There is something endearing about a certain level of self-deprecation in my eyes. It's nice to hear the "realness" behind hurt and harm and haphazardly cruel moments. There's also a fine line, however, that divides the "realness" from the truly detrimental edge of it. Sometimes I have these days that have the greatest and most awful moments in them. Yes. Both. And likely many trivial moments in between. Er...who knows? Maybe the greats and awfuls are trivial, too. It's all relative.
Then I sit back and kind of pick at myself. How can I feel low if _________ happened today?
I try not to get too infused with the sorrows that may come at times here, but the truth is, they're part of life. Torn ACL or not. So I want to make some declarative statements. Just because I can.
1.) Today was the first time I truly ran since July 14, 2014. It was awesome.
2.) This past weekend was one of the best weekends of my life. More details to come.
3.) I am completely overcome by sadness for myself at the moment.
How are all of those things possible? How does sadness fit in the realm of running for the first time in 7 months and having an epic weekend adventure?! I want to like...give myself a kick for even allowing negative emotion to be present in such great and fortunate times. Logically, I know this. Logic, however, doesn't always get the goat. I think it's similar to that same game I play with my knees. Logically, I would stop competing in athletics, watch my step, and take all preventative caution to never do it again. But realistically, in the emotional "want" of schematic reasoning, I want to do what I want to do. It's hard to slow that voice down.
When I was really young, I was good at almost everything. I won academic and athletic accolades, had the boys chasing me on the playground and writing me love letters, and there was never a birthday party I wasn't invited to. I was charismatic and smart and tenacious.
Obviously, that was short-lived. I discovered what it felt like to be teased, sit in the detention room, and fail a test. I lied, made poor decisions, and tried my hardest at things that I still was unable to be the best at. I recognized life. It didn't bother me, so much as eventually lead me to finding my own way of doing things in order to avoid feelings of discomfort, insecurity, and failure. It's a game you may very well know. I certainly don't think I'm alone in pushing those icky feelings away. We all do it differently though.
For me, I play the organizer. I arrive everywhere on time, meet every deadline, speak articulately, and take care of my relationships. I rarely lose my temper, say things I don't mean, or forget to do something important. I'm trusted - whether it be as a designated driver or a confidant, I generally can play the role of being dependable. These are the same traits that keep me on track with my physical therapy, keep my thoughts logical in my recovery, and keep me grounded and appreciative of what my body is capable of despite my flimsy ligaments. I think I allow myself to do these things because the antithesis of them reminds me of all of those icky feelings and characteristics that may very well still exist. I like to be organized. It makes me feel good to be on time, meet deadlines, speak articulately, and take care of my relationships. I'm also good at those things.
But I'll tell you a secret. I am not that person 100% of the time. Sometimes, things get a little funky.
I spent the 4-day weekend travelling up and down the coast with one of my best friends in the type of road trip they make cheesy chick flicks about. We had no itinerary, huge smiles, and great attitudes. It was perfect in every sense of the word. To spare this ACL-laden blog with exact trip details, I won't give the play-by-play, but there were some highlights worth mentioning. Most importantly is Jack.
Jack is a 19-year-old Sophomore at Santa Clara college. I met Jack while he was running alongside the 1-South on Sunday morning during a small storm of bumper to bumper traffic. In true roadtrip fashion, I jumped out of our crawling Prius and caught up to him for a picture. After he was a great sport, posed, and chatted a bit, we asked him why he was out on the side of the road to begin with.
"I'm just in a little funk," Jack said. So we offered our backseat for a change of pace. He took us up on it.
Jack let us know that his Great Uncle had just passed away, he was crammed in a 5-seater sedan with 4 other boys, and that he just felt like he needed some space to shift his momentum. So he jumped out of their car. We told him we understood. He shared that he was from Brooklyn, loves to surf, and gave us some suggestions for our continued trip.
"Well, I'm not gonna lie," Jack said. "I think I've gotten out of the funk. Thank you guys." And he shook our hands, jumped out, and tracked back to join his buddies.
I can learn a lot from Jack.
Then I sit back and kind of pick at myself. How can I feel low if _________ happened today?
I try not to get too infused with the sorrows that may come at times here, but the truth is, they're part of life. Torn ACL or not. So I want to make some declarative statements. Just because I can.
1.) Today was the first time I truly ran since July 14, 2014. It was awesome.
2.) This past weekend was one of the best weekends of my life. More details to come.
3.) I am completely overcome by sadness for myself at the moment.
How are all of those things possible? How does sadness fit in the realm of running for the first time in 7 months and having an epic weekend adventure?! I want to like...give myself a kick for even allowing negative emotion to be present in such great and fortunate times. Logically, I know this. Logic, however, doesn't always get the goat. I think it's similar to that same game I play with my knees. Logically, I would stop competing in athletics, watch my step, and take all preventative caution to never do it again. But realistically, in the emotional "want" of schematic reasoning, I want to do what I want to do. It's hard to slow that voice down.
When I was really young, I was good at almost everything. I won academic and athletic accolades, had the boys chasing me on the playground and writing me love letters, and there was never a birthday party I wasn't invited to. I was charismatic and smart and tenacious.
Obviously, that was short-lived. I discovered what it felt like to be teased, sit in the detention room, and fail a test. I lied, made poor decisions, and tried my hardest at things that I still was unable to be the best at. I recognized life. It didn't bother me, so much as eventually lead me to finding my own way of doing things in order to avoid feelings of discomfort, insecurity, and failure. It's a game you may very well know. I certainly don't think I'm alone in pushing those icky feelings away. We all do it differently though.
For me, I play the organizer. I arrive everywhere on time, meet every deadline, speak articulately, and take care of my relationships. I rarely lose my temper, say things I don't mean, or forget to do something important. I'm trusted - whether it be as a designated driver or a confidant, I generally can play the role of being dependable. These are the same traits that keep me on track with my physical therapy, keep my thoughts logical in my recovery, and keep me grounded and appreciative of what my body is capable of despite my flimsy ligaments. I think I allow myself to do these things because the antithesis of them reminds me of all of those icky feelings and characteristics that may very well still exist. I like to be organized. It makes me feel good to be on time, meet deadlines, speak articulately, and take care of my relationships. I'm also good at those things.
But I'll tell you a secret. I am not that person 100% of the time. Sometimes, things get a little funky.
I spent the 4-day weekend travelling up and down the coast with one of my best friends in the type of road trip they make cheesy chick flicks about. We had no itinerary, huge smiles, and great attitudes. It was perfect in every sense of the word. To spare this ACL-laden blog with exact trip details, I won't give the play-by-play, but there were some highlights worth mentioning. Most importantly is Jack.
Jack is a 19-year-old Sophomore at Santa Clara college. I met Jack while he was running alongside the 1-South on Sunday morning during a small storm of bumper to bumper traffic. In true roadtrip fashion, I jumped out of our crawling Prius and caught up to him for a picture. After he was a great sport, posed, and chatted a bit, we asked him why he was out on the side of the road to begin with.
"I'm just in a little funk," Jack said. So we offered our backseat for a change of pace. He took us up on it.
Jack let us know that his Great Uncle had just passed away, he was crammed in a 5-seater sedan with 4 other boys, and that he just felt like he needed some space to shift his momentum. So he jumped out of their car. We told him we understood. He shared that he was from Brooklyn, loves to surf, and gave us some suggestions for our continued trip.
"Well, I'm not gonna lie," Jack said. "I think I've gotten out of the funk. Thank you guys." And he shook our hands, jumped out, and tracked back to join his buddies.
I can learn a lot from Jack.
My self-deprecating reality is that I, too, am in a funk. It's caused my flowy attributes of organizational power, promptness, and dependability to falter. Not in any sort of epic and atrocious way, but in a way that I am aware of it. My bookshelf is in the middle of my living room. I forgot my full canister of coffee on my way to work today. I seek attention in questionable places rather than take the time to take care of my relationships. I'm off my game. I'm in a funk.
It's not chronic. I promise I'm not dedicating this entry to admitting a full-fledged meltdown, but it's only fair that I allow room for that "realness." Funky is funky. But it's real. So I'm trying to channel my inner Jack. My road trip partner posed a great question this weekend - what if we treated life like a road trip? Low stress. Big smiles. Constant gratitude.
And space to jump out of the funk in the middle of the highway and get through it.
Jack is going to be successful. If I would have removed myself from tight situations at that age and kept an open-mind to boot, I would be leaps and bounds ahead of where I'm at. (Not to say that I'm not content with where I am). Jack is special though. Feeling the funk is one thing. Getting out of it is a whole different beast.
But why can't I approach things with a little more road-trip-savviness? Why can't I stop at every swingset, search for the best views, and laugh at the scary motels in the middle of no where after survival rather than resent them? There isn't a good reason as to why not. Yes, I have obligations, responsibilities, and "real life" to deal with, but what part of that is out of my hands? I think being in the funk means forgetting the type of control we have. In the funk, everything happens. Out of the funk, we make everything happen. We get out of the car, rather than sit and stew.
I'll admit it. Jack has a leg up on me at the moment. I felt free and focused running today, but I also reminded myself how much slower I am. I saw more in the stretch of 4 days than I have in years, and the minute I came crashing back to reality, I slapped myself back into the many accomplishments I have yet to meet - the many goals I have fallen short of.
That's the kind of self-deprecation that stops being endearing.
Road trips aren't about the scary motels you accidentally book. They're not about missing the on ramp or hitting traffic. They're not about what you missed. So ya, my friend was right. Life should be more like a road trip. It shouldn't be about what I can't do with my bum knee(s) or funking up a stormy cloud of self-hatred. It should be about the shotgun riders who are in constant support mode and the unassuming exits that were discovered by accident.
It doesn't matter if I used to be good at most things, or if I feel awesomes and awfuls in the span of one day.
I'm not "the organizer" 100% of the time. The car isn't in constant motion. But if Jack can get out of the funk by sitting in the backseat of two blonde 20-something's snack-filled Prius, I can get out of mine.
It's not chronic. I promise I'm not dedicating this entry to admitting a full-fledged meltdown, but it's only fair that I allow room for that "realness." Funky is funky. But it's real. So I'm trying to channel my inner Jack. My road trip partner posed a great question this weekend - what if we treated life like a road trip? Low stress. Big smiles. Constant gratitude.
And space to jump out of the funk in the middle of the highway and get through it.
Jack is going to be successful. If I would have removed myself from tight situations at that age and kept an open-mind to boot, I would be leaps and bounds ahead of where I'm at. (Not to say that I'm not content with where I am). Jack is special though. Feeling the funk is one thing. Getting out of it is a whole different beast.
But why can't I approach things with a little more road-trip-savviness? Why can't I stop at every swingset, search for the best views, and laugh at the scary motels in the middle of no where after survival rather than resent them? There isn't a good reason as to why not. Yes, I have obligations, responsibilities, and "real life" to deal with, but what part of that is out of my hands? I think being in the funk means forgetting the type of control we have. In the funk, everything happens. Out of the funk, we make everything happen. We get out of the car, rather than sit and stew.
I'll admit it. Jack has a leg up on me at the moment. I felt free and focused running today, but I also reminded myself how much slower I am. I saw more in the stretch of 4 days than I have in years, and the minute I came crashing back to reality, I slapped myself back into the many accomplishments I have yet to meet - the many goals I have fallen short of.
That's the kind of self-deprecation that stops being endearing.
Road trips aren't about the scary motels you accidentally book. They're not about missing the on ramp or hitting traffic. They're not about what you missed. So ya, my friend was right. Life should be more like a road trip. It shouldn't be about what I can't do with my bum knee(s) or funking up a stormy cloud of self-hatred. It should be about the shotgun riders who are in constant support mode and the unassuming exits that were discovered by accident.
It doesn't matter if I used to be good at most things, or if I feel awesomes and awfuls in the span of one day.
I'm not "the organizer" 100% of the time. The car isn't in constant motion. But if Jack can get out of the funk by sitting in the backseat of two blonde 20-something's snack-filled Prius, I can get out of mine.