Welcome home.

I’ve been feeling like shit. Like my body is a dumping ground for pizza pie, processed cheese, hamburger greeez, beer, wine, and extra crispy French fries. About a year ago I stopped exercising — worse, I stopped caring — that’s how I reacted to a huge life shift, in career, home, community, etc. Then my coffee maker died. It felt as if every last piece of me, what I once was, was being stripped away bit by bit and left along the roadside in a wake of scattered debris. More about that some other time.

“You can have the courage to climb the mountain, swim the lakes, go on a raft to the other side of the Atlantic or Pacific. That any fool can do, but the courage to be on your own, to stand on your two solid feet, is something which cannot be given by somebody.” ― U.G. Krishnamurti, The Courage to Stand Alone

The point being, in response to all of the change, I chose to stop taking care of myself. Healthy reaction, I know. Life happens. Sometimes during a difficult time you cannot see the forest or even the damn trees. Sometimes the only thing you can focus on is the low-light under a pile of covers for days on end. And you’re completely okay with that. And that’s okay too. But at some point you must reemerge, ideally. Some call that the Hero’s Journey—some emerge on the other side, some do not. But if you do eventually come up for air, that’s when you have to ask yourself, now what?

The good news: fast forward a year and I am in a new career, one that I love, putting a hard-earned degree to work in a creative industry that speaks to my core. I can finally say at the age of 48, I love what I do for a living.

The bad news: My current habits aren’t great. Inch by inch over the last year as my eating habits have declined my lethargy has increased in direct disproportion. I’ve gained some weight. Current BMI: 25. Overweight. A BMI of 30 and above is considered obese.

The nearest CrossFit from my new home is an hour drive. CrossFit has always been my go-to in staying a healthy course. But now, I can barely remember what it is like to hit a WOD, to work my body at max output. I miss the feeling of that level of physical exertion. Pushing past a place of, “I don’t think I can,” to “I did it!” There’s nothing quite like it. I also miss the people. Sure, I have been on a couple walk/runs, scant 3 mile jaunts where I walk more than run and all I want to do is turn around and go home and give up for good.

Why bother? I’ve asked myself over and over. I’m too far gone.

Really. Seriously. Why bother?

But eventually, you do. You have to. So I’m beginning again, again, again… Since there’s no CF locally, I’m starting slow with what long ago would have been considered a warm-up. That may sound snarky, but it’s true, and it’s okay. Your level of work is directly proportional to your level of work. I have no idea what that means except everyone has a different threshold, and while I’ll most likely never revisit the PRs I once knew, I’m happy to start on a path that just gets me moving consistently again, clearing my mind and my body of bloat and fog. How will I do this? Well, here’s the plan:

  1. Embark on a 5 day Bone Broth Fast. The benefits are many. And when you’re standing on a precipice like the one I’ve been tight-rope-walking the last twelve months or so, nothing but a total and complete drastic reboot will do. It’s all or nothing at this point. No room for rationale or bargaining. What happens after the Bone Broth? TBD.
  2. Start moving. Every single day.
  3. If I can’t go to the mountain, I’m gonna’ bring the mountain to me, stone by stone… i.e. get creative. Figure out how to incorporate what has long seemed like home into my new home. (See photo.)
  4. Write. Here in this place. And other places. Just write. It’s what I love. It’s who I am. Side note: For those of you that used to read this blog many years ago, you’ll remember my best-four-legged buddy, Oliver. His photos are populated throughout this url. The outline of his profile is the inspiration for the logo. He’s since passed away, a year ago next month. While his nose prints may have all but faded from my windows, I’m not erasing his image from this blog. Rather, his presence is a trusted source of inspiration, a compatriot. I do have a new furry friend now, Maverick, and we’re getting to know one another.

And so it is with a soldered-spirit that I acknowledge what was with a commitment to what is. Like coming home. Onward.

 

gaps between us

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.” ― Robert Frost

The passage of time. The beginning and ending of all things. Including relationships of all kinds, intimate, work related, friendships. People come and go in our lives. It’s natural. We move, we change employment, people die. There are some relationships though, you think will never end. You never stop to consider when, or if, it could ever happen. You are so much a part of one another’s lives, perhaps you have known one another since you were in kindergarten, or you just met yesterday but it seems as if you’ve known each other since kindergarten. Either way, the relationship is so strong, the bond so deep, the end of it seems unimaginable. Utterly impossible. But, what if one day you don’t recognize that old friend anymore? What if they don’t recognize you?

What if the next time you meet for coffee, the comfortable and familiar veil of history together is lifted, and you start to see someone you no longer recognize. Or, want to know. Then what?

I’ve been grappling with this recently. At what point do chosen paths veer so far from one another that the bridge of friendship can no longer breech the distance between. What if the void is too great? I’m just not sure.

When I was younger I was certain there was nothing that could break the bonds of certain relationships, specifically that of family and dear friends. But, as I’m getting older I’m learning this is simply not the case. People change. There is no blame here. There’s only the differences between us in how we grow. And the value, the time, the energy, and sometimes even the very pieces of our own hearts, that we are willing to lay down along that bridge in an effort to rebuild and bring it back to whole. Is it possible we were just wrong all along? Is it possible the person in front of us was only a reflection of what we wanted them to be? And in truth like most reflections, the opposite.

What if the person we ourselves thought we were, is not actually who we are? What if we are really the ones who have changed.

It is a heavy feeling knowing a gap is widening between you and someone you hold dear. It is even heavier to think you may not be able to fix the fracture. Heavier still in thinking you may not want to.