It runs like a river, runs to the sea

I'm on a break from school, so there's two things you can pretty much bet I'm doing: running and writing. I decided to get real creative and write about running, but I'm not going to wax poetic on how each stride, each breath falls in rhythm with the river, the trees, the people, the noises, the Manhattan skyline in the background. (I've written about that before, right?) I think instead I'm going to write about why I run, which I'm pretty sure will be somehow connected to why I write. Well, we'll see. Here goes:

Today I ran to escape. I've been feeling less than spectacular over the last few days, mostly as a function of having time on my hands. Whenever I stay in New York for a break I get really excited about having time to myself, and then I quickly find that I want to be surrounded by other people. The odd thing is that I have spent plenty of time with friends, but it hasn't helped to shake that feeling of being alone. I think I want that feeling, that connection, where someone just gets you, but it takes a lot of time to forge something like that. I value my friends here. This feeling I've had over the last few days makes me question whether I've been a good enough friend to warrant the kind of depth I crave.

So I laced up my Nikes and set out for a sunset run (so beautiful at the beginning of spring) because I wanted to run through, run past, run away from these feelings of loneliness and not making enough of my time. I imagine that some people ride motorcycles, some people paint pictures, some people act or sing at the top of their lungs. I run. And, god, I'm thankful for it. I'm so grateful that I can step outside of whatever is going on and appreciate the people and things that surround me, appreciate the simple act of breathing, appreciate the surprisingly powerful sensation of moving forward. I run because it's an assertion of who I am. I run because I can fade into the background and be a moving part of something much larger than myself. Today I let myself seep into my music a little more than usual, hence the title of this post (from "One Tree Hill" off The Joshua Tree). The thoughts that clog up my head loosen and release, my breathing falls into rhythm, and everything feels...symbiotic. Connected.

Running doesn't always feel like that. Sometimes it feels overwhelmingly lonely. Sometimes arduous. Sometimes like not much of anything at all. I've run for so many different reasons over the years--for girls (that could be the reason for pretty much anything I've done over the last nine years), to prove something to myself, to exercise, to vent, to celebrate, to explore a new place. The motivation has a strong impact on the experience.

My will to write comes from similar motivations, but I'm not as good at following through with it. Sometimes I write things that I don't publish in a blog. Sometimes I start stories (but almost never finish them). I write because I want to figure out things that make my head hurt when I think about them. I write because I want to show someone the beauty, the value, I see in him or her (okay, pretty much always her). (Okay, 100% of the time her). I write because I feel off balance and I want to explore what it is that knocked me over that way. I write to vent. I write to escape. One of my favorite lines is from William Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom! A character in the story is trying to get over a traumatic experience, so she gives a somewhat random person a letter, not because she cares whether or not the letter gets read, but because she wants to do something that puts it in the past. She says, "'I want is to become was.'" Sometimes writing allows a troubled thought to leave my head, pass through my finger tips, and become was.

I think I'm writing this as a blog post because I want something similar to what I found in my run today. I want to move past the fears and sorrows that gnaw at me. I want to feel connected, symbiotic. And I wanted you to know.

1986 - The Year That Everything Blew Up

I was on a coach bus heading back north from Champaign-Urbana. As far as I can remember this was before we stopped at a Bakers Square and Alex Imas and I attempted to devour an entire french silk pie. Alex and I were talking to the seniors about all sorts of things: cheating, girls, gambling, college. Eventually we got around to the great burden resting on the seniors' shoulders, the senior research paper. That's when some guy named Leo talked about his recently-turned-in masterpiece, with a title I'll never forget:

"1986 - The Year That Everything Blew Up"

It changed my life. As I recall his essay was about Chernobyl and eating enormous mutant rats for dinner. I don't think he passed. But boy, what a title.

I bring this up, well, because in general I've been nostalgic lately, and I'm remembering all sorts of little details from my past. I also mention it because I've been looking back at the year that just passed, and there's a pretty strong current that runs through it. It's just That Time for my peer group. That's right, this year was:

"2009 - The Year that Everyone I Know Made Plans to or Did in Fact Get Married"

Like, everybody. I don't know what socks I'm going to wear tomorrow; I can't imagine knowing who I want to spend the rest of time with. Actually, that's a cliche response to marriage. That part of it doesn't befuddle me so much. It's more that even if I was at the point where I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with someone, I can't imagine marriage being the best option at this point. I feel like there's so many other things I need to figure out first. So many things I need to become before I can even be qualified to be a husband, and, even more so, a father. I'm not even talking about material things, necessarily (although I can barely afford a box of Cracker Jack and the ring inside let alone an engagement ring). I'm talking about character things. Responsibility things. Life-decision and career things.

I've eschewed concrete paths and plans for awhile now. Life seems too chaotic and unpredictable for them. I've long preferred to take a passion and run with it. I must be getting older because I realize that I need to come up with some concrete goals and develop tactics to work towards them. Winging it doesn't work when someone else's life is involved. I think I've learned that lesson as a teacher, and I'm finally starting to apply it to my own life. I hope that all these newly married couples - or those who soon will be - have figured these things out for themselves. I hope they're at some sort of peace with themselves as individuals. I don't think I'm there yet. I hope to be, someday. I wouldn't want people to remember my marriage as the One Where Everything Blew Up.