Exactly three years ago, I wrote my first blog, posted it to my website, and emailed it to a small cadre of family and friends. At the time, my goal was to educate and encourage people to exercise. I was in the final, painful year of writing my book, and my social media consultant urged me to spread the word.
But my fitness-themed writings soon tapered off like exhausted, middled-aged long-distance runners. It was not exactly due to insufficient content; it was just that I was pulled by unseen forces in uncontemplated directions.
More than 150 blog posts later, I no longer care where I go or where I will wind up because I just enjoy the journey. Random topics flit through my mind, usually while running but sometimes while driving and occasionally while talking with someone. I do not usually jot down the ideas; it they are going to stick, they will come back to me during days following, springing into the murky recesses of my brain again and again.
On a whim, I recently browsed through my blog posts. I was struck by the sheer volume of my writings as well as the variety of content – reminiscent, emotional, amusing or revealing. I shed a few tears – usually from sentiment, but also occasionally due to exasperation at banal content.
For what it’s worth, this week and next, I am highlighting content from some of my favorite posts.
1. Finish Line – May 16, 2021
This was an essay in homage to Joan Benoit, runner extraordinaire, on her birthday. But it caused me to think about how much I love to run and contemplating when that would end:
If I had my choice, I would run until my final day on earth, returning home sweaty and upbeat, exhilarated by fresh air, heartened by movement, and calmed by effort. I will slip off my running shoes and simply slip away. … But I suspect the extent of my running life is what Joan likens to marathons-as-a-metaphor-for-life: you never know what is around the next bend. My beautiful infatuation with the sport is partly due to its mystery; I cannot predict or contemplate the outcome. I can only experience the impactful effort, the comforting rhythm, and the almost-heartbreaking solitude.
2. Powder Poise – November 10, 2019
This story was about a time in my life when I was new to Seattle. I had few friends, but I was infatuated with skiing. I would wake up on winter Saturday mornings, throw my skis into my trusty Opel Manta and head to Stevens Pass. One day, I got hit by a blizzard as I was leaving the slopes:
By the time I coaxed the cold engine of my car back to life, the snow was falling fast and furious, approaching a white-out. With the reassuring thud of the thickly cabled tire chains in the background, I crept out of the parking lot and began a cautious descent. … By now the heavy snowfall was covering the earth as quickly as it was blanketing my composure. I gripped the steering wheel and inched along, joining the cavalcade of cars crawling down the mountain. The number of cars sidelined off the road, either by intention or by catastrophe, grew. … I was keenly aware that I had to rely on myself as I began the final downhill descent of the day. My Manta and I slipped and slid down the icy road. We pivoted on the turns with the timidity of a neophyte skier on a bunny slope. On the steep stretches, I coaxed the car into the automotive equivalent of a snowplow. The trip that usually took two hours extended to six hours, but I arrived home oddly triumphant.
3. Downtrodden in the Untrodden – August 23, 2020
This was my perspective on writer’s block:
I quell the rising panic that emerges within me: I am done, there is no more, my enthralling creative journey has ended long before I contemplated. … I sit, sullenly, shoulder to shoulder with tedium and frustration.
And then it comes to me: this is not just where I am; it is exactly where I am supposed to be. I breathe deeply and accept feelings of discouragement, disquietude, and indecision. I allow myself to wonder, without judgment, of what has brought me to this point and without impatience about when it will end. It is not about selecting a trail through a thicket or deciding on a route through the trees. It is about occupying space while worries and burdens scurry past me, tripping in their eagerness to gain ground. … And so, I wait, watchful, soothed by a breathless forest.
4. What the Crash Journalists Accidentally Overlook – February 2, 2020
I wrote this in the aftermath of the helicopter crash that killed nine people, including Kobe Bryant:
Families who lose members at the capricious hand of fate are bound together; we’ve won the destiny death lottery where the outcome is based solely on random chance. … A tragic death by cancer, heart disease, overdose, or suicide is no less searing for those left behind than that which occurs by happenstance. And yet, a death by any other cause than chance obviates the relentlessly repetitive knowledge that our existence is tenuously tied to circumstance.
Our life trajectories are set in motion not just by intention but also by arbitrary occurrences beyond our control or anticipation. We are all traumatized by loss; however, accidental deaths pose unique challenges for the survivors. We are left to grapple with the inescapable understanding that life, or the absence of life, can be a fluke.
We try to reconcile the irreconcilable: that horrible things happen to good people; that misfortune is heaped upon those that don’t deserve it; and that catastrophe is often dealt out in capricious coin tosses. For those of us inducted into the random-chance fraternity, it is the hideous and incessant re-windings of what-ifs that can annihilate us – if we let them.
Sorrow enhances empathy, and devastation creates strength. Survivors of calamity grow, and even flourish, with the knowledge of life’s temporality. If we know that existence is sometimes tethered to randomness it allows us to celebrate the fragile grace of presence. We will eternally re-live the catastrophe in our memory, but it also accentuates our humanity for the misfortunes of others.
5. Heightened Sensitivity – September 29, 2019
I am timid when it comes to public proclamations about anything, especially subjects that I could be criticized for. But in the legal profession, being a petite woman is not exactly an asset for a litigator. After (yet another) comment from a new client about my height, I wrote the following post:
When we articulate comments about any aspect of physical appearance, we, unintentionally or not, ascribe value to them. Touting the “accomplishment” of size or height necessarily diminishes the value of someone who is lesser than that. It is no more appropriate to herald someone’s stature than it is to commend them for the whiteness of their skin. We should be more evolved than that. … I’m reluctant to challenge people who make height remarks for a variety of reasons. It feels unbecoming to complain about heightism while rampant systematic discrimination exists against racial, ethnic, religious, sexual orientation, physical abilities, age, and gender groups. In addition, I don’t want to offend or embarrass anyone by addressing statements they may have meant no harm by. I also want people to like me, which makes confrontation very uncomfortable.
But I’m pretty much done with all that. I’m not going to allow others to dictate what I am entitled to care about. So, let me be clear (cue the anthem music): I don’t care. I’m not interested in any physical aspect of your child, partner, spouse, sibling, parent, employer, or friend. I don’t regard physical endowments established by genetics as praiseworthy or worthwhile. I’m only impressed and enamored by characteristics that are acquired by hard work, perseverance, compassion, character, or resilience.
If you think I’m strident or defensive, so be it. I’m not going to sit at the back of the bus, especially if not-so-short people are sitting up front.
So, there you have it. Stay tuned next week for five more of my favorites!