Mile 26

Oh, hi.

Recently I compared this stage of my life's journey to a marathon and said I was at the 18th mile. Well, I think I just hit mile 26. 

It only took me seven months.

I've got 0.2 to go, folks. 

And they may take another seven months.

In my experience, the last .2 miles seem like the longest leg of a race. You can see the finish line, are surrounded by hundreds of screaming bystanders, and feel relief flood your body as you begin to taste the victory of completion.

But your legs ache. Your throat is parched. Your stomach is churning. Your sweat-soaked clothes are rubbing and reeking in the worst ways. Oh, and you have salt face. 

You just ran 26 miles. Why does the final .2 feel interminable?

Because you're so close...you're almost there. Those words become your repetitive mantra. You hold your head up high, remind yourself of the strength and stamina that got you safely to where you are, and put one foot in front of the other.

And before you know it, you're crossing the finish line. In all of your hard-fought, long-suffering, well-earned, beautiful glory.

Therapy

Hi, my name is Ann, and I am a therapy junkie.

:)

Don't worry - I haven't reached a What About Bob? level of dependence, and don't plan to. But I have logged quite a few hours on the shrink couch within the past year. (Thank God for good health insurance.)

I know everyone has her own opinion of counseling. On one extreme, some people are fanatics who consider weekly sessions religious experiences and their therapist their spiritual guide. On the other are those who write off counseling as a self-help crutch for the weak, or necessary only for those with "real problems." (Or perhaps they're just scared to confront their personal demons.) Today I lean more toward the former than the latter, which wasn't always the case.

I grew up attending church regularly, at least twice a week when accounting for small group Bible studies or youth group. Going to a Christian college only doubled my church/chapel/small group quota each week. And then marrying a youth pastor perhaps tripled it. (I think I ODed on church.)

Although today I am not a church-goer, I still believe in the power of community that healthy churches can create. For me, one of my favorite aspects of church was the connections I made with other people when we shared honestly about our lives and took the risk to be vulnerable about what was really going on in our heads and hearts. Unfortunately, I think such authenticity isn't easy to find in many church communities. Too often fear of raw doubt and real questions stands in the way, and pat, cure-all answers from Scripture take the place of active listening and empathy. 

And thankfully, in the absence of church community, I have maintained and developed friendships that are my lifeblood and provide some of the truest community I have known.

But in my experience, church - and even my dearest friends - can't quite touch me the way an hour of rigorous personal examination guided by an objective, insightful third party does. It can't move me the way questioning long-held beliefs about myself and the world around me, unveiling misconstrued assumptions, and slowly transforming old behaviors and patterns of thinking can...and has. Truthfully, individual counseling has helped me to become a more mature, healthy, and whole version of myself. 

It's OK, you can be skeptical. I was, too. When my counselor invited me to join a women's support group, I nearly laughed. "Me? In a support group? Aren't those for addicts and abuse victims?" I thought. As If I am better than they. (I'm not.) Despite my pride, curiosity got the better of me, and I went for it. And I went back again. And I'm going to keep going.

Because it's nice to know that I'm not alone. It's inspiring to talk to three other women with a variety of life experiences and personal struggles, again led by the questions and outside perspective of a caring and trained individual. It's encouraging to know that although we're each very different, and our baggage comes in different shapes and sizes, we're joined simply by our humanity: the desire to love and to be loved, to know lasting joy, and to suck the life out of life...and not allow ourselves to get in the way of realizing the achieved moments of those pursuits.

We all have our issues, rocks in a bucket that we carry around with us throughout our days. We can blame these on our tramautic childhood, failed relationship(s), or unfulfilled career dreams. Most likely circumstances beyond our control have added some weight to that collective baggage. But I've learned that it's what I decide to do with my "stuff" and how I choose to live through it and beyond it that will make me or break me. 

Counseling has been a "make me" experience. So for now, I'm sticking with it.

How about you - thoughts on counseling? Good experiences? Bad?

(By the way, if you need a good therapist, let me know.)

On Turning 29

I turned 29 three months ago. So this post is a little delayed. It's been sitting in my draft box for weeks, and I'm finally taking the time to get my thoughts on "paper." Get excited. ;)

Your 20s are a decade when you're "finding yourself" - finishing school and entering the real world, figuring out who you are and what you want to do with your life, and discovering what it means to be an adult. And in the midst of all of that uncertainty and change, you still feel young and invincible, as if you've got all the time in the world. You're enjoying the freedom of living life for yourself, carving out a little piece of the world that you call your own. You're beginning to make decent money and buy nice things and take fun trips with friends. You feel healthy, energetic, and carefree.

And then you turn 29.

At least that's what happened to me. I know 30 is traditionally a tough birthday for most. But I had my "I never thought I would be this old" epiphany on December 7, 2012, when I realized this is the last year in my coveted 20s, the last year it is socially acceptable for me not to have my shit together.

Suddenly I feel old. Because the older I get, the more my life seems to unravel a bit at the seams. At times I feel like I'm living life in reverse when compared to my peers, and then I get a bit panicked. But I have to remind myself that this is my life. I have to own every decision and step I've made along the way because those choices and moments have made me who I am today. It's all about the journey. And I'm really starting to get that.

So this journey continues, and days and weeks and months go by, and all of the sudden I'm 29. If I told 15-year-old Ann where I'd be at 29, she may have laughed in disbelief. Twenty-two-year-old me would probably say, "Get your shit together." Ha. She was so young and naive.

And that's when I not only feel older (as in I have more wrinkles and my skin is losing its luster and I get a hangover after three beers older), but I feel wiser. When I compare who I am today to who I was five years ago, I see a marked maturity, a shifting perspective, and a crossing of the threshold into adulthood. With this rite of passage comes some dashed dreams, a loss of innocence and idealism, and the mourning of the end of an era. But there also comes a fresh and seasoned view of the world and people and a deeper understanding of the beauty of both grief and joy, pain and hope.

Because I'm beginning to realize that as difficult as it is to say good-bye to my 20s (clearly I need 12 months to do this), I think I'm gonna love my 30s. I already feel more comfortable than I ever have in my own skin, I know who I am and what I want out of life, and I don't care (as much) what other people think of me. I also better understand my strengths, and equally my limitations. And I'm OK with both. I can "own" those characteristics and be honest with myself - and others - about them.

So as traumatic as it was to turn the big 2-9, I'm beginning to dig this getting older thing. I may have been in bed before 10 p.m. Saturday night, and St. Party's Day weekend no less (to my credit, I did run a half marathon that morning), but I wanted to feel good the next day, and not hungover and useless...

...Wow, I'm old...

...But also so much wiser. :)

New PR!

I'm ending this blogging hiatus and bringing a little something "lighter" to the table than some of my posts of late. I've written about running several times before on this little online space. I chronicled my first race four years ago, and more recently shared how much I appreciate my running community. Yesterday I set a new milestone in my running "career." I finished my third half marathon and PRed (by less than a minute, but I'll take it!). So 1:56:08 is the time to beat.

 

The DC Rock and Roll Half was less than stellar, in my opinion. It was fun to run through the city, but the race was disorganized and understaffed from start to finish. We waited in 15 minute lines for gear check and more than 30 for porta potties. This put us at the back of the pack, in the last corral, which was 10 corrals behind where I was supposed to start. I had trained for this race and was hoping to PR, so dodging and weaving the entire 13.1 miles was not ideal. Also less than ideal were the water stations, where often runners were forced to fill their own dixie cups or wait in small lines to get those coveted few sips. But every race has its unforeseen circumstances, so no excuses! :) I felt like I gave it my all, and my legs are aching today, which is confirmation of that.

 

 

And just as much as I love to run, I love my "running friends." In fact, I don't think I would keep racing without them. I'm a loner when it comes to running, but racing is a whole other ballgame. It's opened me up to a community of people who motivate and inspire me to set goals and keep training. And beyond that, these people have added such joy and cherished memories to my life.

And these are the moments that make up the good life: a memorable race, dear friends, and a cold beer (even though Mich Ultra is not real beer).

Cheers!

When the Fight Is Gone

"Love; it will not betray you
 Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
 Be more like the man you were made to be.
 There is a design, an alignment to cry
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be."

—"Sigh No More," Mumford and Sons

Does such love exist? I've felt some pretty awful pain recently and have seen some of my dearest friends hurt deeply as well. I just feel so utterly disappointed in the human race. And  I wonder if there is anyone who is truly righteous, upstanding, and good...or who at least makes intentional choices toward that end. Even Crosby on Parenthood (Season 2) couldn't keep himself from the ultimate act of betrayal. (I know the show isn't real life and the characters aren't real people...)

Yet when I hear this song, my heart soars because I believe in love. I always have, and I hope I always do. And I desire to know love that liberates me to be who I was made to be. To love how I was made to love. I understand that real love isn't an emotion; it's a commitment, a choice. I get that it takes work, and sometimes that work is hard.

But should it be this hard? I feel like I've fought a good fight. I think I've loved well. For so long I didn't really allow myself to consider surrendering. I thought I would stick with it no matter the cost. Yet something in my heart severed along the way. And now I'm conflicted, and I'm scared. And I'm so fucking tired.

I've always been a loyal person, maybe to a fault; making decisions that put my needs and wants first took a backseat for a long time. During the past six months I've come to know myself again—"adult Ann," and what she wants out of life...and love. So where do I go from here? I (think) I know what will make me happy. And I'm quite weary of fighting for that happiness in places where I may never find it.

I feel like I have so much love to give. And I just want to be free to give it.

Living in the Gray

Ten weeks ago I was living in the now. Today I'm living in the gray. Well "now" is "gray," so maybe it's all the same.

I grew up seeing the world in black and white. Maybe all kids do, but I think my robust church-going and Bible-reading youth especially instilled in me a comfortable association with rules and the "right and wrong" ways to live. My Type A, perfectionistic personality also contributed to my embracing a life lived inside my own carefully constructed box.

I realized this week that recently I've stepped out of that box, discarded some of my longstanding rules, and said good-bye to the certainty and safety of a black-and-white existence. This has nothing to do with my moral code and little to do with my faith. Instead, it's about how I think about life today and in the future.

Perhaps this is another part of growing up. As a youth, you have this vision of what your life is going to look like, where you'll be in 10 years, what job you'll hold, when you'll get married, at what age you'll have kids, and so forth. But then inevitably you realize those dreams and all of that idealism and your picture-perfect perspective is not real life. And that safe box of predictability and contentment cracks...or shatters.

I think this happens to all of us as we gain life experience and human wisdom. But for me, this box-shattering and black-and-white blending is about accepting that I do not know what the future holds, and coming to terms with the discomfort that creates within me. Some days I'm content with not knowing, not having a plan. Some days I'm so uncomfortable with the absence of certainty that I either obsess or disengage—neither of which are constructive.

I continue to realize how far my people pleasing nature reaches. Not until I allow myself to be influenced by others' opinions or questions do I begin to think that I should feel a particular way, or that I should be charting a a specific course of action. Even if I feel a peace in the process, I am easily swayed by your voice.

And that enrages me about myself.

Because your voice will always be there. But this is my journey, not yours. Your box may be intact, but don't try to fit me within your lines, please. You may have a lot of unanswered questions, appropriate concerns, and well-meaning opinions, but please keep this in mind: I, and I alone, have to answer for my own happiness. I have to chart my own course. To you, it might be simple—it might be black and white.

But me? I'm living in the gray. And I'm OK.

Forgiveness, Part 2

I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately.

Recently I wrote a post about it. I believe this was a genuine experience and that I knew real forgiveness in that moment—and beyond. But lately, I've begun to ask new questions and really search my heart.

One question I've considered: Can true forgiveness occur in the absence of change? Can one really forgive another unless that person who wronged her shows remorse and evidence of change? 10 weeks ago, I chose forgiveness without seeing change, knowing if change had or was going to occur, or even understanding how exactly I had been wronged. I simply knew that I was full of anger, hurt, hatred, and bitterness. I knew it was destructive to allow those feelings and emotions to fester. I knew they would choke me out, and I wanted freedom from it all.

So is that "selfish forgiveness?" Did I forgive because I wanted to be free from my own pain, because I hoped that in choosing to surrender my malice, I would move forward toward peace? Maybe I wasn't really loving another person well in that moment, but trying to love myself better? Or maybe both. Perhaps you can't remove one from the other...

Last weekend Joel and I talked about forgiveness. He shared his belief that change is required for real forgiveness to be extended. He thinks often true forgiveness is mistaken for a mere "letting go" of the pain one feels because time and distance eventually bring peace. While I understand his perspective, I (currently) don't agree. I think a person can forgive another without condition. I don't think it's easy by any means, nor do I think it happens often. But I do think it's possible, and I'd like to think that I chose such forgiveness last summer.

However, today I don't feel so free in my forgiveness. Right now something is holding me back from really, truly letting go. Maybe forgiveness, like love, is an ongoing choice—an action that you choose to walk out on a daily basis, rather than a momentary feeling, or an epiphany of sorts.

Is anyone out there a forgiveness guru? :) Or just have some experience or insight to contribute? I'd love to hear your thoughts.