I think I’m on to Something!

I think I’m on to something. A new way of moving through life in which I am no longer the servant of two masters- guilt and judgment. In many ways, these past four months have been an internal purgatory of my own making. Purgatory’s location: I feel bad about feeling bad. Should I be doing all I can to make more money? Should I invest in a better website with not just bells and whistles but gongs and trumpets that will increase my mailing lists from 300 to 300,000, my facebook page from 400 to 4 million? I still hear that peaceful voice whispering “there is another way- the path of inspired action.” The voice is not saying to me “don’t push yourself beyond your comfort zone, but enjoy the climb. Be okay with the pain, the struggle. Struggling with the struggle just makes it more painful. Being okay with what is begins to turn the tide.

Gandhi had said when he decided to call off a march that was headed to violence: “My commitment is to truth, not to consistency.” It is very likely that tomorrow I will be in push mode. I might feel guilty about being home with my two girls on a weekday to save on babysitting and pop in a kid’s movie while I get on the computer to feel productive. I will then, perhaps be reminded that there is another way. Perhaps. Yet I also hear the megaphonic voices of this age, insisting “there is only one way.”

I called my friend who I had not seen in a long time-

“How are you” I asked

“Staying busy man. Staying busy.”

I spent this morning having coffee and going for a walk with another good friend of mine who lost her husband to cancer last year. She has just a few days ago been reminded there is another way.

Running By Malanie Mclanahan

I used to run, run, run. I'd calculate exactly how long it would take me to get from home to the hospital to be there by my promised time. I'd figure out how many errands I could fit in on my way home from the hospital. I used to know that if we got up at 7am, took showers, flushed and hooked up his IV, got dressed, and made breakfast I could get to work by my first appointment. I used to run around the house on those emergency room days or nights, packing a bag, calling the doctor, the parents, the neighbors, exchanging oxygen tanks and then out the door to the ER where running would cease and we would have to wait, wait, wait. I ran in and out of the hospital room asking for more medication, more sheets, more kleenex. Some days or nights I ran myself ragged.
I used to run, before. Before the pain medication ran continuously through his veins. Before the chemo ran through his system to kill the cancer. I ran in a different way-as a half to a functioning, healthy whole. I ran every morning at 5am with Chester at my side. I ran out the door to get to work. I ran home to make dinner so it was ready for both of us after our long days. I ran errands, credit cards, and through the streets of Paris, San Francisco and Seattle. He ran, too. To work, home, and through those same streets with me, hand in hand. He ran a race with time. He ran side by side with courage. But then he couldn't run anymore and I had to run for two.

I am no longer running. But it is like being on a treadmill. I can't go from 15MPH at an incline and hit the stop button. It's a gradual process-to slow down, watch the heart rate drop, hear the breathing slow to a regular pace, walk. When I was running, the scenery was a blur. I focused on the Ipod music, whatever would help me persevere the running strain. Interactions became the hands on a clock. While walking, however, I have discovered that the scenery is actually very enjoyable. I can feel what makes a deep breath so exhilarating. Interactions have ceased and friendships and love instead have blossomed. I think I prefer the walking path, for now, knowing that I will never foresee the time when running might be necessary.