A few weeks ago I was waiting in the checkout lane at the grocery. Wearing one of my Boston Marathon shirts, the person ahead of me struck up a conversation. Asked me if I was a runner, if I’ve run the race. Yes I’m a runner, yes I’ve run the race, no I’m not running it next year. They asked what I was training for now and my response was nothing. I explained that I just run to run these days, without mentioning that four years of health issues have completely derailed any hope of significant racing for the foreseeable future. I guarantee that is not the conversation the stranger wanted to have when they decided to kill time waiting in line by talking to me. But I could tell they were flummoxed by the running-without-a-goal thing, which suggested that they have a very goal-oriented runner in their life (this fella told me he wasn’t a runner himself). It got me thinking once again about how different of a space it is to do something just for the sake of doing the thing, as opposed to as a means to an end.
Then last week, I had lunch with a former colleague. A delightful young woman who is going through a bit of a rough patch. Throughout the course of our conversation, it became clear to me that this path that I’m on was always going to be my path. The circumstances at my former employer are such that I wouldn’t have been there long-term, even if my health hadn’t taken another shit. When I left that job, I felt quite strongly that I was just holding the seat until this young woman was ready. It felt like the universe had a plan, but until last week I felt like that plan was for her not necessarily for me. That I was mostly a character in her story. Not considering that my time there was meant to be short because of my own plan, because of what was meant for me. Throughout our long conversation I became acutely aware of how we (society) think of everything backwards. If we do it “right”, we go through school, graduate, get a job, climb the career ladder, work for 30-40 years, retire (if we’re lucky), die. We’re also supposed to get married and have a family in there somewhere. Success = college degree(s), job, house, family, retirement. We get a little flexibility on the order, but there are boxes to check.
When my autoimmune condition first went off the rails, my husband, healthcare provider, and others encouraged me to take time away from work. Not just a week or two, but a real break. After all, it was work stress that started all of it so the suggestion wasn’t unreasonable. We still lived in Colorado at the time, and having a bunch of free time in what was still a fairly new community, with a hubs who’s gone a lot, didn’t sound that exciting. And I’ve always enjoyed working and gotten considerable satisfaction from it. I’ve been extremely fortunate to do work that matters greatly to me and in some way contributes to the common good. I wasn’t ready to let that go. Besides, we don’t have kids. If I’m not home raising a family, then I need to be at work “doing something” with myself. I took in all of the messages from society, internalizing them, believing that if I didn’t have business cards with some title after my name, that I had little to contribute. That I was of little value. Even though I envied people whose lives weren’t confined by the standard 9-5. People who through a combination of sacrifice, planning, and a bit of luck, had the nerve to craft lives that authentically reflected their own interests and priorities. People who said f-u to the status quo and had the chutzpah to create something different.
So when things finally got bad enough a few years later, in late spring 2017, I had a bit of an existential crisis when it became clear that time away from work was necessary. I really, really didn’t want to answer the questions of who I was without work. What I would become without the structure and focus a career provides. A big part of me thought I’d take the time to get my health squared and pick up where I left off. A tiny, unspoken corner of my brain dared me to use the time to redirect, to take the opportunity to create something that more fully mirrors my values and priorities. Not to mention that I needed to accept the reality that my body wasn’t likely to endure the levels of stress that it used to…going back to the status quo probably wouldn’t be an option. The longer I was away from work, the more I deprogrammed and re-examined what I believed about myself and what it meant to live a good, meaningful life.
Going back to school became the vehicle for the redirect. My compromise in wanting to continue my career, but realizing that I wanted more options. I spent much of the last 14 months away from work thinking and planning for what’s next. Even with running, I still had one eye towards getting back to racing, even though I do love training just for the sake of training. Even while I worked hard to be present and not worry about the future, I was still planning for the future, wondering when I could get on with it.
It was at lunch with my former colleague last week that it hit me. This is “it”. There is nothing to “get on with”. Even though I have worked hard to be present this last year, my mind still naturally goes to what’s next. It’s not simply the messages society sends, some of us are hardwired to be goal-oriented. I am one of those people. So even while I’m trying to be fully here, fully present, part of me is still peeking around the corner wondering what’s next. When can I get back to “real” training? When am I healthy enough to go back to work? If I don’t stop wondering about what’s next, am I missing the magic of today? The magic of this gap that I’m in? What if in my urgency to “get on with life”, I don’t sit still long enough to marinate in this experience, in this moment? What opportunities or idea will present themselves if I patiently sit still, because I patiently sit still?
I missed a race this weekend. Most every year, I meet up with some of my Boston Marathon friends to run the Reach the Beach relay in New Hampshire. I had to back out this year due to digestive issues interrupting my training. (Yes, these digestive issues are related to everything else.) As disappointed as I was, it was just one more disappointment in a long line of disappointments, so whatever. But it did motivate me to finally tackle fixing my diet once-and-for-all, as food has been a contributing factor to all of my woes these last few years. (There’s a considerable body of research that discusses the connection between gut health and autoimmunity, this is a good primer.) I’m working with a new dietitian and I might write more about that later, but this is not about that. I thought that finally resolving my diet issues was to be the “win” from missing the race. But then my little sister, who was due to deliver her baby boy on Mon. Sept. 17, had him a few days early, on Wed. Sept. 12. The same day I would’ve flown to Boston to meet my friends. Because I missed the race, I was home to meet my new little nephew on Thursday. I was home to spend a few hours with them on Saturday, the day they came home from the hospital.
The last 14 months have essentially been one big gap for me, one big pause. While I have been able to continue running, the volume is much, much lower than normal for me, and racing has not been a priority. There is no point to it beyond general fitness. My career is on indefinite hold. While it’s taken me most of that time to settle into the pause, to lean in to the uncertainty, I’m happy it’s finally happening. I’m grateful that I didn’t stumble upon something else that rushed the conclusion to this time. It seems a bit ridiculous that it took over a year for me to relax into it, but considering that I’m mildly anxious by nature and am far more comfortable in motion, it makes sense. So I’m going to spend the next few months working on holding still. Rather than minding the gap, I’m going to stand in it, marinate in it. I’m going to resist the urge to metaphorically move just for the sake of movement. I’m going to do the hard work of navigating the last remaining lifestyle changes to fully reclaim my health and well-being. And I’m going to continue asking myself what is valuable and worthwhile, challenging my own beliefs and asking myself difficult “whys”. Whatever comes next, whatever I reach for or say “yes” to, needs to be a loud, whole-hearted yes. Not just a “maybe”, not just a “should”. Looking back, I think “should” ruled my 20s and 30s. YES – a yes in all caps – is going to be my 40s. YES to work that matters and speaks to my soul…and doesn’t vampire my health in the process. And YES to training, races, and activities – hiking, skiing, snowshoeing – that invigorate and motivate me. And this gap, this pause is the path to YES. It’s not the path I would have chosen or selected, but here we are. I’d best make the most of it.
Messenger
by Mary Oliver
My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.
Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,
which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,
which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.
