Go Crazy Red

I had a conversation a few months back with a complete stranger while strolling through the salt water pool on a day I just needed to be. How the conversation began, I couldn't tell you. Why we connected, that's another blog, another Saturday night.

As I strolled, peacefully hazed from the sauna her words came to mind. "You're on old soul.", she called me within moments of our first impression. Lately, I find myself fascinated with old minds, solitude calmness and spending hours escaping the indoors. I've turned into that one guy who lived in the forest alone for years, maybe even decades.


The best way to put it to words, peace. Truly surreal overwhelming sensation, far from where those daily faces would perceive me to be.


It hit me this morning, not like a ton of bricks, but a lightening, literally. I love my job. I love where I live. I'm happy every damn day. The brick comes late at night, always in my dreams.

I want to love and be loved.

Exhale, Nat. Yes, I know I am loved and I do love, but not that earth shattering passionately mad crazy love. I want crazy.

I've been Californicated. Shit.
 
Well, I'm not a cat lover. So, I must be sane still.

Role Playing...

So I've been thinking.....I've lived in Beverly Hills, New York City and Orange County. I've chatted up talented athletes and dined with famous faces. I love and am loved by people sprinkled all over the U.S. and will always call Detroit my home. Everyday I rise to the sunshine, lace up my running shoes, see friendly faces and tune out over as many miles as I want. Ok....June gloom has lasted a little longer than most Californians appreciate, it burns off within hours. There are no vitamin D deficiencies round here....

I call "work" helping people raise money to find a cure for cancer, while they sweat over miles and oceans for the first time. My hours are spent listening to stories bringing both joy, pain and tears. Do you feel me yet?

I am one hell of a lucky girl.

This afternoon I spent walking the beach with an extraordinarily beautiful lady. Never a moment of silence, the wind floated our conversation to topics only true friends entertain. She is starting a new chapter in her life shortly, thus my admiration and amazement justified from the minute our lives crossed.

The "everything happens for a reason" probed in through the breeze and sand, as this mantra has swept through the minds of seemingly all society these days. Yes, everything may happen for a reason, but making things happen and learning the reason gives us a chance to experience life.

Every person plays a role in who we are. Every path we take, road we travel and adventure we have make us who we are this very second. Our adventures may be small, our roads short or paths empty, but these all have a meaning that deserves our congested time.

I've found, in all of my 30 years, what truly matters is cutting through the layers, exposing, if only to ourselves, who we are. Exposure terrifyingly difficult and easy to hide in a world full of tangible conveniences. If we don't take the time to realize what matters we're destined to let irresistible comfort prohibit our dreams.

Don't blink, before we know it decades have gone by and we may be surrounded by people only to stand in a crowd screaming at the top of our lungs while the shadowed faces pass us by.

Thoughtful Time

Back in the States. I've waited 30 years to say that. Yes, I've just given away the number. Hard to believe the one year anniversary of departing the D, again, is tomorrow. The choices we make all lead to where we are today. I caught myself saying, "I live with no regrets.", as I walked the cobblestone with teammates this weekend. Engulfed by history, endless stories of all life's changes wept onto the streets in this City of Love, permitting me to be me.

So, alright, maybe it's the jet lag or the 15 hour air time forcefully prying suppressed desires, but come on. Time is truly not as long as we think it is. I have so many dreams, so many goals, so many places I need to roam. Yes, I understand the difference between want and need.

The decision to move across the country, thousands of miles away from family, has made me who I am in this moment. I, absolutely, have no regrets. I, however, have itches. I was born to run...

Acceptance is the first stage towards recovery. In this recovery process, I vow to just be me. Too many questions linger every sunny day. Time will never allow a life without regret if these questions earn the pleasure of running.

I could create a Bucket List, or add to the lists lining my journal. Yes, I still keep a journal. The questions need to go somewhere, sometimes. The Bucket List is great, but jumping on the bandwagon has never been an activity I engage in. Too many talk without walking. Did I mention I was born to run...

The question on a 15 hour encore is, who. Not what, not where, not when, not even how, it's who. Independence is exhausting. All these dreams, goals, needs, would be so much better with another runner. I'll even slow down. Well, a little.

It's Never Too Late

Sunshine feels good. Really good. As I sit outside, spread out on the balcony of the Melrose Place-esque apartment community I live in, sunshine kisses my cheek. One would have to be crazy to not relish in the simple joys of the sun. So, I sit, I relish, waiting for someone to notice I'm crazy. Quite possibly insane, wrapped up in a routine expecting a different result.

Post-it reminders line my bathroom mirror.... 

"Never, never, never, never give up." 

"To believe in something and not live it is dishonest." 

"The trouble is you think you have time."

"Never give up on something you can't go a day without thinking about."

"All great changes are preceded by chaos."

"People will stare make it worth their while."

"When nothing is sure, everything is possible."

"If the whole world was blind how many people would you impress."

"Never get so busy making a living that you forget to make a life."

"Do what you feel in your heart to be right, for you'll be criticized anyway."

"Learning to ignore things is one of the great paths to inner peace."

"Never settle."

Soon, I won't see my reflection....

I follow twitter accounts labeled "motivational, inspirations, history greats, sport legends" scrolling through the feed, tea bag seeping taking in the advice channeling the morning paper. Constant reminders to impose feelings of a blessed life. To say it, is to believe it. Right. We are not what we do, but what we believe. Actions speak louder than words. 

Here I go again. 

Well. The sun is setting and it's blown its last kiss. Trouble with this routine is in the middle of the night, loneliness creeps in.

Too much time has passed to accept adolescent notions of wanting what we cannot have. Questions of fate, destiny and if little ol' me has anything to actually do with it reply instinctively. Too many questions lacking answers to rest my mind. Yoga has never been effective. Running is cheaper than therapy, but the high only lasts so long and I need a new pair of shoes.

Essentially, my mirror glaringly screams only time will tell. If everything does happen for a reason despite the purpose lining our bathroom mirrors, then I'll wait. One day the words will come out, timing will align, the sun will lay kisses in the dark. For now, two steps behind and far away mean the same thing.

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.