"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"
Have you ever pondered that question, relative to any given object, sense, or feeling?
Philosopher George Berkeley proposed once that objects of sense exist only when they are perceived.
Visual and auditory hallucinations exist to one. Another who sees or hears them is able to validate them. Does that alone make the hallucinations real?
If a secret is kept quiet after whispering it with but one, is that secret not contained to those two?
I light a candle with you in a room with no windows. We leave the room and tell no one. Who is to know it keeps burning?
I have held his hand secretly in that room with the candle.
He loves me quietly and acknowledges that love to no one else but me. Does a relationship exist?
Just how strong is YOUR faith?
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Direction
This post first began 45 minutes ago as a Facebook status update. Unfortunately it became too philosophical and complex -- in my own mind -- to be posted there for "everyone" to see. I feel safer somehow making this a blog note, kind of public, not as public, if that makes sense.
Anyhow...
I realized last night as I was trying to fall asleep, that most all the folks I consider my ultrarunning mentors -- old school ultrarunners, amazing athletes, my dearest friends -- are race directors. Either there are a lot of local ultra distance races, or I am associated with the best of the best. More likely, I am just hooked up with the best.
I consider these people the "best" because they are not only doing the sport they love to do, they do it with consistency, year after year, and have targeted a purpose greater than themselves. Quite a lot of these races are fundraisers for charities, or awareness campaigns, or tributes to beloved colleagues, or even just chances to get non-running folks into running and becoming healthier. These race directors get up every day to normal lives like my own, taking care of work duties and household tasks, and family affairs, AND they find a way to stay fit AND make a difference to others. Their efforts really make me want to do something worthwhile, too.
As a side note, quite honestly, I have not been running. I have been so disconnected from the people I love that I fear I won't find my way back. I used to tell Bob that I was always one run away from quitting. If I am honest with myself, right now, I have all but quit.
What happened to me. What happened to the motivated, energetic Suzanne who would preface a run with "it's only" ... 16 miles, 26 miles, 50 miles. How do I find the road back to that place, to that person?
Ah, but all this is tied to a greater issue within me. The not running and the barely showing up are indicative of a greater challenge. It may be depression, or loss, or sadness, or illness, or age, or an odd mixture of circumstance over the last 3 1/2 years. I haven't been able to pinpoint it, cannot be objective, don't have a clear thought to save myself. I go about my day pretty well, but usually right before bed, when I am trying to fall asleep and the thoughts won't stop rushing through my head, I desperately consider huge issues: like how I must have a purpose on this earth.
I surely didn't just get assigned the role of mom as the only thing to do of importance. My girls are raised, Alicia is an adult ready to graduate from college and have her own family and business, and Savanna is such a mini-adult she goes to school full time and works a job all so well she is graduating in the top third of her high school class. I know this was the most important purpose of all -- being a parent -- and I am thankful to God that I was given the chance, twice, to do this job. My purpose as Mom won't really ever end, thankfully, because I will always love my daughters more than life itself. But I have set them off to fly. So in a way, the largest part of my job is done.
Now, there must be another direction.
While the connection between race directing and running and parenting and finding purpose might not all connect for you, my reader, it makes sense to me in this way: others are doing something with enthusiasm, consistency, importance. Others who are my friends, my role models, are doing all I have to do in my world AND more... and are doing it with grace and ability and *consistency.* Why would I ever have the right to sit here and say, I cannot do all this, when they do.
My excuses are only excuses.
Even as I sit here on my couch, Saturday morning, 10 a.m., I realize today must be the day I make progress on something grand -- something more grand than just showing up and checking the box. Like anyone, I won't be perfect. I will make mistakes, I have my shortcomings, and will have failures. But I have to TRY first. I have to break through this endless cycle of crying over the mess, and find goodness in all of it.
Perhaps that will be my resolution for 2013: to find direction greater than just getting through the day. I want to lead an effort that gets me jumping out of bed in the morning, while making the lives of others better. I feel good only when I do for others. I know this at least: it is in my being, giving to others is a gift to myself.
The tie to my role model friends is simple. Friends like Tanya, Roy, Rob, Lloyd, Joe, Mark, Bill, Steve, and so many others I respect in our sport, just keep on making that difference -- they do for others.
So, during this season of resolution, and setting goals, I feel moved and motivated to take steps toward being greater. Life cannot be just about doing enough to get by, or just enduring yet another season. This cannot be only a resolution for the new year, it needs to be an overarching personal goal.
It is time to get off this computer, stop theorizing about the meaning of life, and go do my passion. Stop waiting for someone else to motivate me, stop making excuses for why I cannot do something, and just go and DO it. Clean up the daily, hourly mess, fix the broken-everythings, and move on to MORE.
Somehow, in doing the things I love to do, the answers will follow.
Anyhow...
I realized last night as I was trying to fall asleep, that most all the folks I consider my ultrarunning mentors -- old school ultrarunners, amazing athletes, my dearest friends -- are race directors. Either there are a lot of local ultra distance races, or I am associated with the best of the best. More likely, I am just hooked up with the best.
I consider these people the "best" because they are not only doing the sport they love to do, they do it with consistency, year after year, and have targeted a purpose greater than themselves. Quite a lot of these races are fundraisers for charities, or awareness campaigns, or tributes to beloved colleagues, or even just chances to get non-running folks into running and becoming healthier. These race directors get up every day to normal lives like my own, taking care of work duties and household tasks, and family affairs, AND they find a way to stay fit AND make a difference to others. Their efforts really make me want to do something worthwhile, too.
As a side note, quite honestly, I have not been running. I have been so disconnected from the people I love that I fear I won't find my way back. I used to tell Bob that I was always one run away from quitting. If I am honest with myself, right now, I have all but quit.
What happened to me. What happened to the motivated, energetic Suzanne who would preface a run with "it's only" ... 16 miles, 26 miles, 50 miles. How do I find the road back to that place, to that person?
Ah, but all this is tied to a greater issue within me. The not running and the barely showing up are indicative of a greater challenge. It may be depression, or loss, or sadness, or illness, or age, or an odd mixture of circumstance over the last 3 1/2 years. I haven't been able to pinpoint it, cannot be objective, don't have a clear thought to save myself. I go about my day pretty well, but usually right before bed, when I am trying to fall asleep and the thoughts won't stop rushing through my head, I desperately consider huge issues: like how I must have a purpose on this earth.
I surely didn't just get assigned the role of mom as the only thing to do of importance. My girls are raised, Alicia is an adult ready to graduate from college and have her own family and business, and Savanna is such a mini-adult she goes to school full time and works a job all so well she is graduating in the top third of her high school class. I know this was the most important purpose of all -- being a parent -- and I am thankful to God that I was given the chance, twice, to do this job. My purpose as Mom won't really ever end, thankfully, because I will always love my daughters more than life itself. But I have set them off to fly. So in a way, the largest part of my job is done.
Now, there must be another direction.
While the connection between race directing and running and parenting and finding purpose might not all connect for you, my reader, it makes sense to me in this way: others are doing something with enthusiasm, consistency, importance. Others who are my friends, my role models, are doing all I have to do in my world AND more... and are doing it with grace and ability and *consistency.* Why would I ever have the right to sit here and say, I cannot do all this, when they do.
My excuses are only excuses.
Even as I sit here on my couch, Saturday morning, 10 a.m., I realize today must be the day I make progress on something grand -- something more grand than just showing up and checking the box. Like anyone, I won't be perfect. I will make mistakes, I have my shortcomings, and will have failures. But I have to TRY first. I have to break through this endless cycle of crying over the mess, and find goodness in all of it.
Perhaps that will be my resolution for 2013: to find direction greater than just getting through the day. I want to lead an effort that gets me jumping out of bed in the morning, while making the lives of others better. I feel good only when I do for others. I know this at least: it is in my being, giving to others is a gift to myself.
The tie to my role model friends is simple. Friends like Tanya, Roy, Rob, Lloyd, Joe, Mark, Bill, Steve, and so many others I respect in our sport, just keep on making that difference -- they do for others.
So, during this season of resolution, and setting goals, I feel moved and motivated to take steps toward being greater. Life cannot be just about doing enough to get by, or just enduring yet another season. This cannot be only a resolution for the new year, it needs to be an overarching personal goal.
It is time to get off this computer, stop theorizing about the meaning of life, and go do my passion. Stop waiting for someone else to motivate me, stop making excuses for why I cannot do something, and just go and DO it. Clean up the daily, hourly mess, fix the broken-everythings, and move on to MORE.
Somehow, in doing the things I love to do, the answers will follow.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Morning Regret
In our darkest time, our most lonely, it is easy to say, “it
wasn’t THAT bad.” Clear decisions cloud with emotions.
Good memories shine through a frosted windowpane and feel like a paradise from which I deserted.
How do I convince you that you made a sound decision, saying
you deserved better, when now you APPEAR to have less?
This morning, Regret has overcome Sound Judgement of last evening.
Your heart feels laden and you start to negotiate with God,
or with the fates, or with higher powers, to take this quiet away. “I could be satisfied with what I
had, if you would please return it to me.”
Fifth-best, or third choice, or cast aside for other options
is not where you had once dreamed of being.
All your life you have given your best; do not take less.
We teach people how to treat us. Do not accept behavior that to them means “good
enough.”
Cry today. See your
strength of yesterday. Make way for truer love tomorrow.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Many Hats
Every year around this same time, instead of thoroughly enjoying the gifts of summer, the laze, the relaxation, the slower pace of life, I feel driven to frustration and stress over my overly-packed schedule. Inevitably I feel like I am falling short everywhere, seemingly not being appreciated. Does anyone know how hard I work? Does anyone have any idea the responsibilities I carry?
I shake my head at the vision in the mirror.
The weather-worn Suzanne reflecting back at me is wearing (or rather, juggling) ten hats, all at the same time:
1. "Single Mom"
2. "Full Time CSU Employee"
3. "Girlfriend"
4. "Daughter"
5. "BR100 Volunteer Coordinator"
6. "Friend"
7. "Ultrarunner"
8. "Housekeeper"
9. "Gardener"
10. "Person who almost always says Yes to More."
It is a contrary vision, myself in that mirror. There is fatigue, but there is strength. There is insecurity but there is confidence. There is floundering, but there is direction. Most of all, there is yearning for understanding, but there is self assurance of knowing myself.
I am the first to admit, this dichotomous challenge is my own payment for taking on so much responsibility. I am a do-er, a helper, with a high work ethic, gaining energy from the enthusiasm and camaraderie of good people who give of themselves to make an event work.
I would not wear these hats if I did not love the folks for whom I wear them.
But I am not unusual or outstanding. I dare say that most of my friends, most of the folks around me, see the same reflection of hats piled upon hats, weighty responsibilities they shoulder every day.
Today's post does not serve as a complaint, but rather as a point that we all need to stop and look around at all the extraordinary people, wearing many hats, who go above and beyond for each of us every day. There are some amazing people around you -- do you see them? Do you acknowledge them?
This weekend, July 28th and 29th, is the Burning River 100 Endurance Race -- a point-to-point 100-mile race which begins in Willoughby Hills, Ohio and ends in downtown Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. I am proud to say this is my fifth year serving as Volunteer Coordinator. Between race directing, volunteer coordinating, course planning, marking, supply organization, delivery, registration, manning 18 aid stations, and clean up, our volunteer total nears 350 to 400 folks.
Heading up that group of volunteers are directors -- for the volunteers, the race, the course marking, the supplies, the timing of runners -- as well as aid station captains. None of these positions is a paid position, even though the hours we log are way overtime.
Let me assure you, though, that each director acts as if he is paid a high salary. The amount of behind-the-scenes communication, preparation, planning, real WORK that goes on for this race in particular amazes me.
For example, were you aware that our race director Joe Jurczyk personally responds to every email he gets, even the "general information" online response forms? Yep. And did you know
that Mark Shelton, our supply director, will reformat an entire food plan to include watermelon if a captain wants it? And Paul Romanic, our course marking king, sends out detailed emails and directions to the planning committee and his helpers -- even with pictures of what the course marking flags will look like! Yep.
And, did you know that most all of my aid station captains have an event page created on Facebook where they recruit between 10 and 40 (no kidding) volunteers each -- and then follow up with definitions and assignments of each job that needs to be performed on race day. Elizabeth Hiser does that. And they have themes, with props! Michelle Bichsel has made smiley face signs galore for Happy Days. Yep.
And then there are folks like Dan Horvath -- already race directors for other races -- who step up to take on a major (pain-in-the-butt) role like generator pickup and delivery. Or Lloyd Thomas who has assumed duties like assistant to the race director on race day.
And they do it for no money. They do it out of love... and out of dedication to the group that is joining an effort. For the runners, for the sport. Because they love the people for whom they wear the hats. What an outstanding team we have for BR100.
Yesterday I admittedly felt overwhelmed, beaten up, and unappreciated, bemoaning my willingness to readily serve.
Today I see the opportunity to appreciate the effort others are making, too, and to point out the extraordinary people I am fortunate enough to have beside me, not hasting at the mirror, but busily creating windows or doors with me.
I thank you.
"Volunteers are love in motion." ~ unknown
I shake my head at the vision in the mirror.
The weather-worn Suzanne reflecting back at me is wearing (or rather, juggling) ten hats, all at the same time:
1. "Single Mom"
2. "Full Time CSU Employee"
3. "Girlfriend"
4. "Daughter"
5. "BR100 Volunteer Coordinator"
6. "Friend"
7. "Ultrarunner"
8. "Housekeeper"
9. "Gardener"
10. "Person who almost always says Yes to More."
It is a contrary vision, myself in that mirror. There is fatigue, but there is strength. There is insecurity but there is confidence. There is floundering, but there is direction. Most of all, there is yearning for understanding, but there is self assurance of knowing myself.
I am the first to admit, this dichotomous challenge is my own payment for taking on so much responsibility. I am a do-er, a helper, with a high work ethic, gaining energy from the enthusiasm and camaraderie of good people who give of themselves to make an event work.
I would not wear these hats if I did not love the folks for whom I wear them.
But I am not unusual or outstanding. I dare say that most of my friends, most of the folks around me, see the same reflection of hats piled upon hats, weighty responsibilities they shoulder every day.
Today's post does not serve as a complaint, but rather as a point that we all need to stop and look around at all the extraordinary people, wearing many hats, who go above and beyond for each of us every day. There are some amazing people around you -- do you see them? Do you acknowledge them?
This weekend, July 28th and 29th, is the Burning River 100 Endurance Race -- a point-to-point 100-mile race which begins in Willoughby Hills, Ohio and ends in downtown Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio. I am proud to say this is my fifth year serving as Volunteer Coordinator. Between race directing, volunteer coordinating, course planning, marking, supply organization, delivery, registration, manning 18 aid stations, and clean up, our volunteer total nears 350 to 400 folks.
Heading up that group of volunteers are directors -- for the volunteers, the race, the course marking, the supplies, the timing of runners -- as well as aid station captains. None of these positions is a paid position, even though the hours we log are way overtime.
Let me assure you, though, that each director acts as if he is paid a high salary. The amount of behind-the-scenes communication, preparation, planning, real WORK that goes on for this race in particular amazes me.
For example, were you aware that our race director Joe Jurczyk personally responds to every email he gets, even the "general information" online response forms? Yep. And did you know
that Mark Shelton, our supply director, will reformat an entire food plan to include watermelon if a captain wants it? And Paul Romanic, our course marking king, sends out detailed emails and directions to the planning committee and his helpers -- even with pictures of what the course marking flags will look like! Yep.And, did you know that most all of my aid station captains have an event page created on Facebook where they recruit between 10 and 40 (no kidding) volunteers each -- and then follow up with definitions and assignments of each job that needs to be performed on race day. Elizabeth Hiser does that. And they have themes, with props! Michelle Bichsel has made smiley face signs galore for Happy Days. Yep.
And then there are folks like Dan Horvath -- already race directors for other races -- who step up to take on a major (pain-in-the-butt) role like generator pickup and delivery. Or Lloyd Thomas who has assumed duties like assistant to the race director on race day.
And they do it for no money. They do it out of love... and out of dedication to the group that is joining an effort. For the runners, for the sport. Because they love the people for whom they wear the hats. What an outstanding team we have for BR100.
Yesterday I admittedly felt overwhelmed, beaten up, and unappreciated, bemoaning my willingness to readily serve.
Today I see the opportunity to appreciate the effort others are making, too, and to point out the extraordinary people I am fortunate enough to have beside me, not hasting at the mirror, but busily creating windows or doors with me.
I thank you.
"Volunteers are love in motion." ~ unknown
Monday, July 9, 2012
What is he worth?
Have I taken vacation from blogging? Not intentionally a vacation, although it is 9 days in to July, the Summer season is moving nicely by, fairly drama-free, spurring no rants or emotional postings... much to the shock, I am sure, of my faithful constituency (of two). One of the faithful asked me yesterday how my "writing" is going; not my running, or my job... but my writing. He implied that my posts actually mean something to him. I felt in that moment quite valued, and thought it time to conjure up something "meaningful." On what topic?
My blog dashboard has in it various "drafts" which I started and then just have left uncompleted, for lack of purpose or just purely lack of time. "Drafts" stand as a small sign to me that my mind is jumping all over the place, my attention is a bit fractured -- or, on a more positive note, I am considering various facets of life, seeing how the light looks from different angles. The topics haven't come to a meaningful fruition yet.
I have, however, been thinking quite a lot about what makes a person have "value." Which leads me to ask, is summing up our worth measured by what we as a people put value into -- and, if so, how to know when we are worth enough? Moreover, is it about the total dollar value of our possessions, the quantity or quality of what we own, how many credentials follow our signature, or maybe simply our intrinsic value to others?
Perhaps this is giving away the ending, but the reason this particular blog post has remained to date in "draft" form is because I have not yet made a distinct conclusion... I really don't know how to value one's VALUE. What is he worth, over there in the costly suit, or that homeless guy I pass on the stairs with arms (and pants) loaded with plastic bags? The man with the bags seems to fatter with them every day... does he consider more better?
Years ago I got into a collection frenzy of Beanie Babies. Ah, I was indeed one of those convinced women flying around from store to store in order to secure my "hard to find" blah blah blah tie-dye bear. A few of them actually were displayed in my curio cabinet -- I was so proud of my nearly complete list, which I was sure would be valuable "one day." Tubs were filled and they now sit in a basement somewhere, collecting mold, maybe. And there were Precious Moments, and music boxes, and later Pandora beads -- each $35 Murano glass bead represented an ultra I completed in a year's time (which served as a grand conversation piece until I couldn't afford to keep up with the per-race bead purchases).
I cannot tell you how much money I spent on all of that collecting, and yet I assure you that the "stuff" is adding NO real value to my life today.
Over the years only one collection-binge has survived: my beautiful but mighty limited array of carnival glass pieces. It started with depression glass turned pressed glass turned carnival glass. These days the collection is increased as I find a piece I love to look at, not because of some high book value, but because each piece actually brings me joy, to have and to hold, dollar value no matter. These purchases are only made with "extra" cash, after the real needs of life are covered. Clearly, my carnival glass collection would not rank high on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.
Due to life circumstances that demand smarter living over the last few years I have really studied and analyzed what I "want" and what I really "need." Isn't that a good question for any of us to ask, though: "What do I need?" It is amazing how little we can live without when we have to. I have lived without a drill for over a year now, despite it being on my "need" list. Basic needs being met, food, water, clothing, shelter, the rest is just stuff.
And here is where the theme ties together. I know many folks, myself included, who liken the value of their "stuff" to personal value. They display collections that speak "value" to others. For example, there are the material objects that I believe, in my limited opinion, will be "worth something"someday, which I hold on to... somewhere. Granted those "valuable objects" are scattered in Bob's basement, in my basement, in the garage. I hate to admit that some of those boxes moved from Euclid to Roshon to Alexandria, never even opened. Do you (do I) realize how much of my energy is sealed into those boxes? And more energy is wasted each time I remember that I have to sort that stuff yet, and pare it down to a manageable amount. I now consider that those valuable things are actually devaluing my life. If I were to die today, my poor children would have all that junk to sort through and sell or toss.
Speaking of dying and leaving junk to my kin to fight over, I know this guy who makes his living shopping Goodwill, re-sale shops, garage and estate sales and re-selling those purchases in an antique mall booth, or to friends with collections. For a few depressing winter months I had him keeping an eye out for Swarovski figurines to add to my small collection (only those with the original boxes and paperwork, to ensure value maintenance). It was sort of satisfying the thrill of the chase for me. But then, the guilt set in.
You see, my "guy" is a pro at boxing up a bunch of "things" at these sales, where he offers one price for the lot... which is negotiated back and forth until a reasonable agreement is met. Unfortunately, quite a lot of these sales are of folks' treasures that they thought all along were worth great fortunes. The boxed lot which is now being sold for pennies on the dollar. A lifetime, minimized.
It is truly sad if you think about it. What I value is valuable on my own scale. I am worth only as much as I believe I am worth.
Moving to West Friendship forced me to take with me only what I "needed" to live. The rest is sadly still sitting, waiting to be parceled out and trashed. What makes this stockpiling bad is that I wrap memories around "things" and fear that if I throw the items away, I will lose the memories too. Which is absurd. But still I do it. One flood and it'd all be gone. One estate sale after my death and it's sold to the highest (low) bidder. What do I really need?
So many of my friends unfortunately have faced or are now facing divorce. Splitting up the "valuables" can literally take years. Some things may be intrinsically valuable, like photo albums... but other things are literally worn out objects tied to a valuable memory, or a point that "needs to be made" to our offensive spouse, items better off trashed and not taking up space in our new lives. A friend of mine was finally ordered to move items from his ex's house that had been boxed up and left to rot in her basement. The woman didn't need those things -- but she held on to them to inflict emotional pain and control. And no matter what, my friend was determined to secure his stuff. I doubt he even realizes the junk is worthless.
We hold on to things like we need to be holding on to each other.
And yet we do it. More is better. We hoard. We protect, we stand firm to a point of pride, we hang on to and cover memories in basement boxes that take up space in our houses instead of in our hearts.
I know logically that I should go through my life and clean out the space-takers, the dust-collectors, the less than valuable "collectibles" like a tub full of Beanie Babies with the tag protectors sill attached. Does that mean I am willing to throw it all out? Get a dumpster and haul it away? No. I am just pointing out the fact that the analogy is becoming clearer as this post progresses: what is it I value -- "things" or people? My dusty memories or making new ones? My past, or what I have right at this moment, who I have next to me? Why not collect friends? Why not fill space with love and life?
Not that I have come to any distinct solutions, or affirmations or answers -- and certainly I will continue collecting little glass shiny objects that make my heart feel happiness when I look at the different angles of shining light. But with the writing and processing of this blog, I have come to consider that a man's worth might just be summed in the number of lives he has positively affected -- and the KNOWING, the AWARENESS of that value to others.
Look at the people you pour energy in to every day, look to your left, to your right, what is he worth? What is he worth to you. How many people are leading better lives just because you exist?
When you are able to say-- to believe, to know -- that you have added value to someones life, then THAT is when you are worth "enough"... even with nothing, you have everything.
My blog dashboard has in it various "drafts" which I started and then just have left uncompleted, for lack of purpose or just purely lack of time. "Drafts" stand as a small sign to me that my mind is jumping all over the place, my attention is a bit fractured -- or, on a more positive note, I am considering various facets of life, seeing how the light looks from different angles. The topics haven't come to a meaningful fruition yet.
I have, however, been thinking quite a lot about what makes a person have "value." Which leads me to ask, is summing up our worth measured by what we as a people put value into -- and, if so, how to know when we are worth enough? Moreover, is it about the total dollar value of our possessions, the quantity or quality of what we own, how many credentials follow our signature, or maybe simply our intrinsic value to others?
Perhaps this is giving away the ending, but the reason this particular blog post has remained to date in "draft" form is because I have not yet made a distinct conclusion... I really don't know how to value one's VALUE. What is he worth, over there in the costly suit, or that homeless guy I pass on the stairs with arms (and pants) loaded with plastic bags? The man with the bags seems to fatter with them every day... does he consider more better?
Years ago I got into a collection frenzy of Beanie Babies. Ah, I was indeed one of those convinced women flying around from store to store in order to secure my "hard to find" blah blah blah tie-dye bear. A few of them actually were displayed in my curio cabinet -- I was so proud of my nearly complete list, which I was sure would be valuable "one day." Tubs were filled and they now sit in a basement somewhere, collecting mold, maybe. And there were Precious Moments, and music boxes, and later Pandora beads -- each $35 Murano glass bead represented an ultra I completed in a year's time (which served as a grand conversation piece until I couldn't afford to keep up with the per-race bead purchases).
I cannot tell you how much money I spent on all of that collecting, and yet I assure you that the "stuff" is adding NO real value to my life today.
Over the years only one collection-binge has survived: my beautiful but mighty limited array of carnival glass pieces. It started with depression glass turned pressed glass turned carnival glass. These days the collection is increased as I find a piece I love to look at, not because of some high book value, but because each piece actually brings me joy, to have and to hold, dollar value no matter. These purchases are only made with "extra" cash, after the real needs of life are covered. Clearly, my carnival glass collection would not rank high on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs.
Due to life circumstances that demand smarter living over the last few years I have really studied and analyzed what I "want" and what I really "need." Isn't that a good question for any of us to ask, though: "What do I need?" It is amazing how little we can live without when we have to. I have lived without a drill for over a year now, despite it being on my "need" list. Basic needs being met, food, water, clothing, shelter, the rest is just stuff.
And here is where the theme ties together. I know many folks, myself included, who liken the value of their "stuff" to personal value. They display collections that speak "value" to others. For example, there are the material objects that I believe, in my limited opinion, will be "worth something"someday, which I hold on to... somewhere. Granted those "valuable objects" are scattered in Bob's basement, in my basement, in the garage. I hate to admit that some of those boxes moved from Euclid to Roshon to Alexandria, never even opened. Do you (do I) realize how much of my energy is sealed into those boxes? And more energy is wasted each time I remember that I have to sort that stuff yet, and pare it down to a manageable amount. I now consider that those valuable things are actually devaluing my life. If I were to die today, my poor children would have all that junk to sort through and sell or toss.
Speaking of dying and leaving junk to my kin to fight over, I know this guy who makes his living shopping Goodwill, re-sale shops, garage and estate sales and re-selling those purchases in an antique mall booth, or to friends with collections. For a few depressing winter months I had him keeping an eye out for Swarovski figurines to add to my small collection (only those with the original boxes and paperwork, to ensure value maintenance). It was sort of satisfying the thrill of the chase for me. But then, the guilt set in.
You see, my "guy" is a pro at boxing up a bunch of "things" at these sales, where he offers one price for the lot... which is negotiated back and forth until a reasonable agreement is met. Unfortunately, quite a lot of these sales are of folks' treasures that they thought all along were worth great fortunes. The boxed lot which is now being sold for pennies on the dollar. A lifetime, minimized.
It is truly sad if you think about it. What I value is valuable on my own scale. I am worth only as much as I believe I am worth.
Moving to West Friendship forced me to take with me only what I "needed" to live. The rest is sadly still sitting, waiting to be parceled out and trashed. What makes this stockpiling bad is that I wrap memories around "things" and fear that if I throw the items away, I will lose the memories too. Which is absurd. But still I do it. One flood and it'd all be gone. One estate sale after my death and it's sold to the highest (low) bidder. What do I really need?
So many of my friends unfortunately have faced or are now facing divorce. Splitting up the "valuables" can literally take years. Some things may be intrinsically valuable, like photo albums... but other things are literally worn out objects tied to a valuable memory, or a point that "needs to be made" to our offensive spouse, items better off trashed and not taking up space in our new lives. A friend of mine was finally ordered to move items from his ex's house that had been boxed up and left to rot in her basement. The woman didn't need those things -- but she held on to them to inflict emotional pain and control. And no matter what, my friend was determined to secure his stuff. I doubt he even realizes the junk is worthless.
We hold on to things like we need to be holding on to each other.
And yet we do it. More is better. We hoard. We protect, we stand firm to a point of pride, we hang on to and cover memories in basement boxes that take up space in our houses instead of in our hearts.
I know logically that I should go through my life and clean out the space-takers, the dust-collectors, the less than valuable "collectibles" like a tub full of Beanie Babies with the tag protectors sill attached. Does that mean I am willing to throw it all out? Get a dumpster and haul it away? No. I am just pointing out the fact that the analogy is becoming clearer as this post progresses: what is it I value -- "things" or people? My dusty memories or making new ones? My past, or what I have right at this moment, who I have next to me? Why not collect friends? Why not fill space with love and life?
Not that I have come to any distinct solutions, or affirmations or answers -- and certainly I will continue collecting little glass shiny objects that make my heart feel happiness when I look at the different angles of shining light. But with the writing and processing of this blog, I have come to consider that a man's worth might just be summed in the number of lives he has positively affected -- and the KNOWING, the AWARENESS of that value to others.
Look at the people you pour energy in to every day, look to your left, to your right, what is he worth? What is he worth to you. How many people are leading better lives just because you exist?
When you are able to say-- to believe, to know -- that you have added value to someones life, then THAT is when you are worth "enough"... even with nothing, you have everything.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Ya Gotta Wanna
This morning I withdrew my name from the Burning River 100 registration list. Not an easy decision to make. As Volunteer Coordinator of the race I have seen a few withdraws come across to RD Joe via the on line contact form, and it seems like each comes with an emotional explanation and justification of why that person needs to claim a DNS this year.
For me, aside from a nagging pain or two, I haveta-wanna, and I just ... well... don't want it enough now to even try.
If you know me, you know this sounds a little surprising, unlike me, even. But times have changed. The schematic of my lifestyle reads differently than it did years ago. There comes a time when admitting limitations is healthy -- moreso emotionally even than physically. I have been running, I have been training. My body is physically ready to complete the 100+ miles. My mind is just not up to the task.
I am not a quitter. In fact, next weekend I will be running the Mohican 50 on Saturday and the Canton Marathon on Sunday. What makes this difficult for me is having to do it myself --rather, to get myself there, to both starting lines, without the benefit of having a partner or good friend to force me out of the house. No one really even to help me decide, camping or cabin, hotel or driving down morning-of the race. It's all me. Mentally I know this challenge will be quite a win once I complete it. Maybe to you it doesn't sound difficult, but for me, the getting there is the hardest part -- the running is simple.
Yesterday I had the opportunity to support a friend at an Olympic Triathlon event. I have been to triathlons before, but this one hit me in a different way. I looked at the ladies competing and really for the most part these women were fit, built actually, tough, capable happy people, and their events were over in about three hours. What joy it must be to start and finish a demanding event in less than three -- not seven or 24 or 30 -- hours, and have it still count -- have it still feel like a win.
Why do I feel that the only way I can "win" is to run longer than the average athlete? Come to think of it, the men in my life who convinced me that this was the only qualifier for toughness are essentially gone from my life, on the outside of my every day existence. It once mattered to me to have it matter to them. And now, it seems to just matter less.
Of course, as an ultrarunner I have total justification to how I find personal pleasure in completing the "long (really long) run." The event yesterday just opened my mind to the possibility that doing a different sport may actually be good enough for me, someday. It actually would be a challenge to complete a tri, because I am not a strong swimmer. It would actually take training for me to be able to swim a mile. I watched Jeff swim two loops around that reservoir like it was pretty much nothing -- while I hyperventilated on the dock, imagining what it would feel like for me to be in that water. Maybe it is time for me to consider mixing up my sports a bit, going for a different challenge.
Who knows why my attitude has changed. I do love running trails. And I love events like a 50 mile trail race. But the road running during the week is more painful than pleasurable, and something inside me is beginning to ask why.
For the past 8 years I have defined myself, with pride, as an ultrarunner. I don't think that withdrawing from Burning River 100 makes me weak -- or at least I hope it doesn't. I just want that fire back that once powered me, the fist-pumping, high-fiving win of finishing. I know sadly, next weekend, when I get home from the Canton Marathon, 76+ miles logged for the weekend, it will just be me celebrating. I won't have anyone here on my couch who shared that experience, no one to download the information to, anyone to pat me on the back or make me an egg sandwich, to really understand how much it took to finish.
I realize that in this life, we ultimately all are alone and have only to rely on ourselves. And this might sound like complaining -- honestly, it is not. I am just saying that it takes a little of the joy away to be in this sport alone. To suffer through 100 miles at the end of July, I gotta-wanna, and aching alone makes me say I don't-wanna. Right now, it somehow just doesn't matter much.
And I want what I do to matter.
Part of the thrill of this sport, to me, is sitting around after the event talking about what happened out there -- how the river was really flowing this year, or the mud was shoe-sucking deep, how the horse-flies were biting, the waterfall was heavenly cold, or the wipe-out on the rocks really hurt but I kept my leg bloody to look like a bad-ass.
I want to be a part of something, a bigger something than just me. Sure, in my job of volunteer coordinator I am a part of that big effort, and it is super satisfying to work with Joe and Mark and Vince and Jim et al to make it happen. I will put my whole heart into that effort, and it will be so gratifying to see each runner succeed in his own right.
Still, as bad as it sounds, I guess I don't run ultras primarily for the self-satisfaction. I am driven by that community of understanding, of making an effort that others like me see and "get" as a challenge. And right now, for whatever reason -- I rightly take the blame, the responsibility -- I feel a little bit out of touch with that community. I have no front-line connection with a routine, accountability partner. I have myself. "Good effort, Suzanne, it sure was hot out there today, it was fun running with you. Wasn't it a beautiful day though? Thanks for being there with me." The glow that powered me to a 100-mile finish has dimmed.
And to those who take this post as negative, who will look at me like this is quitting -- I AM NOT QUITTING. I have not given up, I have not quit the sport. My life is happy. I am blessed with a wonderful job, a beautiful garden, my loving children, a new man who has all the promise I have prayed for, and a body that still carries me through activities I love. This post is positive -- it is freeing to be able to admit how I really feel these days and have it be okay with ME.
It simply makes more sense, seems healthier even, to accept my limitations right now, be they mental or physical. Because if what I am gonna get after a 30 hour event is the glassy-eyed look of a co-worker, or the "you're nuts" blow off from my mother, then I may as well go for a far less demanding three hour event that takes everything I have to complete it, FEELS LIKE A WIN, but then still leaves me with energy to do my day. It hurts to run 100 miles -- and there is pain and sacrifice for weeks and months before the event even happens. Having someone next to me understanding the effort actually makes the pain go away. Who wants to sit on the couch reliving a memory by yourself?
Ya gotta wanna.
For me, aside from a nagging pain or two, I haveta-wanna, and I just ... well... don't want it enough now to even try.
If you know me, you know this sounds a little surprising, unlike me, even. But times have changed. The schematic of my lifestyle reads differently than it did years ago. There comes a time when admitting limitations is healthy -- moreso emotionally even than physically. I have been running, I have been training. My body is physically ready to complete the 100+ miles. My mind is just not up to the task.
I am not a quitter. In fact, next weekend I will be running the Mohican 50 on Saturday and the Canton Marathon on Sunday. What makes this difficult for me is having to do it myself --rather, to get myself there, to both starting lines, without the benefit of having a partner or good friend to force me out of the house. No one really even to help me decide, camping or cabin, hotel or driving down morning-of the race. It's all me. Mentally I know this challenge will be quite a win once I complete it. Maybe to you it doesn't sound difficult, but for me, the getting there is the hardest part -- the running is simple.
Yesterday I had the opportunity to support a friend at an Olympic Triathlon event. I have been to triathlons before, but this one hit me in a different way. I looked at the ladies competing and really for the most part these women were fit, built actually, tough, capable happy people, and their events were over in about three hours. What joy it must be to start and finish a demanding event in less than three -- not seven or 24 or 30 -- hours, and have it still count -- have it still feel like a win.
Why do I feel that the only way I can "win" is to run longer than the average athlete? Come to think of it, the men in my life who convinced me that this was the only qualifier for toughness are essentially gone from my life, on the outside of my every day existence. It once mattered to me to have it matter to them. And now, it seems to just matter less.
Of course, as an ultrarunner I have total justification to how I find personal pleasure in completing the "long (really long) run." The event yesterday just opened my mind to the possibility that doing a different sport may actually be good enough for me, someday. It actually would be a challenge to complete a tri, because I am not a strong swimmer. It would actually take training for me to be able to swim a mile. I watched Jeff swim two loops around that reservoir like it was pretty much nothing -- while I hyperventilated on the dock, imagining what it would feel like for me to be in that water. Maybe it is time for me to consider mixing up my sports a bit, going for a different challenge.
Who knows why my attitude has changed. I do love running trails. And I love events like a 50 mile trail race. But the road running during the week is more painful than pleasurable, and something inside me is beginning to ask why.
For the past 8 years I have defined myself, with pride, as an ultrarunner. I don't think that withdrawing from Burning River 100 makes me weak -- or at least I hope it doesn't. I just want that fire back that once powered me, the fist-pumping, high-fiving win of finishing. I know sadly, next weekend, when I get home from the Canton Marathon, 76+ miles logged for the weekend, it will just be me celebrating. I won't have anyone here on my couch who shared that experience, no one to download the information to, anyone to pat me on the back or make me an egg sandwich, to really understand how much it took to finish.
I realize that in this life, we ultimately all are alone and have only to rely on ourselves. And this might sound like complaining -- honestly, it is not. I am just saying that it takes a little of the joy away to be in this sport alone. To suffer through 100 miles at the end of July, I gotta-wanna, and aching alone makes me say I don't-wanna. Right now, it somehow just doesn't matter much.
And I want what I do to matter.
Part of the thrill of this sport, to me, is sitting around after the event talking about what happened out there -- how the river was really flowing this year, or the mud was shoe-sucking deep, how the horse-flies were biting, the waterfall was heavenly cold, or the wipe-out on the rocks really hurt but I kept my leg bloody to look like a bad-ass.
I want to be a part of something, a bigger something than just me. Sure, in my job of volunteer coordinator I am a part of that big effort, and it is super satisfying to work with Joe and Mark and Vince and Jim et al to make it happen. I will put my whole heart into that effort, and it will be so gratifying to see each runner succeed in his own right.
Still, as bad as it sounds, I guess I don't run ultras primarily for the self-satisfaction. I am driven by that community of understanding, of making an effort that others like me see and "get" as a challenge. And right now, for whatever reason -- I rightly take the blame, the responsibility -- I feel a little bit out of touch with that community. I have no front-line connection with a routine, accountability partner. I have myself. "Good effort, Suzanne, it sure was hot out there today, it was fun running with you. Wasn't it a beautiful day though? Thanks for being there with me." The glow that powered me to a 100-mile finish has dimmed.
And to those who take this post as negative, who will look at me like this is quitting -- I AM NOT QUITTING. I have not given up, I have not quit the sport. My life is happy. I am blessed with a wonderful job, a beautiful garden, my loving children, a new man who has all the promise I have prayed for, and a body that still carries me through activities I love. This post is positive -- it is freeing to be able to admit how I really feel these days and have it be okay with ME.
It simply makes more sense, seems healthier even, to accept my limitations right now, be they mental or physical. Because if what I am gonna get after a 30 hour event is the glassy-eyed look of a co-worker, or the "you're nuts" blow off from my mother, then I may as well go for a far less demanding three hour event that takes everything I have to complete it, FEELS LIKE A WIN, but then still leaves me with energy to do my day. It hurts to run 100 miles -- and there is pain and sacrifice for weeks and months before the event even happens. Having someone next to me understanding the effort actually makes the pain go away. Who wants to sit on the couch reliving a memory by yourself?
Ya gotta wanna.
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Money Doesn't Buy Everything, But...
Three times this week I have heard a rendition of the phrase, "Money doesn't buy everything!"
I consider the words and imagine them spoken first by a wealthy individual whose view from the top was quite rich. I also imagine a single mother trying to convince her teenage daughter that skinny jeans from Hollister aren't really "all that." Or a mother and father of seven who are serving noodle soup again for dinner.
No matter who is saying it, it is personally irritating to me and difficult to not respond with, "Ah, you sound so self-actualized, so mature and evolved... but come on now, having money sure does make a difference!" Give me a try, I will show you how far I am able to stretch "more"!
Admittedly, guaranteed money offered as a reward would probably motivate me to the finish line of (nearly) any race. Money is not actually a motivation for me TO RUN a race but instead to be able TO REGISTER to run the race -- with registration fees for ultras over $100 each nowadays, I literally cannot afford to do as many races as I am physically able to do.
So if I can't afford to exercise away my stress, shopping therapy is always an option. Not like any of us need to acquire additional STUFF, yet it goes without saying how retail stores and online shopping provide endless opportunity 24-hours a day to buy material objects of any sort -- even, ironically, collectible currency.
I have heard that money can buy you an early retirement, but it is no longer necessary to buy sex (it is literally being given away, for free!).
In general, money is able to fund convenience. Like hitting the "easy" button, if you want a task done, don't have time but have cash, you can pay someone to do it for you. Why iron shirts when the drycleaners have starch? Why spend a week of evenings mulching when Alex and his family-team will do it in four hours this Saturday? No time to visit mom for Mother's Day? 1-800-FLOWERS, done.
This is a worn-out topic, way overdone, not barely worth discussing. Yet it still irks me when a pompous ass throws out a grand cliche and acts like it's some valuable life lesson which obviously he ignores.
Money might not buy me happiness, but it sure does make the pain of unhappiness go away by affording a five course champagne brunch at Main Street. Argue the justification, anyone.
Without getting too serious and sad here, having money can actually make the difference between going to college and not -- trust me, I award scholarships for a living.
Even more serious, a lack of money can invoke outright violence. Imagine a starving father or mother stealing to feed his or her family. Thank God I have what I have.
My point: let's admit that having less money generally means having less options. And frankly, I not only want options for myself to choose my path of happiness, but to also influence paths of happiness and fortune for others.
So if you are one of the fortunate, please try and throw the phrase around a little less carelessly. There are many of us who would love the chance to prove how much even a little more money can buy.
I consider the words and imagine them spoken first by a wealthy individual whose view from the top was quite rich. I also imagine a single mother trying to convince her teenage daughter that skinny jeans from Hollister aren't really "all that." Or a mother and father of seven who are serving noodle soup again for dinner.
No matter who is saying it, it is personally irritating to me and difficult to not respond with, "Ah, you sound so self-actualized, so mature and evolved... but come on now, having money sure does make a difference!" Give me a try, I will show you how far I am able to stretch "more"!
Admittedly, guaranteed money offered as a reward would probably motivate me to the finish line of (nearly) any race. Money is not actually a motivation for me TO RUN a race but instead to be able TO REGISTER to run the race -- with registration fees for ultras over $100 each nowadays, I literally cannot afford to do as many races as I am physically able to do.
So if I can't afford to exercise away my stress, shopping therapy is always an option. Not like any of us need to acquire additional STUFF, yet it goes without saying how retail stores and online shopping provide endless opportunity 24-hours a day to buy material objects of any sort -- even, ironically, collectible currency.
I have heard that money can buy you an early retirement, but it is no longer necessary to buy sex (it is literally being given away, for free!).
In general, money is able to fund convenience. Like hitting the "easy" button, if you want a task done, don't have time but have cash, you can pay someone to do it for you. Why iron shirts when the drycleaners have starch? Why spend a week of evenings mulching when Alex and his family-team will do it in four hours this Saturday? No time to visit mom for Mother's Day? 1-800-FLOWERS, done.
This is a worn-out topic, way overdone, not barely worth discussing. Yet it still irks me when a pompous ass throws out a grand cliche and acts like it's some valuable life lesson which obviously he ignores.
Money might not buy me happiness, but it sure does make the pain of unhappiness go away by affording a five course champagne brunch at Main Street. Argue the justification, anyone.
Without getting too serious and sad here, having money can actually make the difference between going to college and not -- trust me, I award scholarships for a living.
Even more serious, a lack of money can invoke outright violence. Imagine a starving father or mother stealing to feed his or her family. Thank God I have what I have.
My point: let's admit that having less money generally means having less options. And frankly, I not only want options for myself to choose my path of happiness, but to also influence paths of happiness and fortune for others.
So if you are one of the fortunate, please try and throw the phrase around a little less carelessly. There are many of us who would love the chance to prove how much even a little more money can buy.
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