Easy Does It

It's easier to not think. Don't think about cancer. Don't think about where we go when we die. Don't think about job security, the lines on your face, being so far away, the lack of check marks on your bucket list.....suppression is a talent. Self inflicted torture it is to allow the mind to contemplate. There's only so many times you can ask yourself: why, what if, how, when, where. There's only so many ways you can interpret if only. Some talents outweigh others. I've been told I'm quite thoughtful. Well, shit.

Sleep is in my top five. Trouble is I've never been very good at it. I blame this thoughtfulness good quality. Dreaming is remarkable. Day dreaming superior. It's been said that fear disables dreams. So, if fear is self made, only the fearful can mask their scarification. It's terrifying to imagine dreams dying simply because fear lingered. If you look fear in the eye, will it dissolve even if the dream doesn't come true. I'm not sure that's any less scarier.

How is it that you can be everything someone dreams off, but just another to someone else? They say I'm pretty. They say I'm smart. They say it's good to be independent. They say careers are important. Family shouldn't count when it comes to compliments. A compliment's weight lies with the inflicted. Lies are the same if the outcome doesn't change. Mystery is another sought talent. Change is inevitable, mysterious attributes are easier to acquire.

The waiting room to be asked is rather lonely. The search to be needed can't be masked with pay checks, friendships or endless happy thoughts. Hating the sound of goodbyes leaves dark circles only the genuine see. I've perfected change. The difference between wanting to be loved and wanting the one to love you is exhausting.

If only, life got easier with age. If only thoughtlessness were manageable by us all.

Perceptive Perfection

The one that got away. The one that hasn't come around yet. The one that came and didn't stand a chance. Problem. The one sometimes is all three. So there she is. She may be a super model or the girl next door. She may hide behind glasses or spend hours masking her self proclaimed blemishes. She makes your mind race. Now, this one may be it or she may be a fantasy unfolding every time your paths cross. Your body leeches to hers and that's just it.


Wonderful. No, seriously. There's always going to be that one that stimulates. Problem. This one isn't the one you take home to Mom. Once lived, the thrill fades. Add her to the list, she's just another girl.


So there she is. She makes your mind race. The things running through your mind from the minute you met mimic, evolving every time your paths cross. If you want to wrap her up, if you can hold a conversation, if you find yourself letting her in the routine...one day you feel so comfortable, she fits. She's a fantasy you don't want to come true. She becomes your best friend. Who ever she is, when the day comes when you simply can't imagine not seeing her face, she's already met your Mom. Don't think. Don't try to put her in a neat little box. Be. Well....so there he is.

Mini Vacations

The sweet smell of Sunday floats the air. If I've expressed my blessed existence, please accept my apology. For today, blessed may just not cover it. Last weekend was spent in the Happiest Place on Earth. Well, according to them. Mickey and Minnie never really evoked extreme joy, but never distaste either. The simple aura of joy is quite powerful. Close to 20,000 smiling faces can have that effect.

Work. For a lack of a better term, last weekend was to sit in attendance as a 7-year-old delivered her story. Wit at a level many wish could be reached poured from this little lady's mouth as she spoke of her inability to see from her left eye, struggle with motor skills and recent "No more chemo." party. Yes. Seven. Her mother stood by her side as this remarkable child embraced the 500 deep crowd. Her mother tried to speak as her baby wrapped up. Her mother thanked those in the room, those who together raised over $670,000 in just the short few months prior to their journey through the cobble-stoned world of Walt.
Work. Tuesday through Saturday don't have a chance. Helping those who've lost, those who've conquered, those who simply amaze can't be placed in that 9 to 5 box. Each and every moment, insert Sunday and Monday here, brings the perception of a bad day down to earth. It could never be as bad as it could be worse. As a mother stands next to her child, thousands work so a mother standing will someday feel it's alright to sit.
Work. Take a minute, re-read. Yes, Tuesday through Saturday. Saturday around noon. Football anyone. Brace yourself. Everything happens for a reason. Timing is everything. Good things come to those who wait. Cliches cease. Pure bliss. Every week is a mini vacation. Stadiums await..... Blessed just doesn't make the cut. I can run, I can watch football, I can call "work" a lifestyle. Writer George Sand put it another way: “Work is not a punishment; it’s a reward". The prize: the invitation into the lives of those who know the true meaning of a bad day, but stand anyway. The minute to pay-it-forward has made the top three on the bucket list. Speak without saying. Act without seeking. If only the powerful knew how they could truly make the world a better place. A crown comes in many forms.

The Letter

To you. For all the things I should have said. For all the things I can still say, but am writing this letter I will never send. Come on. You've been here. That voice, yes it's there, will probably never go away. Let's call her regret. It is absolutely impossible to live beyond regret. There are things we wish we did. Could have, would have, should have. And then some. Here it goes again. The key to hush her is to first acknowledge she exists. Women are quite irritating. New news. Embodying one as I do, doesn't make it any less so. I can't get it out. They're there. She doesn't sound like me. It's like a recording. That can't be me. Its always been on my fault list. Who truly knows what they want. And who ever they are, they're lying.

Hindsight has problems with communication. He is best when provoked. He knows what he wants, but just can't get it out. She doesn't know what she wants, but blurts a recording. Maybe this should be the letter in my head. The one I read before bed, the one on it's tenth draft, the one she won't record. Well, at lease I wrote the letter. It's the thought that counts. The lack of thought should get me somewhere. She may never leave me alone.

Happy Thoughts

For the most part, happy thoughts rotate my consciousness. You know, life is good....and all that jazz. Ironically, life is good. True, it is a daily effort to slow down to avoid flipping over those speed bumps, but rocks make the sand all that sweeter. Recently, someone who I hardly know invaded my inner thoughts. How? Well, perhaps I am not as aware of my thoughts as the happy people would like me to be. Isn't the point to make yourself believe the happy thoughts. Perception is reality. Not a single soul out there can make another feel something without the way they perceive the reality changing. In the end, we all do what we want. This has taken me almost 3 decades to wise up on. This topic is ever-evolving and constantly on my mind. Now, I am not saying that there aren't selfless, caring, genuine folks out there. There are. I have been blessed to get to know more and more of these rare breed lately. What I am saying is, these people actually want to be selfless. Imagine having the desire to do good without any accolade. Is it really human nature to expect something in return? Absolutely not. Some -ologist just rolled over in their grave. Why do we always have to toss out excuses, reasons, explanations? The world would be a better place if we all didn't feel obligated to state our agenda. Just live. Go with the flow. Embrace the change. Live without regret. Ya, ok. Regret creeps in, even as happy rattles it. We all have our reasons for why we act. The truth may never come out, but when the rocks smooth over the place we end up may just be a mirage of sun and sand. We did what we wanted. We landed where we thought would be the best to thin the reality line. Enter the importance of the happy thought.

Smile at your consciousness. This smile just might, just maybe, will rub off on your subconscious. There's no stopping your happy thoughts. Just ask Peter. Just call me, Tink.

Take Me Back

It's never too late. You only live once (YOLO). If I see that, hear that, one. more. time. I am all about using acronyms. They've helped me many of times. Acing the sciences would not have been possible without the invention of such alphabetic usage. However, my gratitude has come to a crossroad. Simply do not take a motto and shorten it for monetary purposes. I don't want to hear Lil whatever his name is chant this to a ripped off melody. Society has come a long way. The third graders who can't get YOLO out of their heads don't even know how to interpret the letters. The moral high road is clearly out of reach for much of the population. Are we shrinking? Rarely is a stance black or white. Shades of gray linger, just ask Anastasia. We rush around filling 24 hours with mundane, thoughtless nonsense to avoid actual thoughts. How else could YOLO be profitable? Take the time to think about it. Top dogs smurk at lunches away from the office, co-workers boost about 80 hour work weeks, graduate schools are over crowded. Hell, McDonalds even has a commercial about it. Genius. The early bird gets the worm. Yes, but the early bird went to bed when the sunset.

I won't go on and on nor shall I nag, this is not an invitation to a pity party. This is a rare black or white issue. The warning sign has been flashing for as long as I can remember. Neon, bright red, metallic, sunshiny blinding. Work life and home life will inevitably merge. Cloaked in nomadic tendency, this merger is fully acceptable. Well, to I. The one insistent on never loathing her job. Money can't buy happiness, nor is it everything. Vowing from the moment I crossed into reality, leaving the bubble too many have yet to pop at an age appropriate time, from purely a beaten societal creed, that I shall never loathe my job. Circle back. Life's just too damn short. Thus, work life and home life should merge. Further more, one should actually enjoy the punching of the time clock. Now, let's be realistic. Some days are just not all roses and honey. Shit happens, the water spills, everyone just can't get along. Completely following the happiness is a state of mind mantra, let shit it the fan and go on about your day. The problem is the lack of quite possibly knowledge of this mantra. Living selflessly may be too much to ask. The ability for Lil whatever is name is to exist may have given it away. Then again, it may just be me. Living in my very own tasty bubble. Maybe my time, that credited to home life, should be spent searching for Mr. Grey. If it truly is never too late, if everything does happen for a reason, if the belief that life is too short and to avoid hesitation at all times is a motto echoing through my subconscious, then I've found him. The battle is letting the merger unravel. The battle is giving up, giving in and forgetting why the bubble popped. Forgetting the new flavor of the one I perfected.

Reasoning Rhythm

Running 11 miles at under a 9 minute pace under pristine circumstances should truly make one feel good. Freaking great. On top of the world. Jumping for joy. Shouting from the rooftops. You get the point.

Well, is it obvious this is not the case. Future goal: perfect the ability to mimic feelings with words. Mastering the art of the eye roll years ago isn't cutting it with the inability to actually see the eye roll. Again I found myself strolling along, easily could have carried on a conversation gliding under just the right amount of clear blue sky, a perfect light breeze allowing my habitual braid to stay intact, a cool 70 degrees, good tunes, sans band aids..... Snap out of it. On repeat since unlacing. I should have a Pandora station with the voices in my head these days. True, lots running through my mind. Usually runs right out within the frame of any form of speedy repetitive leg movement. I've always said I don't feel like myself if I miss a run. Total out of body experience. In a body I'd rather not inhibit. So what's the deal yo!?! Focus. Unfocus. Breathe. Relax. Smile. Think. Don't think. Ugh. Ugh. UGH. One chooses to be happy, a mantra to live by. One I live by. However, after hours of the voices in my head telling me to be happy, I've chosen to think instead. On paper it's all peachy. I've never liked peaches. Fresh peaches, yummy. The canned kind gooped in slimy corn syrup sloshed on top cottage cheese forced down during adolescence may play a slight role in this. If only I got that psychiatry degree. Plenty of time. Insert light bulb, thank you Mr. Edison. Too bad Mr. Gates has yet to discover how to give words the power to ignite action. Time. Such a mind blowing concept. Today it feels like it's running out. I know, I know. Yes, I'm young. However, according to whomever they may be, I'm behind. No need to worry about any weird finger tan lines, no need to rush home to have dinner on the table, no need to try to figure out just how we're going to pay for a college education, no need to even worry about we. Cue the violin. Not sure who to thank for that one. The ironic thing is, is typical me, everyday me, running junky me, peaceful, nomadic me, does not care what they say. Thus the pleading desire to make the voices in my head to just effin shut up. I've been known to think too much. Serious direct relationship to my date of birth. Seriously. If only I would've got that astrology degree. Unseriously. But, but....I think (shocking) the lack of cloud cover has gotten to me. California has turned me into a hopeless romantic. So now, these thoughts will not end. It's making my skin crawl. I intend to learn a rain dance. Then again, maybe, just maybe I should this time put this Pandora station to use. Time is running out on some things. How far will it get before I need those band aids again....

Rosey State of Mind

I ran 12 miles today. Well, let me explain. I ran/walked 12 miles this beautiful, sunny, warm, breezy California afternoon. To say I have a new appreciation for all those who have ever completed a marathon, or even "just" a half marathon (as many runners coin the less intense mileage), would be a flat out lie. See, I am extremely in awe of all those who've crossed that finish line. Never even have safety-pinned a bib or numerically labeled myself, I can simply only imagine the feeling of partaking in this tradition. True, it is on my bucket list. However, I recently discovered it may have moved up in rankings. Thus my double digit stroll. "I feel the need, the need for speed." Maverick, Goose and I are on the same page. Despite my lack of totting medal bling, when I lace up something inside me ignites. I run for many reasons. One of them: to beat myself. Daily. This past week, setting a PR at 3 miles/20:03 minutes. Damn, that felt good. Hence my anxious twitch triggered at the mere thought of 26 point 2 miles. It has been a while since my last post. A really long unintentional pause. Over the course of these past 8 months I've completed tasks not on my bucket list. Topping the charts: 3 days driving solo from Detroit, Michigan to my very own piece of paradise in Orange County, California. Now I am not one to hate. It, like love, is a strong word and should be used sparingly. I H.A.T.E. driving. Getting me through it was the opportunity waiting on the other end: an actual real job. You know, the ones grown-ups have and a college degree used to get you.

As the recent Senior Campaign Manager for a national non-profit, I assist those who are relentlessly fighting for a cure for cancer in raising money and crossing a finish line. My boss, bless her heart, strongly has expressed her feeling that I too earn my keep. It's about time for me to talk the talk and walk the walk. Many things in life are mental. One chooses to be happy, irate, succumbed to drama...another blog, another day. Running is mental. Your mind will give up before your legs do. My mind just wants to go fast. My mind thoroughly enjoys hailing butt. This perfect Sunday afternoon, I spoke to my mind. I told it to just relax, take the time to smell the roses. I've never been the rose type. Hence my inability to slow the f down. I completed my first ever 12 mile outing at under an 9 minute pace. Crap. Time to choose a favorite shade of rose.