Clenching Mercy

Pivoting in short, choppy--often, incomplete motions.

Back and forth.

Left and right.

Can't forget this and that.

All of it matters.

Whatever you do, don't stop.

These snap shots have been my life for the better part of several weeks.

Some of it is has been expected and is a remembered part of this season, but a good chunk of it is new.

Managing deadlines both at home and work.  Looking down to see that both my belly and my ass have grown a little too comfortable making my jeans a little uncomfortable.  Realizing that my kid has a project due that isn't just his but involves three others and supplies and it's Sunday night.  Watching my five-year old daughter count down the days until Christmas, swearing that I'll order that thing this afternoon or carve out time to really decide what in the hell Santa is going to put under the tree.  Wondering why I took on that volunteer "opportunity" and how it is that I will have all three children in different spots at the same time? Trying to plan a meaningful graduate course terrified that the students will call me out as a fraud.

While I was doing the dishes and editing the grocery list and grabbing the towels...I heard the extraordinary writer, Mark Nepo define poetry as the unexpected utterance of the soul and the frailty of the human condition as:

And I was reminded, yet again that this deal we do is hard.  Let's not mince words.  From time to time, it fucking sucks.  A good chunk of it is spent enduring instead of standing open to the possibility of what the day brings.

So in that moment, I just stood

still.

And breathed, a sigh of relief.

A really, really big breath.

And I closed my eyes and un-closed my fists and tried to receive whatever it is that the world had for me.

And while in the moment, I had to grin thinking that I extrapolate ad nauseam about the power of possibility and standing open to the availability of the extraordinary in the daily mundane....until it comes to me....and my life slowly turns into..."well, everything will be better once I make it to Thursday night or Sunday morning."  Meanwhile, a million moments go by and my teeth are clenched, my stomach is in knots, my mental to-do lists are cycled through repetitively and I'm just making it.  Most of the time, it's not a bad making it...it's just a dulled engagement of what could be.

Mercy is trusting that you don't have to know.

It's the indomitable fact that you can't possibly be in control all of the time and that surrendering to what could be is the greatest form of inhabiting the moment as imperfectly and beautifully as one can.

And so this morning on my run, I released. little by little...unsure but hopeful...which I think is my mantra for the new year.

I'm done with knowing.

I'm in need of mercy and grace and the divine and the blessed possibility that comes with the great unknown.

Breaking Surface

Today in my black shorts and loud running tank and shoes, I started out in the overcast weather for an easy peasy run.  One of my favorite songs belted into my ears and my initial mistake was getting lost in the music and going out too fast…at least for the pace that I’m used to enduring mile over mile. 

Frustrated, I slowed to a jog and then finally, gave in to a walk.

Ugh, I thought, I’m getting slower and slower.  This is such bull shit.

Hitting a stretch of road demarcated by two towering trees, I decided, fuck this.  I’m kicking up my legs, feeling my quads burn, sprinting the shit out of this path, because there is an end point in sight and I have nothing to lose.

Picturing myself as Allyson Felix, the Olympic athlete in the women’s 400 meter relay, I gave it everything I had, pretending that someone was depending upon me to finish strong.  And then I stopped.  Huffing and puffing, sweat stinging my eyes, chest leaping out of my body, I stopped to look up and smiled. Jesus Christ…that felt good.

I used the remaining three miles to do the exact same work…sprinting as hard as I could for a designated distance, regaining strength and then repeating, all the way home.  It felt foreign and beautiful and a meaningful accomplishment.

Instead of negotiating whether I was a legitimate runner or not, I stopped thinking and starting running…I gave up on giving credence to the noun and decided to imperfectly be the verb.  I didn’t give myself a chance to follow-through on my credentials, I just deemed myself worthy for 30 minutes and did the work.  And it hurt, and it felt good and it was messy and uncharted and new and beautiful.

And when I arrived home, I reminded myself of this transformative Mark Nepo poem…

Breaking Surface

Let no one keep you from your journey,
no rabbi or priest, no mother
who wants you to dig for treasures
she misplaced, no father
who won't let one life be enough,
no lover who measures their worth
by what you might give up,
no voice that tells you in the night
it can't be done.

Let nothing dissuade you
from seeing what you see
or feeling the winds that make you
want to dance alone
or go where no one
has yet to go.

You are the only explorer.
Your heart, the unreadable compass.
Your soul, the shore of a promise
too great to be ignored.

We are all great explorers navigating the tricky and ordinary waters of our lives, searching, celebrating, grieving, yearning, proclaiming, hoping against all hope that it means something.

Today, for me, it was a brief glimpse into a fraction of what I’m capable of.

Sometimes, two trees, a stretch of road and bright running kicks are a nice reminder.