Follow Your Heart

News that affects the world sometimes so coincides with what is going on personally it makes me wonder if somehow the cosmic forces lined up to remind me of some important lesson I had forgotten. This week, as I wrestle to make a decision—to figure out if I should come clean about this messy relationship that has caused me many sleepless nights—Steve Jobs died.

What can the loss of the founder of Apple computer and innovative genius possibly have to do with my relationships, one might ask?

Steve Jobs was a proponent of following your heart and intuition. And that is the lesson I needed to be reminded of. No one, NO ONE, knows what you know about you. The quotes of this icon have been posted on every social media site. Over and over in my news feed are some of his most famous words, “Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become.”

Follow your heart. Trust your intuition. You have everything you need to know inside of you.

My head has been spinning with the words of advice about what I need to do. What do I hope to accomplish in saying my truth to someone else? What good can come of involving someone else in my feelings? Could I just quietly get over and it and move on? Would that be the better option? Maybe.

I had a run date scheduled with a good friend this morning. We did a favorite five-mile route and discussed the uncertainties that exist in both of our lives right now. There is something magical about these kinds of runs. I don’t know if it is the perfect running weather that fall provides. I don’t know if it is the blazing, morning sunshine refusing to let me hide in shadows of doubt and sadness. I don’t know if is voicing the questions and leaving them on the roads behind us or just sharing the experience of being out there on a perfect day. Maybe it’s just the promise of having breakfast and coffee to look forward to afterwards. Whatever it is I return feeling like I have shaken off the dead leaves, the outside voices that threaten to drown out my own, and am left with just the bare branches: my heart, my intuition, and my truth. And they know what to do. Returning home from a run, especially a run with good company, is like returning home to myself.

As I struggle with courage and logistics of how to have this conversation I know I need to have, I will think of mornings like this one. I will be reminded of the importance of pushing the pause button on all of the noise of the world, carrying nothing but a house key and my questions, and sharing that with a friend who knows the importance of waiting for the right answers. I will think about playing it safe and settling and I will remember a man who did neither, and changed the world because of it. I will think about strength, and courage and the quiet voice of my heart that begs me to listen and to believe that it knows the way home. All I need to do is follow it.

Still a Runner

It was the first cold, cloudy day of the year. I had already decided that I needed a long run. A run that I wasn’t totally conditioned for. Something that would stretch me. Something that would hurt. I needed the distance, and the cool, damp air to think. I needed sad songs and a chance to leave my tears on the hills behind me. It was one of those days where choosing the harder route was an easy decision. This was no time to take it easy. Bring on the hills. Bring on the wind.

These are the runs that are about more than running. They are about fighting back.

 Life can be pretty cruel sometimes. Heartbreak and disappointment can show up in the most inconvenient places. At the end of a week filled with emotional roller coasters of events, I traded one confusion for a painful certainty. With a few words in a seemingly innocent conversation, a truth I never wanted to hear became clear. An end to a relationship I wondered about and, against my better judgment, placed some hope in. It’s the kind of moment you replay over and over hoping that upon review the words on the tape different. They aren’t. What you wanted will never be. The end.

I tried to maintain balance and composure with the world spinning around me. Seconds later, mother nature released the tears from the sky that I had to hold back from my own eyes, washing all of that hope and wonder right into the gutter and leaving me standing there trying to figure out how to breathe in the rain.

 I spent some time on the couch with sad songs and a box of tissues.

And then I decided to run a long way. I had to. There is something about emotional pain that begs for a release. Grief, loss, disappointment, heartbreak, these things need a place to go. In this case, they couldn’t be targeted at a person…there is no one to blame when things just don’t work out. Rather than try to make someone responsible for my pain, I decided to run with it.

 The problem with sudden loss, grief and disappointment is that the world doesn’t stop to let us feel it, and yet there is no way through it if we don’t. Running allows me to experience my heartbreak and reminds me that I can keep moving forward; I still have some strength and energy somewhere. It reminds me that I am alive and breathing and that my broken heart still beats. These runs are about meeting that emotional pain with my physical strength and endurance. They are about accepting life’s sadness without letting it define me. I am hurt. I am broken. But I am going to stay in the race. Tears, sad songs, pain and all. Even on the hardest days, in the saddest of moments, I am still a runner.

Denial

People say a lot about denial. It’s a coping mechanism, a pleasant relief, a necessary part of grief, etc. It’s easy to spend a lot of time there, pretending bad things aren’t happening or the ugly truth of a situation isn’t really there. I get it, but denial has never been kind to me.

Denial is like a pesty fly when sitting in a comfortable spot. It keeps swooping around my head, buzzing in my ear, landing on me, and making me itchy. It reminds me that where I am really isn’t very comfortable, and until I get a fly swatter or move, I can’t really be at peace. Having tried to sit through a number of pesty flys in my life, I now know I’d rather get the fly swatter right away than even attempt to get comfortable in a spot where the buzzing of truth is going to pester me without ceasing.

Last Saturday, I had a brief visit with denial. I skipped running for two weeks. The last time I ran, I had a bout of heat exhaustion that left me nauseated and exhausted for the rest of the day. I was certain my next run would be no different so I avoided it. Easy to do when on vacation (denial looked less like a pesty fly and more like a relaxing beach chair). But now I was home. Home with a free day and cool temperatures and I did not want to run.

Running meant facing the truth about how out of shape I was. I dreaded the feeling of shin splints and being out of breath. I told myself “just a few miles, go easy on yourself. Just get back in the habit.” I took an hour to get dressed, and put new music on my ipod. I put it off, still knowing I had to face the truth and grab that fly swatter, however unpleasant it might be.

The fly of denial had a surprised me that day. I chased it out the door and down the beginning of my usual 3 mile route. When I got to a place where I turn to go three, or go straight to do the 5 mile hilly route (that’s actually one of the prettiest runs I do), the fly led me towards 5. I thought it might be too much so I went for a block towards my 3 miler, but the pesty fly kept buzzing the words “just go for it.” So I turned back and headed on the 5 mile route. What did I have to lose? I could always walk the end if I needed to. And I felt surprisingly good that day.

It was one of the best runs I ever had. I cruised up hills with ease and soaked in the beauty of late summer. The smell of cut grass and sounds of people setting up for garage sales. This 5 mile or so route and fabulous feeling restored my confidence in running, in what it does for me and how it makes me feel. It reminded me that I am not always going to suffer from heat exhaustion or feel out of shape when I run. In this instance, my imagination of the truth was so much worse than actually facing it.

This is why I hate denial. It makes the truth worse and allows us to sell ourselves short in what we think we can handle. . In fact, facing the truth can be more than getting rid of a pest. It can be a pleasant run, newfound confidence, and the freedom of a great summer run.

Mysteries of Discomfort

It remains one of the great mysteries of exercise. Why when I am fatigued and tired after a long day does a run, which leaves me sweaty and exhausted, also make me energized? How can I lay on the floor smiling and stretching and breathing hard and feel better than before I put my body through this pain? Why doesn’t taking a nap help in the same way?

The only way to grow is allow discomfort into our lives. We have to find a way to make peace with it and trust that it won’t hang around forever. We also have to trust that it will leave us stronger and able to endure more.

Whenever we exercise, tax our bodies and push them to a new level through something physical like running, we create micro tears in our muscles. This causes pain and often soreness in days to follow. When those tears heal, the muscles get bigger and stronger therefore able to endure more. If there are no micro tears the muscles don’t grow. In fact, after awhile they atrophy: wither away from not being used.

This week I lie awake angry at God and frustrated with a relationship that is out of my control. As I stared up at the darkened ceiling in the wee hours of the morning with my face wet with tears I said out loud “I am miserable and I don’t know what to do about it.” I thought about how I got there. Doing the best I can, trying to act out of love not fear, searching for truth. It hardly seemed fair that those actions could lead to such pain and the grief and loss of friendship.

What in life is ever fair? Things are going to happen, bad things, undeserved things, painful things. Some we bring on ourselves and some just find their way to us when we least expect it. It’s uncomfortable and painful. And it really doesn’t make sense. Try as I might there just aren’t answers in this situation. I might not be ready for them, and they might never come. As much as I hate to admit it, there may not be any answers at all.

In the great big muscle of life though, this is just a micro tear. Something that happened on the way to pursuing what I love and who I am called to be. I trust that it will heal. Eventually that tear will become a stronger muscle and a source of strength. It becomes a place of compassion for others who are experiencing their own tears. For now there is soreness and pain. Running and living have taught me to endure it and to trust in growth at the end. They have also taught me that if you want to live, I mean really live life and not hide away from it, discomfort and soreness are part of the package. A tradeoff for toned calf muscles and the joy that comes with living in truth.

It’s a relief to me to keep facing pain, and discomfort and still be standing at the end of it. To be somehow better than I was before I faced it. In those moments I am stretching my sore and tired muscles I can’t help but be thankful for the grace that kicks my butt out the door to run, or to follow my heart and says “It’s going to be uncomfortable; do it anyway.”

Letting Go

Before I decided to run this marathon, there were a lot of goodbyes. I didn’t move or take a new job. This time, all of the goodbyes were caused by other people moving away while I chose to stay put. My friends, on the tough days, were my sense of purpose. Often what they wanted for me was what I did. Not that this is a bad thing! True friends and family reflect your own desires back to you, and want the very best for you. But what do you do, when they aren’t there, helping you figure out what that is? What do you do when everything you thought you counted on to help define you falls away and there you are alone?

Without really knowing it, I listened to myself. Running in the dark and cold I allowed these questions to exist and the pain of loneliness to move from my heart through my body. In many ways, I think it was the holy spirit that allowed me the grace to be patient through this time, that challenged me to run with loneliness rather than distract myself from it. It was as if God placed those long miles before me just to say “Stay with this.”

It was the most difficult journey of my life so far. To be without everything I knew and try to make sense of who I am, who I had become and what I really wanted. Those are not easy questions to answer. I am still trying to answer them.

I have found incredible grace here. Ways of encountering the holy I never dreamed of: red tailed hawks, indigo buntings, being lost, making choices, finding the strength to say “no” to people I love, and trusting myself when no one seemed to understand. I found new people who understood this part of my soul and deeper friendship with the friends who stayed with me through this. I found a way to let the quiet, the loneliness, and grief make space for new life. I found a way to just listen to myself, and to the God who calls me to simply be who I am, and follow my deepest desires wherever they will lead.

I found a way to accept myself and my path without depending on someone else to second the motion. While I still seek and need and love the companionship of great friends, I know now that if I am without those companions for awhile, God is still there.

It’s been over a month since the race concluded and I see now that dreams change. Somewhere in the midst of that race I knew I wasn’t going to finish in the 5 hour time goal I set for myself. In that same moment I knew that just finishing was going to be a tremendous success. Had I really known what I was in for, I might have stuck to “just finishing” as the goal.

That’s the thing about following your heart. You really never know what you’re in for when you start. You might have to let go of your previous vision of success and some of what you thought you needed to get there. It’s like setting off without a GPS or a map. You will inevitably get lost, but the beauty you will see by opening yourself to the guidance of your surroundings and the excitement of the adventure are worth the inconvenience. The journey really begins with the action of letting go.

Marathon Final

It’s hard for me to believe three weeks ago I was running a marathon. My body is pretty well recovered and I’ve moved on to yard work, gardening, short runs and bike rides. In many ways things have returned to normal.

But the marathon stays with me. In the past few days I realized the lessons and formation of these months of running were not over with the final exam of the race, and a grade of passing with a finishers medal. Like any great class, there is a lifetime of growing into these new ideas and applying the lessons.

The one that stays with me these days is the truth about pain. We humans do a lot to avoid pain. Everything from mindless over eating, to watching television, drugs, alcohol, working too much, sleeping or surrounding ourselves with noise and distraction. I understand this. Who wants to deal with pain? Who wants to go looking for it?

Endurance running, training really, for anything is all about pain. It’s all about being in pain and pushing past it. It’s finding a new threshold of what you can endure and reaching for a goal that lies beyond it. In my case, it was a finish line 6.2 miles beyond the worst pain I have ever experienced.

In the days since the marathon there have been left over loose ends, difficult situations, challenging relationships and questions of wrong and right that have nothing to do with running. Painful and messy problems and questions that just keep bubbling to the surface. The real marathon final exam.

Here is my answer. Pain is an inevitable part of life, whether we choose it, or it chooses us. It is uncomfortable and unpleasant and at times unbearable. When pain makes itself known, the easy answer is to run from it, or try to ignore it but pain always catches up, and eventually consumes us. The longer we ignore it or try to avoid it the more it takes over our actions.

I don’t want to be a person that lives with a fear of pain dictating my choices. I don’t want to live in pain either, but sometimes we just have to. I know now not only can I survive pain, I can find moments of grace in the midst of it. Perhaps when we are in the most pain, we are most aware of the smallest things that help us through it. A friend who listens, a well-timed cup of water, someone who will cheer for you by name. Pain, if we accept it as part of our journey and something we are conditioned to handle, won’t consume us. But first we need to accept it. We need to accept that it will test us; force us to be vulnerable, accept our limitations and to ask for and receive help.

My final answer to this marathon exam is pain is often far worse in our imagination and fear then it ever is in our reality. We are conditioned to handle so much. These painful, messy real life issues that have come up during this marathon don’t have a visible finish line right now. There are still difficult choices and unpleasant realities. I accept this pain is part of the process. I know now that I will endure it. I will find the moments of grace that carry me to the other side of the pain, a finish line of a life recovered and joy and celebration in growth. Pain is part of the journey. Only we can decide if it will have the final answer.

Life Beyond the Soreness

It’s been almost two weeks since the marathon. The soreness is only a memory and regular, post-marathon life has resumed in full force. There’s been work to catch up on, and to-do lists to handle. The novelty of talking about it has worn off. It’s as if the “been there, done that” mentality has set in. That’s how it’s supposed to be. It was a few hours and a few months of my life. They are over. Time to move on.

But when that soreness fades, one can find herself with a lot of questions. What’s next? Where do I go from here? There is an abundance of free time and no need to carbo-load or hydrate or even run. And yet, I’m just not ready to move right into another challenge. There’s a lot of wandering around and wondering. Now that I have crossed through that open gate and changed, how do I live? How do I continue to honor the experience and the person I have become through it?

I think these questions will stay with me for a while. But I have discovered something in the days beyond the marathon, amidst all the questions and aimless wandering through each day.

It started with my first, post-marathon run on Sunday afternoon. It was rainy, a dismal day. The timing tag was still on my shoes. I left it there and trudged out the door without enthusiasm for three miles. I had no expectations of this run, so I just let my body carry me through the familiar motions. It was just another routine run.

But something had changed. I’ve been trying to put my finger on what’s different since this race for the past week or so. It’s not confidence. I don’t have feelings of “I can take on the world, I have run a marathon (though I have joked in that manner to friends.)” The feeling is more like peace.

Yesterday morning I looked out the kitchen window and saw an indigo bunting sitting on the grass below my bird feeder. I gasped when I saw it. They are tiny, smaller than a sparrow but the brightest blue in creation. This tiny bird has a way of commanding attention with its spectacular color. I have only seen one at one other time in my life. The fact that it was hanging out in my yard felt like a small miracle. I watched it for an hour, flying back and forth, perching on the telephone wire and eating at the feeder.

Watching that indigo bunting I realized what changed is my faith. We never can tell when God will grab us, and invite us on a new journey. Grace happens in our routines, in every day moments. Like the bright blue indigo bunting it streaks across our vision and leaves us to stand there, staring with mouths agape at the splendor of holiness.

The post-marathon peace is a trust in God, and a trust in those invitations. I’ve realized my faith no longer needs answers or reasons. Just as I can’t control the indigo bunting in my yard, I can’t control when God will show up and invite me to something crazy, even painful. Something like a marathon. I am now open to those invitations and trust that they will come. Those three-mile runs that lead us to marathons and the indigo buntings that invite us to sit still with the questions and to remember that God will find us where we are, and invite us to deeper holiness. There is a sense of peace in knowing that, and knowing that all I have to do is say “yes.”