I hope not. And, while I’m asking for that, I have to give it as well. And I can’t forget that. 

What will I do, with the newfound power I have? 

To be (gratefully) continued

Reconnections

The plan was for me to write a couple of blog posts from Brussels, but like best-laid plans, went astray. You could blame it on jet lag, a couple of late nights, but that’s only half of it. Experiencing a moment, a weekend, a day, means being in that moment, not trying to capture it for posterity, to be posted on Facebook or Twitter. In the scramble to find the right app to share, we seem to lose the ability to be still, breathe and enjoy whatever moment has captured us. 

 

*****

 

In lieu of blogging from my phone, I jotted some notes in my walk through the center of Brussels. Sometimes it pays to not be able to check in to the hotel immediately.

 

—Amazed by the quiet in the center of the city at 9am, a far cry from the maelstrom that is Manhattan (I walked along the rue Neuve, a pedestrian shopping street; I remembered that Brussels was a late-running city. It’s easy to be out till 5 or 6 am)

—The weather cleared—sunny now; Brussels always popped a little under sunny skies (Brussels weather can be so gray, especially this time of year. But in the summer, when the sun sets later, forget it—the city and all the terraces come alive)

—A little self-conscious about speaking English (in the shops, at least. My French is quite bad, but most everyone knows English. I did try, and trying always helps)

—Had a really nice walk through the Sablon and Grand Place (next time I go, though, I’ll pick a hotel with 24-hour check in)

—Flight was choppy; more turbulence than I remember (The red-eye from Newark to Brussels—would be choppy for 30 minutes just off the Atlantic coast, then smooth out; not this time)

—Cities are great for introverts: we can readily hide in them and explore at will. Brussels is a great city of us; I think that’s why I liked it so much

—This Friday has been like my Fridays when I lived here: wandering the city in the morning, with a nap in the afternoon and fun at night. It’s been easy to slip back into a routine here (I was off Fridays and Saturdays, so going out was no problem. Recovery, too.)

—Could I move back here? Yep, rather easily.  

Re-entry

I spent three great days back home in Brussels this past weekend, and going back to what my mom called my third home felt like slipping on an old pair of jeans–comfortable, soothing, everything in its place. My hotel didn’t have my room ready, so I spent a few jet-lagged hours wandering the town, falling back into what was my usual end of week routine of heading downtown to wander the narrow streets. I wasn’t going to see the sights–I lived there for three years, so I know most of what’s there. It was to reconnect with a part of myself that had gotten put away in a drawer after coming to the suburbs of New Jersey. I saw old friends, talked about old and new times, and had some questions posed that have stayed with me on the flight back. The biggest one was one not posed, but lingered in the air–what do you need to be happy? 

The answer is probably not as much as I think, or what I’m told to strive for or what I’m expected to be. The walking around in Brussels was a symbol for what form a life may take: setting off for a distant land, exploring, discovering new sights and people, finding an alley you shouldn’t have walked down, and the urge and desire to see who you are what lies ahead. And the desire to sit on a bench, rest and take in all in. 

Going home…again

Bags are packed and ready to go…

I’m going home tonight, but not to my birth home in Virginia. Part of me was reborn in Brussels 10 years ago; it was new and strange territory, but territory I was eager to traverse. The time I spent there grew me up, made me see life and people differently, and see that the world was different and the same at once. The last time I was there was six years ago, running away (in essence) from a personal crash. This time, I’m simply going just to go.

The process, not the goal

Loved the quote embedded in this post…

By looking at “love” as a goal instead of a process, we are set up for despair and failure.

I hear people saying that they want to “be in love.” So, my question is: once you’re there, then what? We all want love, and to be loved. But, we should think of love as a garden–for it to be beautiful, it has to be tended to, or it’ll be overrun with weeds.

Love is a conscious effort.

Forgetting About “The One.” (& Why it’s So Much Better This Way) | elephant journal.

Wandering home

When I was a kid, I got in trouble for walking home from school (I just didn’t feel like waiting for the after-school bus) 

When I was a kid, I used to ride my bike all over town solo.

I did an internship in New York–not bad coming from a small town.

I used to do round-trip runs to Baltimore and Raleigh–at the spur of the moment.

I moved to New York alone. 

I moved to Brussels alone. 

I went to Rio alone. 

I drive to the beach for dinner after work.

I’ve been on vacation for a week, and when I was home in that small town, I noticed two things–many of the people I saw were old, and many were overweight. I can’t fight aging, but I can fight weight. I wrote this elsewhere…

i need to remember to stay awake in everything i do. walking through town, i see people who are big and moving slowly. they’ve yet time and age defeat them. i want to be aware of everything–everything– put into me, and what effect it will have on me.

The things I wrote above do’t necessarily speak to fireworks-out-the-ass adventure, but I hope/think they speak to a curiosity and wanderlust that has gotten a little suppressed in the hamster wheel of life, especially in the past couple of years. 

How to make the wheel spin in a different direction? A long weekend in Brussels is on the calendar for next month. But here’s the thing–I don’t need to travel to change my perspective. I don’t need to retreat to see who I am and where I am, and where and who I can be. 

The ability to see all these things is available to anyone at anytime. No plane ticket required. 

Enjoying the silence

As any red-blooded American, I should be watching the football game on tonight. But no, and it’s not because of the teams playing. I just don’t want to hear anything, at least for an hour or so. I want to hear, as they say in the business I’m in now, nat sound. Forget the clattering of my keyboard–what do I hear now? The fridge humming in the kitchen. The car passing on the street below. The cars zooming by on the highway nearby. That low buzz/hum that emanates from a city at night. And now, the church bell is tolling on the hour.

Not quite silence, but close enough.

There’s a tendency to use noise to cover what we don’t want to hear. So, without a game on or music playing, what do I hear? A small measure of peace.

(Of course, all this brings to mind Depeche Mode…)

Connecting the dots

I think some of the stories about Louis CK’s riff Conan O’Brien’s show on smartphones are wrong. He hates what they’ve made us become, and how we tend to use things–and people–to salve our loneliness and sadness. And we’ll do whatever it takes to fight off those two monsters.

And I’ll go further. I’d argue that Louis CK is making the same point that Pema Chodron has made, about resting in the middle of sadness and loneliness, i.e.: it’s ok to feel both.

We fight solitude with everything we’ve got, when soltiude could be a good friend.

Rediscovery

I’ve made a unilateral decision. My vacation officially starts Wednesday, but I’m declaring it starts now (or as soon as I stepped out of the office Friday). I’m tired, but physically and mentally, and the break is warranted. The year hasn’t gotten away from me, but I seen to have lost a bit of myself this year. Between the pace of work and the pace of dating, the hamster wheel has worn me out. Many a night I’ve come home and felt like I can only decompress slightly, knowing I have to wash, rinse repeat the next day.

And there’s the dating…every so often, maybe once a year, I get bored of dating. Bored of the process, the wondering if I measure up. (And heck, maybe my dates are bored with me). I haven’t been truly alone this year–I’ve had several dates through the year, and other than one four-month stretch, it’s been a number of three-and-outs (with a one-and-done thrown in). This sort of boredom, this sort of period, is dangerous: balancing the desire for aloneness and the desire to be with someone. But I need to find myself again, away from work, away from dating, away from the hamster wheel. As I’m finding what was lost, I think (I hope) I can be a better me, for the job, for future dates, for me.

For a couple of weeks to start, I’m taking a line from a Living Colour song to heart…

No expectations, just living free

It’s time for rediscovery.

Three words to call this…

Hell. Fucking. Yes.

I want to print this, pin it to my chest and say, read this and understand me. Being black and male and an introvert is no walk in the park. When he writes…

We’re generally assumed to be uninhibited, gregarious, and sociable—at least more uninhibited, gregarious, and sociable than most other types of people. Basically, we’re expected to be natural extroverts, and this expectation has a tendency to make people uneasy when we’re not. 

I can’t second this enough. Many of my abortive relationships end, I theorize, because I don’t meet the stereotype of “what a black male should be.” If I’m casting aspersions here, I don’t care–screw the damn type and the two-dimensional portrayals.

I have to be me.

On Successfully Navigating Life As A Black Male Introvert | Very Smart Brothas.

Let’s talk about…

I read two stories of note about sex just recently that caught my interest. One was in a great site called Lonerwolf advocating legalizing prostitution (medical prostitution, they call it). I’m generally not opposed to it, but the act, and the transaction, has to involve two consenting adults. I’ve got no interest in coercing someone to do something they don’t want to do. If I had a bone to pick, it was the author’s contention that men only have sex to have sex. Nothing wrong with that, but some of us do want to connect with someone as many levels as possible, and sex is one of those levels.

The other is on a French author who chose to be celibate for 12 years. That notion to willingly not have sex for years is a notion that I think scares people. sex is great–why would you not have it? So much of our society revolves around sex, whether we acknowledge it or not, and many of the problems we encounter revolve around sex. We attach so much meaning and expectation to sex, to ourselves and to our partners, that we shouldn’t be surprised that we end up disappointed and hurt before, during and after. How can we be comfortable with ourselves and comfortable with our partners, and comfortable with sex? In our search for the best sex we’ve ever had, what are we losing in our quest for the best sex ever? Do we mock the mock the French author because we fail to imagine a life without great sex? Is our collective failure of imagination letting us down?

Peopled out

This past weekend I was down on the Jersey Shore, spending the time with friends and friends of their friends. This would be a bad, bad day for an introvert–lots of people around, few chances to escape and recharge. But here’s the thing: we do like people, and if there’s a good time to be had, we can and are there. And this introvert had a great time. Good fun, good drink and great people to be around. And great weather didn’t hurt, either. If there was a downside, I gave out at 9:30 on a Saturday night, which I never do. I was peopled out, but the buzz from the day and the people made the early bed time easier to take.

Double play for a master

Sunday, the great Albert Murray, author, critic, social commentator, died at 97. He is one of my favorite writers and thinkers, changing the way I look at myself, my life and where I live. I went back into my archives and pulled out two quotes by the master, both from his book “The Hero and the Blues”…

“As he turns page after page, following the fortunes of the storybook hero, the reader is as deeply engaged in the educative process as if he were an apprentice in a workshop. Indeed, he is an apprentice, and his workshop includes the whole range of human possibility and endeavor. His task is to learn from the example of journeymen and master craftsmen such skills as not only will enable him to avoid confusion and destruction, but also will enhance his own existence as well as that of human beings everywhere.”

********

Nevertheless, the image of the sword being forged is inseparable from the dynamics of antagonistic cooperation, a concept which is indispensable to any fundamental definition of heroic action, in fiction or otherwise. The fire in the forging process, like the dragon which the hero must always encounter, is of its very nature antagonistic, but is also cooperative at the same time. For all its violence, it does not destroy the metal which becomes the sword. It functions precisely to strengthen and prepare it to hold its battle edge, even as the all but withering firedrake prepares for subsequent trials and adventures. The function of the hammer and the anvil is to beat the sword into shape even as the most vicious challengers no less than the most cooperatively rugged sparring mates jab, clinch, and punch potential prize-fighters into championship condition.

Heroism, which like the sword is nothing if not steadfast, is measured in terms of the stress and strain it can endure and the magnitude and complexity of the obstacles it overcomes. Thus difficulties and vicissitudes which beset the potential hero on all sides not only threaten his existence and jeopardize his prospects; they also by bringing out the best in him, serve his purpose. They make it possible for him to make something of himself. Such is the nature of every confrontation in the context of heroic action.

This is so beautiful

And hot and sexy. We tend to think of sexy as only fireworks and big booms. Sexy can be slow, sensuous, like a veil of fog rising over a dewy field in the early morning light.

Confessions of the Introverts.

Finding the keys to the heart

What’s said here is so key: the ability to love yourself is key to loving others.

Loneliness vs. Aloneness: What’s The Difference? « Positively Positive.

Inside the running mind of chehaw

The Saturday of the 5K, I jotted some prerace notes down, I guess in a way to burn some energy…

(No, there are no caps–sue me… 😉

i’ve never been a great starter; a little worried about this 5k and starting; like my dad said, pace myself (I started out OK, no great shakes.; though I did completely run the first mile)

 

don’t worry about competing with anybody, even yourself. just run. (The thought experiment…I thought of a line from a Living Colour song: No expectations, just living free)

 

a sense of relief that is over (I nearly cried after hitting the finish line)

 

all of this started because of a woman i’m no longer speaking to; should i let her know i ran it? maybe 😉 (Haven’t let her know…yet)

 

i think i want a steak after this is done (Great burger and fries and beer; well earner, I’d say)

 

this is not the craziest thing i’ve done, just the most tortuous (My body felt ok afterward; my knees, pretty damn good; the craziest thing I’ve done wasn’t in this country)

 

this is so funny, what i’m about to do (There was something slightly absurd about me running; it ran counter to me being an international man of leisure)

 

i need to wear my mala beads–need all the help i can get (Forgot them, though I did ok)

Random notes after a run

As I was hitting the finishing chute in the 5K,I didn’t feel this massive surge of energy propelling me to the line, but I felt more amazement than anything. I topped my projected time by nearly a minute, but that wasn’t the biggest thing. Panting after hitting the line, I grabbed my medal for finishing, walked over to the boardwalk railing, and tried to hold back tears. The sense of accomplishment was nearly overwhelming. The work of preparing to do something out of the ordinary was daunting–the physical of having to run three times a week and eating smartly to prepare the body, the mental in pushing past pain, wondering why I’m doing this. I did it to see if I could it–set a goal, do the work to prepare, then actually achieve it.

And I was heading to the line, I played a game with myself. Let’s have a thought experiment: just run. Don’t worry about the time, or the people passing you. Pay attention to you–how you’re running, your steps, your breath, the sweat pouring down. If you need to walk, walk. When you’re ready to run, run. I tried to meditate while I ran. We often think of meditation as only sitting still, when it’s also simply paying attention to yourself and what is happening within you.

The warrior meditates only when he is performing his duty. As soon as he puts aside his sword, he relaxes his attention. Suzuki Shosan, “Warrior of Zen”

I tried to be there at the run, and nowhere else. It’s a lesson I need to extend elsewhere in life. In anything, from folding laundry to sex, you and your attention have to be there. Your clothes and your partner will thank you.

While I was training for this run, I compiled a playlist to get me through–Living Colour, Pat Benatar, AC/DC, a lot of uptempo dance music. So as I was walking to the starting line, what song was in my head? Stravinsky’s “Pastorale,” a beautiful piece of music–and not exactly pulsating work. But my brain knew what it was doing: calming me for the run in the sun.

This applies to people too…

😉

Nation Just Wants To Be Safe, Happy, Rich, Comfortable, Entertained At All Times | The Onion – America’s Finest News Source.

Run, run, run, run

On Saturday morning, while sensible people will be asleep, I’ll be starting to run my first 5k. It’s been three months of the couch-to-5k thing, days where my knee barks going down stairs, mornings where I say to myself, do I really have to run today. The journey is almost over, and while I just want to finish the thing, I’m not really nervous about it. Why should I be? I’m not competing against anyone, and it’s benefitted my health. I’m really looking to have fun, and to see if I can complete this. And then, I can go back to being (somewhat) sensible.

And this is how I … probably won’t be running tomorrow…

Finding the precious

My energy I treat as preciously as I can. It lets me do all manner of things, in a way that (hopefully) is good. I want my life to be drawn to people, places, things and experiences that are energy-enhancing and nourishing. If I’m selective about it, that’s fine. Think of it as a buffet (since I’m eating breakfast now)–pick what’s interesting, what stands out, and explore it and see what it’s about. Find the precious energy you have with the joys that are found in life.

A dangerous thought…

From the quickly-becoming-invaluable Facebook page Introverts Are Awesome…

 

Knowing how to be solitary is central to the art of loving. When we can be alone, we can be with others without using them as a means of escape.

 

—bell hooks

 

I am a very dangerous man. Extremely dangerous. And not just because my middle name starts with a D. 

 

I recently told a woman that I’m at the point in my life where I don’t have any holes that need to be filled by a woman. Probably not the brightest thing to say–maybe it should have been stated more elegantly. But tis true. I’m fine alone. I enjoy my solitude. And I enjoy being in the company of a woman. But I’m with her to be with her, not to salve some pain, or to fill a gaping hole in my soul or psyche. And that goes against the grain of a lot we’re shown/taught to think and feel here. The quote above is really dangerous because it cuts against the grain of popular thought, popular feeling. We should not force ourselves, or others, to feel and be things for the sake of fulfilling empty shells and stereotypes. We should guide and help the ones we love to be their best. 

 

One can always hope.

 

Feeling…something…

In another part of my life, I like a Facebook page called Introverts Are Awesome. And today, they had a fantastic quote…

Because I rant not, neither rave of how I feel, can you be so shallow as to dream I feel nothing?  —R.D. Blackmore

Such a beautiful thought…

 

Bubbles and blind spots

If there’s anything I worry about, it’s the blind spots that I can’t see. What am I missing about me, inside me, that could cause me harm, hold me back? It’s not that I want to be held hostage by overthinking, but I don’t want to harm myself or others as I go through life. I want to be outside the bubble, step outside myself, watch how I progress and make it through the day. The key question is: Am I doing right my others, and myself?

Love and solitude

This is what happens when you peruse OKCupid profiles–you may find a gem that sticks with you for a good long while. Like this from a wonderful poet named Warsan Shire…

 

My alone feels so good, I’ll only have you if you’re sweeter than my solitude.

 

Yes. This, this, this. I’m fine, good alone (that’s an introvert for you). And yes, I’ve set a high bar. But the bar is worth hurdling. If I may be so immodest.

 

And then there’s this gem…

 

“You are terrifying and strange and beautiful, someone not everyone knows how to love.” 

 

True, too. I may not be cuddly and sparkling and have fireworks shooting out of my butt. But I am lovable. And I have to give that lovability back, too. 

 

It is, and should be, a cycle. 

Living it, feeling it

I was at the apartment of two good friends last night, and one said a nugget that has stuck with me all week: Life has to be lived to be understood. What’s the point of a life if you understand everything? That spoke to my sometime urge to want to get it all, intellectually, but truly, it can’t work that way. Life is experiences, good and bad. They have to be lived, felt, emoted over to get their meaning. As the lyrics of “Sojourn of Arjuna” say, we can choose the battleground, but we can’t avoid the battle.

Ownership society II

From this oldie, comes this idea…not only do I have to own the things I do as a human being, I should be building and growing from the experiences. 

Night notes

**Even though i’m 41, iIm still learning–and relearning–things about relationships, and people, and me. and that’s good. i’m still awake. 

**When it comes to sex now, I think I’m more interested in the intimate than the physical. I want (hell, maybe need) the intimacy and connection these days more than the mechanical slip-tab-a-into-slot-b sex. Even if that connection should only last one night, I want to feel it deeply. 

And a TFTD: “There are lots of things a warrior can do at a certain time which he couldn’t do years before. Those things themselves did not change; what changed was his idea of himself.”
~ Carlos Castaneda

To be merely happy

It feels good in this moment to be happy, content. The feeling resembles a warm blanket on a cold night. Comforting, the proper place to be. And instead of trying to build on the happiness–what more do I need to do to keep this going?–it feels good to let the happiness in me just be. All the things that I can do to grow this happiness will be there–they can wait. Now, it’s simply contentment with what is. 

Hurt

I just heard something great on a podcast. Someone said a person toughened up so they wouldn’t be hurt, and they lived blindly that way. Look, we’re all going to be hurt at some point. Do we have the emotional strength to recover, move on and build up from the experience? Those are the key questions…

In the spaces of silence

Just for a few seconds, be still. 

That’s it, that’s all you need…be quiet and listen.

And in that short time, you can learn so much.

In the stillness of sitting, and letting my thoughts settle like fall leaves to the ground, I came back (again) to feel good about a decision I made. I’ve been waiting for the moment to come that would say I’ve made the wrong call, and that moment hasn’t come. Instead, a song popped in my head (Just Us, by B-Sider from Chill in India) that signaled, you’re good to go. I’ve been happy all week with the decision I made, as hard as it was. But the decision made was the best for us.

That’s the great thing about silence–there’s so much richness there. If we just listen.

Walking the line

I feel like I’m walking a line between being emotionally vulnerable and self-validation. I want a girlfriend/partner/companion who can complement me. I’m not looking for someone who fills holes; I feel like I can do on my own. But I have fears and worries like everyone else; can I open myself up to you? That’s the question…