When we are young children, it seems perfectly normal to cry. I’m talking, to just let it all out and bawl in every sense of the word, even if someone else can see or hear. There were probably few and far between reasons for such crying when we were that young, but that’s besides the point. There comes a point, as a young adult, when we might call to mind this feeling of wanting to cry, and realize we feel that way again. But this time, we’re expected to hold it in. Maybe I’m not referring to just simply crying tears, but also to displaying anger, in whatever passive or aggressive, direct or indirect way we can. It’s easy to say to ourselves, this is the right way to handle this, so that is what I’ll do. It’s quite another challenge to live up to this standard we’ve set for ourselves just to preserve the present and future and make sure we don’t mess anything up. There comes a breaking point in our emotions every once in awhile (if you think you’re an exception I applaud you…but I think you may be lying), and more often than not we break these “rules” bestowed upon us to an extent, the rules of being a mature adult.
Here’s my guy Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking plates:
This weekend, I needed to run so badly. It was the only thing I could think of that would somehow solve the problem, remedy all the stresses and frustrations and bad thoughts swirling in my head. Saturday, it was snowing. I ended up starting my run close to 2 PM. I hadn’t eaten anything since the night before but was hardly hungry. It was a run fueled entirely by emotions and adrenaline, and it felt like half its length. I came up with a general idea of where I wanted to run and went with it. It included a few big climbs, and was absolutely perfect. As the run went on it snowed more and more, but I grew warmer and warmer. Sometime during mile five everything became a little clearer, and I felt like I was in a bubble with no space or time. The ground and the air and the sky were all the same shade of white, and my pace was whatever my legs wanted to do. I wanted to stay within the run forever, and I also wanted the night to never come. But both the run and the daylight had to unfortunately end, in that order. I ended up running 11.5 miles and not ever getting tired or slowing down despite inadequate pre-run nutrition. Strange how that works sometimes.
Later that night when the emotional bandage the run had tried to provide had mostly fallen off, I turned to writing. I wrote a lot, with no plan exactly, and during that time, too, I felt heavy things lift off of me a little.
I know a run only puts us at ease so much. Emotional writing only gives us space to displace our feelings for a little while. Aren’t we lucky to have this though? Think of all the plates we’re saving.
On an unrelated note (but from the same day), this is what happens when it is raining but it should really be snowing for the safety of everyone who dares to step outside…as evidenced by my umbrella: