Ready to Run

One of my favorite views, the open road.

Do you ever get the feeling to just run? I mean, not really run - that’s just not enjoyable and trust me, I’ve tried - but to get away, to go, to run! I feel this way a lot and also ignore the feeling a lot. Totally healthy. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t escape this feeling of something I call ‘flee-dom’. I needed a change of scenery, some fresh air, space, and some fucking control. Control over where I was going, how I’d get there, and how I was feeling. Control equals safety, and I craved it. 

If anything, this year has made us all feel that way. Desiring a sliver of safety and some semblance of control, while also ready to run - from reality, from responsibility and with rage in our hearts. Even the strongest among us started to expose the cracks, anger seeping through, begging for things to go back to normal. Deep in disbelief and searching for a comforting escape, we chased feelings of the good ‘ole days with binged reruns and new throwbacks to a better time - Fresh Prince, Saved by the Bell, and The Last Dance. We swallowed our bewildering feelings, kept pushing through, hoping there was an end in sight, wondering when we’d ever feel a hug or a sense of normalcy again. Some days losing hope altogether, other days rallying through with baked bread and dance moves. Then you’re back in the mirror wondering where you and life have gone.  20...20...the year that shall not be named. 

Grief is a lot like 2020. For those of you who haven’t experienced the loss of a loved one, this year is pretty much the poster child for heartache. We’ve all lost something this year - evenings out, togetherness, money, hope, business, respect, vacations, purpose, our waistline, ducking brunch and quite possibly (sadly) even a loved one. The loss is extensive. The weight, heavy. 

While we get ready to sprint into 2021, thinking that turning the calendar page will erase the heartache and things will return to “normal”, maybe we should take a closer look instead. Just maybe, we should face the unexpected, forced demands of this year and accept 2020 for exactly the dumpster fire it is. You can’t outrun 2020, just like you can’t outrun grief.  It’s best to turn around and run towards it - meet it halfway. 

I know how hard it is to get through a “normal” year consumed with grief. Especially during the holidays when the thing that is missing won’t return to normal “next year.” The loss is absolute. There’s no going back. They’re gone and that won’t change next year or the year after. A new normal emerges.

And because of that, I also know that we will heal. I was reminded of this when a friend asked me a series of questions about my previous post. Questions I’m glad were asked. 

“How do you accept your new self?” 

Acceptance is ‘uphill, both ways, in the snow’ hard, but necessary. Acceptance is a form of truth telling; an admission, good or bad. But how can I accept something that is bad? Well, you don’t have to like it, but refusing to accept what actually is just fucks everything up - your choices, your relationships, and most importantly, your peace. Acceptance, on the other hand, creates ease. Ah, ease. We could all use some ease.

You know that time you were waiting for a call, a text, a snap, a dm, a whatever-the-fuck else people use to communicate these days from that so-called, “can’t wait to see ya” interested party? And then it didn’t come. They didn’t show up. The message never came. Ghosted. Again. At some point -I fucking hope- you accepted that this person wasn’t right for you and you moved on. Learned the lesson and accepted the hard truth. 

Or how about that time you claimed you were 5’9 and then she towered over you at just 5’6 with minimal heels? Accept it, height isn’t your strength. 

Wrinkles come with age, cellulite happens, and none of us will have Heidi Klum’s legs. Bumski, I know. 

I didn’t say acceptance was easy, in fact, I said it was hard.  But damn if you don’t feel better afterwards. The truth shall (actually!) set you free.  

I didn’t want to accept that my father passed away. Leaving this world, leaving me, and leaving countless other assholes here instead. Denial is a dish better served cold - less disappointment that way, if you ask me.  Maybe it was easier for me to accept his passing since I watched it happen. That doesn’t mean it was easy to accept this new version of me, the version without him, this post-death me. 

I fought it. I didn’t want people to see the new me. I didn’t want the “you poor thing” and “sorry for your loss.” I didn’t want to watch a sport he and I loved to watch together. I didn’t want to talk about things we talked about. I didn’t want a new me. I wanted the sun-tanned, sunny outlook, ‘it will all be ok’ me. I hid my pain, hid in work, and hid in a new social circle -hiding in plain sight. My body didn’t hide it though, but more on that later. *wink*

Acceptance crept in when I started writing about what happened, but not just in a journal.  No, in front of a room of strangers, who didn’t know me for anything other than my impeccable taste in fonts and witty classroom one liners. The audience I never knew I needed, to accept the thing I never wanted to be true. 

I walked out of that class every week feeling more and more relieved. I felt at ease with myself for the first time since my dad passed. I was accepting what was and healing. And growing. Lots of growing.

While the gaping hole will forever remain, I am still a better version of myself today, which is exactly what I told my friend. I’m better than I was yesterday and even before my dad passed. Since his passing, I’ve softened and feel more deeply. I’ve outgrown people and things, and I can see that more clearly now. I have a healthy level of acceptance and disdain. I can distinguish between things that matter and things that don’t, and not get wrapped up in an outcome. I can make better choices. I can watch football again without feeling a pit of emptiness in my stomach. I’ve grown. I’m accepting. 

With heartache, goodness follows, even with 2020. Sweatpants sales soared. Our curiosity peaked, and we tried new things - knitting, dancing, baking, running, chess!  Some of you even made babies. We changed how we connected with people. We loved differently. We evolved. We’re better, you’re better. I know you didn’t ask for this, and life has a funny way of doing that, but it has changed you. Even if you can’t see the benefits yet, you will. Spoiler alert, it won’t happen overnight.  

While we flee this year, please, for the love of all things holy, please don’t place heavy expectations on yourself for next year. Don’t make a list of ‘must do in the new year’, instead celebrate, make a list of all the shit you conquered this year. Write it, speak it, scream it, fucking sing it, whatever you choose. Commemorate the achievements you never expected. And get to know the new you. Appreciate how far you’ve come, where you’re going and look forward to a new year of acceptance. Pat yourself on the back. We fucking did it.

Happy New Year!

-Definitely going try to forget that I tried to be a runner in 2020, though-