As time passes, we can either hold onto what’s comfortable and avoid changing, or we can let it shape and change us. Sometimes, it happens so subtly, that it takes a milestone of twenty years to force us to look back in amazement at how far we’ve come in that time.
I would like to share a story, one that isn't over but one that has a satisfying little click of purpose. Of forward movement.
And as with all good stories, this one has a beginning even earlier than what it seems.
[doldrums: plural noun] dol·drums | \ ˈdōl-drəmz 1: a spell of listlessness or despondency 2: a part of the ocean near the equator abounding in calms, squalls, and light shifting winds 3: a state or period of inactivity, stagnation, or slump Erin: all of the above (except I am most definitely not near the equator)
Is regret just shame hiding in nostalgia?
It makes me wonder, how much do I, do we, hold onto even when it’s served its purpose, even when we’d be not just okay but maybe even thrive without it, and yet we stubbornly hang on because we’re afraid of the fear and the sadness?
Much of what I write still stems from seeds planted and nurtured during runs... Lately, a lot of my thinking has been about running itself, and its role in my life and my relationship with it.
In response to The Economist’s invitation to respond to their cover editorial on Medium. My dad died just over two years ago, at the age of 69-going-on-50. His heart stopped beating as he was doing his morning exercise routine at home. My dad, who thrived on routine and health. So much so, that the most… Continue reading My dad