Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Worth Repeating

I had a moment today where I thanked GOD that this year was over.  I whole heartedly thought, I am so glad it’s done, I couldn’t live through another 2014.  My heart could not do it.

And then I remembered some of the greatness of the year.  And I thought, if I had to give up the bad AND the good of 2014, would it be worth it?

No.  2014 had too much goodness.

So maybe some of the things that happened in 2014 sucked.  Maybe there were more than a few days of suckage.  But when I think about them as they relate to all the minutes I spent in 2014, the sucktastic moments that happened were blinks of an eye surrounded by greatness.

There were many things, and I mean many things, that did not suck.  Not a bit.  There were hundreds of blistering hot miles run.  Old and new friends embraced.  A wonder-twin moment that brought me to my knees with gratitude.  

Yes, that moment was worth repeating.  There was more beauty in this year than I ever imagined in any year ever.  There was grace.

There were eyes rimmed in impossibly long lashes that demand revisting. There was that trail I've not not yet run down.  A hill that begs repeating.  And repeating.  Lets not forget the mountain bike that says “look at what we did!”, even as it wonders what we are capable of doing together next time.

There was that exquisite sunset in Hatteras where the sky blazed red and the sun dipped into the sea on waves of flames.  It smoldered as it sank, until the red and yellow melted to purple and blue and the inky night settled over the ocean. A million stars stretched across the sky and the Milky Way laid itself bare for me to admire.  Ghost crabs scuttled around my feet.  My children whispered, but not because they were told to be quiet. 

There were little moments too...
The pedicure that was appreciated with a compliment.
A pair of wind burned cheeks from a good bike ride.
The smile that came after the tears on a salt crusted face.
A kiss of joy and homecoming.
A lingering hug filled with “what if”.
The patient who lived another day because I worked that day.
The patient who taught me that sometimes the #bestdayever could be someone’s #lastdayever, and that’s an acceptable answer as long as you get to die on your own terms.  I fought for her terms.  I made myself proud.  She squeezed my hand, and I knew that I made her proud too.
There was the moment when I realized I was going to be OK.  That I am OK.

There were a few hundred seconds that passed as I stood on the bank of the James River in running shoes.  I was nobody.  I was everybody.  I was just another body.  There was steam floating up off my hot body.  Mist coated the river as she calmly wandered past.  She didn’t even notice the figures on the bank.  Sweat and the sun stung my eyes, but I could not look away from all the power that sedately wandered by even as I thought I would explode.  How can she be so calm when there is so much energy here?  I would repeat all those seconds.  
Except one.  
The last one came too soon.

A few days ago my son proclaimed that I am The BEST MOM EVER when I told him I was taking him to an NFL game, and the Coke Museum, and The Georgia Aquarium, and that moment, the one where I truly felt like the best mom ever, needs to be repeated again and again.

I wore a hole in two pairs of Brooks on my quest to run a personal great.  It wasn’t a best, but it was great.

I sanely and rationally tackled a marathon to see what it feels like to sanely and rationally run 26.2 miles.  I loved it.  But I want to run one on the edge of death next time to see what that feels like.  I know there’s a sweet spot of glory and misery, and I want to exist in that moment again.

I ran a 1:05 (<~ that’s one minute and 5 seconds) up 6 flights of stairs on a random shift at the hospital.  As I stood in the vestibule on the 6th floor landing, with my heart about to explode out of my chest, gasping hospital air, I had to think that if any medical professional had happened across me in that moment they would have called a Code Blue.
And Yes, I will repeat that moment.

There is the moment, just now, when I walked the dogs in the moonlit night.  We made our way down a dark path until I stood on the edge of the glass lake.  There were house lights reflected in it, they winked at me like laughing eyes.  I could hear a peal of child’s laughter drift along the water like the stars that floated in the black.  I imagined a party with people excitedly sharing their new years resolutions and reliving the glorious past year’s celebrations.  I savored the thought of couples snuggled in on couches.  Her lips pressed close to his neck.  I smiled at the thought of children strugglinng to hold their sandy eyes open.

I laughed my own laugh at the thought of a sweet white puppy with a long waggy tail, as he stands on a lakeshore.  His ears are straining as he stares into the dark.  His nose is assaulted with a million scents and he dreams of all the glorious squirrel chasing adventures of today.  He does not know that tomorrow is a new year.  He does not care.  There is only now.

The worn tread of my used up running shoes crunched in some loose sand, and suddenly my soul felt as worn as the soles I walked upon.  And yet as tired as today made me, as worn as I am, I know that tomorrow will come at midnight, and in it will be moments worth repeating.

~ respect the distance ~ savor the run ~


Michelle said...

Best post of the year. Gratitude.

Pam @ said...

Amazing post. Simply amazing.