Live the Shit Out of Life

Yesterday, my very dear friend lost her very dear friend to cancer.

We've been praying for her for a long time.

She has three children the ages of my mine.

My heart is broken.

From the moment that I received the message, I've been asking myself why.  It's beyond tragic. Not one ounce of it makes sense.

She was in the prime of her life, smack dab in the middle of mothering, sharing her journey with an amazing partner, surrounded by an incredible circle of friends and now...a huge hole has been left.  This morning they woke up and she wasn't there.

I woke up, did my typical morning exercise coffee regimen and listened to Stevie Wonder before meeting my dear friend for coffee...because this is what we do.  Slowly, somehow, someway, we learn to go on.

And I have to believe that this is what they would want.

In fact, because of their early departure, they would want us to live the shit out of our lives, in every way...to honor them not by simply existing or surviving...but by thriving and inspiring others.

Start by giving yourself permission to laugh those big awkward, guttural, feel it with every fiber of your being giggle fests,

then scream at the top of your lungs, FUUUCCCCKKKK because it just feels really, really good and sometimes, it's the only word that makes sense,

go on that trip even though you have work that needs to get done around the house or you're really tired or you're not totally caught up at the office or the money should go toward some random bill....

call your mom back and listen to her go on and on because hearing the sound of her voice and her hearing the sound of yours matters...someday, it may be the only voice you're longing to hear...

tell her that you're sorry and that you miss her and that you wish things were different...

give him a hug and say that you're proud not because of the goal he scored or the grades on the report card but just because he's here and you're here and you will always love him, no matter what...

let go of that one stupid thing you said that one time that no one can remember and has long been forgotten and show up to that one event that you're worried about...you'll be glad you did...

find a song that you love and belt it out the car window or in the shower or better yet, naked in your kitchen...for me, it was this...this morning...

And when you remember the one you've lost, maybe too soon, know that you're still here and in some way, you owe that amazing person your willingness to live with gusto, with heart, sometimes with abandon, and always with love....

Here's to those that have left us too soon.

The Reckoning

Here's what happened...

I woke up at 4:30am, turned on the coffee machine, stumbled to find my shoes and a sports bra that smelled like barf, began making excuses why I shouldn't have to get up and run, inhaled half of a gooey, brown banana...it too smelled rancid, cued up my music and left the house.

It's dark at 5:15 in the morning and my worst fear running alone is that I'll find myself in a precarious position that I can't run away from.  Pushing my fear to the side, my legs felt heavy, my breath was irregular and my heart just wasn't in it.  But this always happens.  I have to give myself the first couple of miles before I find my groove and am grateful that I made my way to the great outdoors.

Somewhere along Happy Hollow Boulevard where there are lots of trees, a deep ravine and people that seem to pop out of nowhere walking their dogs or cycling, I got scared...or rather the dude with the big dog caught me off guard and I gasped and then started sprinting up a hill.

When I got to the top, I stopped and let the tears well up in my eyes.

I've been praying for a friend of a friend who is my age.  A 40-year old beautiful woman with 3 children of her own who has been battling cancer for a long time.  This past weekend, it looked like she may be nearing the end and really painful, heart wrenching decisions needed to be made by her family.  The text messages from my friend nearly brought me to my knees.

Why am I here able to run up a hill away from a pretend scary man and his dog and she is in a bed hooked up to a never ending line of chemo?  Her parents are watching their child die and her children are watching their mother fight for her life.  All of it is horrific, tragic, incomprehensible and defies anything that I can wrap my head around.  It just feels wrong in every way.

After I managed to get 5-miles in, I came home to a quiet house, poured the biggest cup of coffee, closed my eyes and stretched.  While feeling pain in nearly every muscle of my being, I began thinking about the ways that we reconcile where we are in our lives and the ways that we reckon to make things different.

What is good?  What is bad?  What could be better, different, enhanced?  What simply is and will probably always be?  When is it enough?

My friends often laugh because I'm the one always asking the big, philosophical, often unanswerable, unknowable questions.  I rarely find myself having a "small talk" chat with really anyone.  I can't help but get to know you...the things that really define who you are and what you care about.

It just seems to me that life is too short not to.  It also seems that life can be unfair and untenable and that if we don't reckon with ourselves what we want from it...well, then...one day, it may be too late.

While reading, I stumbled upon this quote that we should all consider:

“I choose many voices to consider and reckon with, rather than just one to tolerate.”  T.F. Hodge

Let the questions come.  Let the wonderment arise.  Let the voices battle each other.  Let your heart ultimately guide you. 

Fail Better

I can't remember what I was listening to...

but I do remember that I was driving and I was alone and it was glorious.

You know those moments where you're zoned on autopilot, driving to some location that you could navigate to in your sleep and all of a sudden, you hear something in the background that catches your attention.

It must have been a program on NPR and the interviewer was quoting the famous Irish playwright, Samuel Beckett, to which he said,

"Ever tried.  Ever failed.  No matter.  Try again.  Fail again.  Fail better."

And I was riveted. 

Lately, I've been passionate about the concept of imperfection.  After so many moons of needing to be in control, worried about what others think or how I'm perceived, I've decided that the messy life full of authentic, real, raw relationships is the place I want to be.

I just simply don't have the energy, the means or the interest in putting on a show.

That said, there are parts of me that want to get better and I find that when it gets down to it, I will push, but often stop when it's clear that if I push harder, I will most likely fail.

This happened to me during my most recent race.  I really wanted to PR or set a new personal record.  Once you run a race of a specific distance like a half marathon, you have a benchmark time.  Every subsequent race allows you the opportunity to run it faster or to arrive at a new PR.

Not knowing the course since the race was in its inaugural year, I decided that I would join a pace group.  The question was do I join the group that is 10 minutes faster than my current PR or 10 minutes slower?  Do I start fast and try to keep the pace or do I start slow, conserve my energy and then shoot out of the gate with a few miles left?

I started with the slower pace group because this is who I am at heart...radically fearful that I won't be able to hack the pace.  And then literally less than two miles in, I took off, because that's also the person I am, fearful that I won't actualize my full potential if I don't and not very good at staying the course.

I was jamming for the first 10 miles and then, the monotony of the course hit, my mojo started waning and all of the sudden, I saw my original pace group not far behind me.  Instantaneously, I kicked it into gear and ran as hard as I could vowing that I would leave everything I had on the course.

I PR'd but only by two minutes...not a huge win, but encouraging nonetheless.

In 2014, my mantra was "Fuck Fear."  It served me well.  I ran my first marathon, a 78-mile relay race and a half marathon.  I started writing more.  And I got closer to pushing the envelope with relationships that were important to me.

In 2015, I'm leaning towards, "Fail better."  I want to go bigger, bolder, harder knowing that I'm absolutely going to fall on my face in the process, but that there won't be any regrets hanging by the wayside.

I read today that Sam Simon, co-creator of The Simpsons is dying of colon cancer.  He's giving his $100 million fortune away to charity.  At the age of 59, he said that cancer, while painful and heart breaking teaches you very quickly about what's important.  And it's not money.  It's going after what makes your heart sing and helping others pursue their dreams along the way.

Maybe we should all seek to fail better.