Homeward Bound

I went running tonight for the first time in almost three weeks. It's crazy that I've let it go that long. The first quarter mile was ridiculous and I thought I'd have to stop, but I ended up making it my full three miles.

I hate that I've let myself go this winter, but I have. I've been taking care of other people and not taking care of myself. I eat food that is shit, and mentally there is no connection between what I put in my mouth and the consequences of putting it there. I don't drink much water and I'm not taking my vitamins. I work long hours and I focus on achieving externally. It kills me to admit that because I've spent the past two years undoing a lifetime of external achievement and the ways it has poisoned my brain. But all of this is true.

I've gained about 13ish pounds since I was at a good weight in the fall, and I can't believe how 13 extra pounds feels on my body this time around. It's harder to move. The weight gets in the way. 13 pounds in an entire clothes size. I hate leafing through clothes in my closet every morning wondering what I can wear. The extra weight is making me feel self-conscious lately. Moving through life and not being overly conscious of your body and how it might look to other people or how it might interfere with something you want to do is a gift. And I miss it.

Lack of exercise these last few weeks and even months has done more damage than adding weight to my frame. My mind is fuzzy, bogged down, dark. I haven't had a regular infusion of fresh air since I don't know when. The only fresh air I breathe is running from my car to the office and back to my car twelve hours later. My body aches - it truly aches - to move. It hurts. My body hurts in ten places right now from lack of moving. Other people mention getting exercise and I feel resentful. "It must be nice to not have responsibilities" I think. What am I doing?

I miss listening to music, which I almost only make time to do when I'm running. Listening to my special mix of tunes does something inside of me that only music can do. I miss being physically exhausted. I've thought that I've been physically exhausted these past few months, but that's been mental and emotional exhaustion, and I haven't been present enough to tell the difference. What am I doing?

What I'm not doing is surfing. I haven't surfed since December 5th. I haven't surfed much at all since the summer. I just counted -- I surfed twice in September, twice in October, and once in December. That kills me. But it makes sense that I've been disconnected from exercise because I started running and doing yoga - my god, I miss yoga - so I could lose weight so I could surf better. Any exercise I've done these last two years has been a meditation of surfing.

The last time Jules and I went out I told her that I felt like I was losing what surfing had given me. I touched my chest, my heart, when I said it. I felt like I was losing what surfing had given me inside. I think I felt that way at the time because it had been so long and because life was beating me up a bit. I still feel that way.

How do I get back to myself? My body is my home. I love my body; it's been so good to me. I despise external achievement at the cost of internal peace. I'm acting in a way that I don't even believe. Maybe some of it is winter. The season, the metaphor. Whatever it is, whatever is going on, I've been here before. And I guess I know what to do.

I'm going to find my compass, my north star, and follow it home.

The Story

I started seeing a guy in November and things immediately looked good. He seemed pretty amazing - really good guy, a teacher, tall - and we hit it off like I hadn't experienced probably ever. (I mentioned him and his dreamy height here.) We went on several dates and he was very direct about liking me and very open about feeling great about our connection.

Isn't it refreshing when you meet someone who puts it out there and doesn't play games? Can you tell this is headed for a big old crash and burn?

We were out for dinner one Saturday night and I'd gotten all cute - tremendous effort; I don't have you tell you that - and I kept thinking, "Is this really happening? Somebody, pinch me." About an hour into the date, he asked me out for the following weekend, and all I could think was: I guess he's having as good a time as I am. In the past, he'd waited until the end of the date or even the following few days to ask me out again, but there he was, before our food was even served, thinking about seeing me again. True love? Definitely.

So we made plans right then and there for the following Friday, and when we ended the date that night, he kissed me a few times and asked me to give him a call during the week -- something we hadn't yet done. (We'd only communicated via text and e-mail in between dates to that point. Ah, technology. Brining people together. Or something.) The next morning I e-mailed him before heading out for a glorious day of December surf asking if he liked Brandi Carlile, knowing that anyone in their right mind does, and excited for what would obviously be an amazing New Year's Eve date because I had two tickets to her very hot and very sold-out NYE show at the Aladdin, and Mr. Totally Amazing and I were going to go and have an incredible, fun, memorable, intoxicating, tall-people kind of time.

So I sent the quick e-mail that morning and went off to walk on water all day at the coast, and later that night was having a great dinner with a girlfriend when I got his reply. Ah, iPhone. My sleek, beautiful iPhone. Why must your portability bring me such despair during dinner?

Yes, it was just the night before that we had that amazing date and he had asked me out again before the night had even ended. No, he didn't answer my question about Brandi Carlile in his brief e-mail that fateful Sunday. He merely e-mailed to say that he was sorry, but that he'd decided to pursue another relationship that had been "building".

Blink. Blink, blink. Not interested? In me? I know. I was shocked, too. It's been a while since I saw actual potential (and not just practice saying "No thank you") in a relationship, so this one was hard. But not quite as hard as a blog entry this long implies, so let me get to the point.

I decided there was NO WAY IN HELL I could go to my Brandi Carlile concert now. Not alone, not on New Year's Eve, not possible. I go to the movies alone, I go to Italy alone, but I don't go out on New Year's Eve alone. No way. Why don't you just stick a flashing neon sign on my back that says, "LOSER" and get it over with? I'd wanted to see Brandi really badly for a while, and I have a sense she's not going to be on the small-shitty-theater-circuit for much longer, and YES, I'd purchased an entire new outfit including great boots that I knew would wow Mr. Not Good Enough For Me (his name had very recently changed), but I couldn't go to the show alone. Just. Not. Possible.


So, of course, I went. Mon Dieu, it took a lot of self-talk. And about four hours of getting gorgeous time that evening. And a lot of texts with Sizzle and my sister. Even then, I almost backed out about 100 times between the time I departed my house and the time I walked into the theater. Very emotional, to be honest. Hard to do. But in the end, it comes down to what a lot comes down to: Am I *really* going to care what other people think? Because if I am, the implications are big. I mean, really. Today it's the NYE thing. Tomorrow? Where does it stop?


The show was amaaaaazing. One of the best I've been to, and that's saying something. She's incredible and I had a really great time. She did most of my faves, including this one, of course. I had a fantastic evening, rocked the boots, and rang in the new year, if nothing else, affirming my commitment to myself.

Oh. And Mr. Totally Missed Out? I replied to his e-mail that night right away and told him that I understood and appreciated him letting me know.

Poor bastard.

The Gift

I've been so looking forward to this. I've felt ready for this exact year and what it contains. I've been excited to take on a pretty big birthday, knowing that numbers have been challenging to me in the past, but feeling proud of the accomplishment this year represents.

So far, and I know this isn't how it usually looks, but, I've pretty much loved aging. Life has only gotten better for me as it's gone along (ah - the benefits of a rocky start), and somewhere around 37 or 38 it started getting better in a different way. The late 30's are like an advanced degree in Life with a major in Common Sense and a minor in Not Giving A Damn. Things start to make sense in a really good way. The perspective shift I've experienced in the last couple of years is like nothing else I've experienced to this point. It's better than I even knew to hope for.

I mean, sure, you're aging. You slowly get wrinkly in weird ways that you can't really hide. Things hurt. Digestion is different. Sleep is hard. You've crossed an invisible line. Instead of asking how old I am, people ask if I mind if they ask how old I am. Wha? At some point it becomes really clear that you're no longer the target demographic for almost anything.

But you don't care. Remember that minor you got in your late 30's? This is where you put that degree to use. Being 30 is like having x-ray vision goggles and a magic bullshit detector and not knowing how to use either but kind of having to act like you do. Being 39 is like having all the special powers minus the need to appear smart or together.

I've felt so ready for 40. And beyond, actually. But something has happened in the last month or so and I've really been doubting my ability to face what comes next. I'm scared. There is a lot of loss in life. What if I'm not strong enough for the hard parts? I know I won't always feel this way about aging.

I booked a special trip - a really special trip - for my birthday. I've been saving my airline miles for ten years -- the last time I used them was for my 30th birthday trip to Italy with my sister. A few weeks ago I cashed in enough miles for a first class ticket to what I think will be the perfect place to accept 40. I'm scared. And excited. I have a little over two months to open my mind and my heart wide enough to get there. I hope I can do it.