Inspired by early morning resolutions...more running, continue learning the Chopin Polonaise Fantasie, eat better, drink less, write more, become more skilled with photography, meditate...I'm reminded that this habit of early morning resolution-making is the result of so much unfinished business. This list is a recurring list to which I only need to commit. And so, I'm out for that run, but not without first reviewing this poem, a favorite.

 

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

 

Chapter 1

 

I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
I am lost ... I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

 

Chapter 2

 

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in the same place.
But it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

 

Chapter 3

 

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in ... it's a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

 

Chapter 4

 

I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

 

Chapter 5

 

I walk down another street.

 

~ Portia Nelson ~

Living with Ambiguity: The Paradise of Being an Artist

“if the future is to remain open and free, we need people who can tolerate the unknown, who will not need the support of completely worked out systems or traditional blueprints from the past.”

Margaret Mead

Why I Ran the Fifth Third River Bank Run: 7 Lessons I Learned in 6 Miles

1:04:29

That's my chip time for this year's River Bank 10K.  It's not fast. And, it is to date, the slowest 10K I've ran since I first began running in 2006.

For the past two years I've ran the 25K--through storms, flooded course, 40-mile per hour wind gusts, and temperatures in the high 30s. The runs have been hard, which is made more intense by my stubborness to continue running despite my lack of any natural aptitude for it. I just run because I think I should.

In 2009 and 2010 I ran for Gilda's Club Grand Rapids. Inspired by my family's experiences with cancer, I decided to seek pledges from friends so that 1) Gilda's Club can continue their vital programming and 2) I would make the run about something more important than my roster of completed races.

For the past year I've been swarmed with small health problems: bouts of vertigo, a troubling colonoscopy that led to a series of biopsies (they all came back fine), a visit from my old friend "minor depression"

Like wandering into a ghost of gnats, none of these problems resulted in anything life-threatening, but as a series of issues, they just wore me down. And interrupted my running.

I still managed to do a few runs in 2010, including the Monster Dash Half Marathon in Chicago on Halloween morning. Spending time with friends, Steve and Bryan during that race reminded me that the joy of running had not left me.

In December, inspired by the Monster Dash and trying to leave the tiny room of depression that seems to always be in the house that is my mind, I began to train for the River Bank 25K. All was going pretty well. I logged my miles diligently, following the guide that came in the mail. I chummed around with good runners and smilingly accepted their abuse as they braved the snow and ice while I sweated it out on the treadmill.

By March I was in pretty good shape, although struggling to manage unexplained weight gain. I ran the Irish Jig 5K and felt every foot fall--with my 165 lbs (15 lbs over my typical weight) making everything more difficult and slower than usual. Nonetheless, I finished just fine and enjoyed the afterward at Rose's, our tradition.

And then I stopped running. Sluggish and uninspired I simply stopped running. Between March's Irish Jig and last Saturday--the day of the River Bank Run I didn't run at all. I did work out, but only out of obligation.

But--during that time I became keenly aware of friends, family and acquaintances who were experiencing all sorts of health problems. I attribute this to my age group--as I near 50 I'm just around more people who begin to have things happen to them that, well things that happen to people who are 50ish.

One guy fell during a training run only to find out he has a brain tumor. Another runner friend's father-in-law was diagnosed with cancer--and died within weeks. And then I had a bout of Schatzki Ring--a chronic condition on my roster of strange health problems that manifests by my not being able to swallow. One week before the Run I landed in the hospital--twice. Once in the ER and then again for the procedure that expands my esophagus.

And then I made the decision to run the River Bank. I just couldn't give in to all of these things. I thought, "As long as I can start and finish, I'm running."

And I did.

Very slowly, but with a mental lightness and enjoyable determination. And with great support from friends who ran alongside me.

I learned what I already knew:

1. There are always obstacles to training
2. Ilness and death co-exist with us every day and everywhere--we might as well make room for them at the table
3. Doing something is better than resigning oneself to being on the sidelines
4. It's good to be nobly determined
5. Noble determination is different and better than ego-driven stubborness
6. Fast is nice, but not necessary
7. The guy who jumps out of the sidelines 500 feet before the finish and pushes you through is proof of good in the world

Now, stop reading and go do something worthwhile!

Clinging

It's not that we lack the ability to be fully present, it's that we are often too fearful to let go of the past.

Ten Strategies Toward Becoming Centered

1. Allow life to unfold. Be mindful with your thoughts, words, and actions. Trust others to do the same. Live your life, not the lives of others.
2. Avoid blaming. Blaming snaps us back to the past, as if re-living an event might change it. Accept this moment as the only true reality. Allow the past to pass. Be forgiving; seek kindness.
3. Relax; avoid seeking perfectionism. Accept people for who they are. To those who seem authentic and kind, invite them into your world as you choose. To those who seem to be guided by suffering (and therefore, bring suffering to others), excuse them from your life. Set boundaries.
4. Bring resolution to all conversations, conflicts, and commitments. Follow through, enjoying the sense of calm that results from feeling the resolve of tension in thoughts, actions, or promises completed.
5. Take time everyday to appreciate the interconnectedness of life. Too often we can feel constricted by a self-inflicted sense of uniqueness. As if the flaws of our being, our struggles, our traumas have happened only to us. We all suffer. We all have caused suffering. We all have been helpful. We are mostly alike. Moving toward a place that honors our ability to share our authenticity with others allows us to be free...to breathe more deeply.
6. Enjoy the candor of life. Often we're taught to deny our feelings, fears, hopes, dreams. Open up and allow your true self to be fully present.
7. Call things what they are. Don't try to dress up life, or hide. The beauty of life is found in its blemishes. Great things happen to us. And lousy things do to. Accepting reality allows us to be more fully present, not having to create a false world of how we wish things were. Accept this moment.
8. Be trustworthy in all your thoughts, words, and actions. Be sincere.
9. Allow yourself to perceive, think and interpret, feel, desire, or imagine in your own way. Extend that honor to others, too.
10. Give others space to have their own code of life. Don't assume your pathway is the right one for everyone else. We all find our way in our own ways. Extend a hand, but respect the boundaries, beliefs, dreams, and hopes of others.

Long Point Light

Long Point's apparitional
this warm spring morning,
the strand a blur of sandy light,


and the square white
of the lighthouse-separated from us
by the bay's ultramarine


as if it were nowhere
we could ever go-gleams
like a tower's ghost, hazing


into the rinsed blue of March,
our last outpost in the huge
indetermination of sea.


It seems cheerful enough,
in the strengthening sunlight,
fixed point accompanying our walk

along the shore. Sometimes I think
it's the where-we-will be,
only not yet, like some visible outcropping


of the afterlife. In the dark
its deeper invitations emerge:
green witness at night's end,


flickering margin of horizon,
marker of safety and limit.
but limitless, the way it calls us,

and where it seems to want us
to come, And so I invite it
into the poem, to speak,

and the lighthouse says:
Here is the world you asked for,
gorgeous and opportune,

here is nine o'clock, harbor-wide,
and a glinting code: promise and warning.
The morning's the size of heaven.

What will you do with it?

Finding Calm

I can find calm most readily when I let go of believing that I am responsible for the feelings, actions, or attitudes others.

I can influence and be influenced, but at the end of the day I am only responsible for my actions.

Everyone's path makes sense to them. People choose relationships--family dynamics, friendships, and partnerships--for reasons that suit them. They don't have to make sense to me.

Seeking "the perfect" in anything is self-defeating. Make a little progress every moment. Revel in experiences that bring peace; strive to move through experiences that feel shameful, frustrating, or disappointing.

It is good and wise to put ourselves first. We may raise children, take care of friends and family, and support colleagues. But none of this is possible without making ourselves the priority.

Find courage everyday to speak up. Ask for what you need.