All the time in the world.

I used to be good at waiting. I enjoyed sitting in traffic on the way to work, because that meant I could listen to music longer. I didn't mind waiting in line at the grocery store, because I had more time to look at magazines or people watch (admit it - you enjoy that too). Waiting didn't bother me. Life came at its own pace, and I went along merrily, content to go with the flow. Or at least my laziness was so pervasive it appeared as patience. Either way.

Yet somehow within the past year, I have become very bad at waiting. Not bad as in, like I'll hit slow pokes with my shopping cart or flip the bird to the race car driver wannabes in Austin. I'm bad when I get in a long line at HEB, then hop lines, only to get stuck in the next one, and OH EM GEE, why does that lady have to have all produce that has to be manually typed in and then pay with all correct change that keeps falling ON THE FLOOR?! That's just an example. Insert other stores/characters/long waits/anything keeping me from my next activity, and you get the idea. Granted, my impatient thoughts stay safely in my head, and I just smile politely as if I have all the time in the world.

But I don't have all the time in the world. I'd like to think I have the future, since that's what I spend so much time worrying about and planning for. But the funny thing is, the future never comes, at least not in the way we expect or plan. The truth is, the only time we have is right now. This very moment. The one you're spending reading this sentence is the only time you currently possess (sorry, I can't give you a time refund on reading that sentence. Hope it was worth it!). We live minute to minute, or even second to second, but I'm finding that I'm so focused forward (or dwelling on what's behind me), that I don't even appreciate the moment that's in front of me. What's up with that?

I feel this impatience is more pronounced when I'm experiencing something unpleasant, and I'd venture to say that perhaps you experience this too. Most people don't enjoy pain or fear or anxiety or sadness - we run from it, avoid it, and try to soothe ourselves ASAP. I'm no different. Anxiety bothers me like no other. (Uh, so I'm supposed to just accept that there's this whole universe of unknown, not to mention a future of endless possibilities, most of which I can't prepare for, and not freak out? For serious? Because that does not sit well with me.) I like to know what's coming. I will read the last chapter of a book if I have to, and I've been known to ask people to tell me how a movie ends before I see it. Call me crazy (just not to my face), but I see nothing wrong with wanting the reassurance that comes from knowing what's going to happen.

Except there is a lot wrong with that attitude.

First of all, waiting for reassurance is like waiting for it to rain in central Texas. Most of the time it doesn't, and even when it does, it's unexpected and either too much or too little. Secondly, wanting to know the ending first, implies a basic lack of trust in people, in God, in our own abilities to cope, and so on. Trust is kind of important, it being the building block to any decent human relationship, and also the reason we can stand to leave our houses everyday. Thirdly, wanting to know the future causes me to waste a helluva lot of energy worrying about things I can't change (seriously, if worrying burned calories, I'd have to eat cheeseburgers for every meal just to stay supermodel size).

I would like to live for today without worrying about what may or may not bother me/scare me/hurt me tomorrow. I would like to embrace each moment as the gift it is, and recognize that each moment is precious and not necessarily guaranteed. Maybe if I could learn to live mindfully, to use each moment of my day to love in every way I can, then maybe I wouldn't be so worried about the future. Maybe I wouldn't be in such a hurry to get to the next thing.

And if I wasn't always in a hurry, maybe I could use my time in line to help the lady pick up her change off the floor, smiling as if to say, "Take your time. In this moment, I've got all the time in the world."

...This is gonna take some serious practice.

"Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today." - John Dryden

Love without haste.

I love music. It's true, and maybe even just using "love" is not saying enough. Music has been a passion of mine ever since I first listened to Metallica's "Black" album on the way home from a flute competition when I was in 9th grade. I had been jamming out to N'Sync or something else equally embarrassing, when my friend tapped me on the shoulder, handed me Metallica, and said simply, "Here." One word, one CD, and my little teenage life was forever changed. Since then, I've grown to love all music (with a few exceptions, cough cough Britney Spears, cough gag). Music is something I share with my family and friends, swapping songs back and forth, quoting lyrics to each other, and spamming each others email with subject lines reading "YOU MUST YOUTUBE THIS IMMEDIATELY. FOR REAL." Or something to that effect. Going to concerts is almost a religious experience, and in the case of hearing Mozart's 'Requiem' performed live, it actually was.

This is my long way of saying, I am a music nerd. I love everything about it - the chords, the changing tempos, the screaming voices or soft cries, the upbeat dance remixes or heart-crushing love songs, and the lyrics... Oh the lyrics! They are my favorite part of any song; they can make or break a song (again, with a few exceptions... I mean, "Sexy and I Know It" is not exactly the epitome of lyrical genius, but entertaining nonetheless).

Which brings me - FINALLY - to the point of this post. I've been listening to Mumford & Sons nonstop (well, in between other awesome music people have blessed me with). There is one bit of lyric from their latest album that goes:

"I will love with urgency, but not with haste."

I've been turning that over and over in my mind, and even asking other people what they think about it. After some deliberation, I have interpreted it as this:

Love as if it is the most important thing you will ever do on this earth (because it is).

The word "urgency" implies importance, seriousness and immediacy; doing something with urgency means that whatever task you're attending to requires all of your attention, no distractions and no hesitation. In contrast, the word "haste" implies disregard, sloppiness, desire without intent or seriousness. Something pursued in haste may not be as important or worthy of attention and care as something pursued with urgency.

If this is true, then how perfect it is to love with urgency, and not with haste. We must love like our lives, and this world, depend on it. We should love with attention and intention. We should love with our whole selves, as if loving the other was our first and only task.

Hmm... sounds difficult, but not unworthy. Now I really want to love and be loved with urgency. Thanks M&S for raising the bar.

"Do not let my fickle flesh go to waste
As it keeps my heart and soul in it's place
And I will love with urgency but not with haste."
- Mumford & Sons

F(alse) E(vents) A(ppearing) R(eal)

It irks me a little when people tell me "stop worrying!". As if I worry for fun or wake up every morning and willfully choose to spend my time fretting. Because I don't. Granted, I realize most people tell me that with all the love in their heart, but it's hard to listen to because I'm what you would call a "worrier". I'm also an over-analyzer, and sometimes a worst-case-scenario type of person. For the most part, these traits are what helped me become a therapist. But they really suck when I'm trying to not let fear get the best of me.

Speaking of which, I had an interesting text argument with an old friend recently about this. Because it was a text argument, I took something out of context (crazy how important body language and voice inflection can be). I don't even remember what it was exactly, but my friend responded with, "You need to stop worrying." Which of course made me even angrier, 1. because I hardly ever get angry, so when I do it doesn't take much to stoke the fire, 2. because I knew this person was right, and 3. I WAS WRONG. And that pissed me off. So what did I do? Well, I did what any mature adult in my situation would have done: I stopped texting them back. So then my friend flooded my phone with a speech that went something like this:

"You struggle with anxiety of worldly things. But it needs transformation to be a concern only for the eternal. Then you will be set free of the binding that causes you to fear what has no power over you."

Ugh... I stomped my feet and rolled my eyes at that. WHAT-ever. Like my friend knows me...

Sigh. Okay. Okay.

It wasn't until the next day that I'd calmed down enough to accept how right they were. I do fear worldly things, things that in the grand scheme of life, don't matter as much as I'm allowing them to matter. And even if they did matter, I focus so much time and energy on worrying about them, that it takes away from my most important task: to love God with all my soul and strength.

Now I know what you're thinking: "There she goes, climbing on top of her God soap box again". And/or, "Will this blog ever end?"

Bear with me, I'm almost there - I'm only climbing on this soap box because it's the only truth I have. God is everything. God is love. Love is everything. And if these things are true, who am I to fear anything? Who am I to doubt or worry or complain? If I believed in these things like I claim to believe, why do I waste so much time running or hiding or worrying about things I can't change?

Why do I believe that fear is more powerful than Love?

Fear is so loud sometimes. It's energetic and alluring and so easy to listen to, whereas Love is soft and quiet and tranquil. It's much easier to notice the crashing wave over the serene pond, because the wave causes a ruckus and the pond stays ever-still. I'm much more likely to be pulled and pushed by the wave, trying to fight against it, getting dragged under, only to be spit out on the beach, sputtering and spent.

And it makes me wonder: what if I were to let the fear wash over me, knowing with my whole heart that it was just a feeling, something transient, that is sometimes protective but oftentimes misleading? What if I didn't fight it, but trusted that if I held onto Love with all my might, when the wave passed, I would still be standing, soaked but safe?

What if I believed that Love truly conquers fear?

Fear is a powerful thing, but I'm tired of believing that its power is greater than the Love that has saved me, and will continue to save me, every day from now until forever.

Love > fear

On my way to work today, I saw a bumper sticker that said simply, "Love > fear". I smiled at that, and then immediately yelped as a car cut me off (thank youuu Austin drivers). My safety assured, I went back to contemplating that sticker. Love is greater than fear. Ah, but fear is so good at getting in the way of things, making otherwise strong dispositions wither with doubt and insecurity. When it comes to loving anyone, be it family or friends or strangers, fear so easily dilutes the strength of our most basic call: to love one another.

Why do we have fear with love? I feel like that answer can take up an entire blog series: the unknown, the possibility of pain, unrequited feelings, helplessness, anxiety... it goes on and on. Our brains are pretty good at searching for fear and threats; we do it automatically. Sometimes this is good because it means you jump out of the way of a speeding car or run from a hungry lion. Sometimes this response is bad, because in less obvious forms of danger (aka vulnerability), we run away from something that we should be running towards. I'm finding in my life right now, that the more you run from something the more you train yourself that it's dangerous, and therefore worth running from. If we run from love because we fear it's too hard/anxiety provoking/whatever, it just increases the likelihood that we'll keep running. But if we do the opposite, and approach the fear instead, we find that what we thought was a big scary monster, is really nothing but a shadow.

And even if the fear doesn't decrease right away, then maybe we can hope that eventually the love will shine light into those dark corners filled with our worries and doubts.

Love > fear... If only we could truly love each other freely and fully, accepting fear as it is, and loving beyond its lies and limitations. After all, fear is just a feeling, stagnant and transient. But love... love is a choice, an action, something that moves and lives and breathes. So maybe the answer is not to love without fear, but to love despite it.

Seems so easy to write about. Putting it into action seems about as easy as getting over my fear of squirrels (you can't tell me they don't purposely stop in front of speeding cars... crazy demon rodents) and the ocean (um, endless dark abyss filled with flesh-eating sea creatures? Scary!). So yeah, not easy, but probably worth it.

Here's some C.S. Lewis awesomeness to close:

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." - C.S. Lewis

The things that stay behind.

[Originally written in 2007... felt like busting out more old emo pieces to match the weather and my new blue-ish hair.]

The things that stay behind are not real things. They’re not tokens, photos, or old concert tickets. They’re not forgotten shirts or crumpled notes. They’re nothing that you can hold in your hands or put away in a box.

The things that stay behind were born of him and the feelings and happenings that came with him. He left them to me when he walked away. They trailed behind him and stopped at the door. He shook his head and they dropped off, discarded as if he were merely shaking the rain out of his black hair.

He is gone, and so are the tangible things. The things I could roll between my fingers (the cool metal of his cross necklace), the things I could smell (the comforting scent of his favorite t-shirt), the things I could see (the look of his hand in mine), and the things I could hear (the ringing of his laugh against the walls).

In their place are things that I can’t see, touch, smell or hear. But I can feel them. The memories and emotions float about my head, softly now. Back when the door clicked shut for the first time, they assaulted me until I was blind to them. Now they’ve lessened and so have I.

Sometimes I think that we never really existed. Maybe we didn’t. The memories feel more like dreams: vague tendrils of words and images that swirl in a complicated mess of grief, leaving me in confusion as I wake in the cloudy haze of morning.

He's gone, and it's time for me to go, too. Move back to where I came from. When I leave, letting go of him, of us, I will not lock the memories away. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. They can’t be contained. But they have such strong roots here, I don’t believe they will follow me far either. That is the hope.

Still, I can’t control them; I know they will be back. Like long lost relatives, they will spring to me out of nowhere. They will be accommodated, but I will be uncomfortable. I will wait patiently and eventually they will leave, only to visit less and less as time wears on.

This is letting go.

Running Away: Part 3

So I have officially registered for the Austin half-marathon. It's far enough away that it seems like it will never get here, which means it will get here before I know it and I'll find myself freaking out, wondering why I ever agreed to do this to myself. But then I remember how it all began...

Let's go back about a month-

Me (IMing Bri): Too bad we don't live closer together. I've been wanting to get back into running.

Bri: I know! That would be awesome.

Me: Maybe we could meet up every once in awhile and run together.

Bri: I would love that.

Me: We should definitely do that.

Bri: We could also have a goal to work towards...

Me (thinking along the lines of a 5k): Yeah! I'd be up for that.

Bri: We could train for a half marathon!

Me: ... That sounds like many miles.

Bri: Yeah, 13.1

Me (thinking !!!!!!!): Oh, okay.

Bri: Wanna train for it?!

Me (not wanting to look like a wimp): Sure! Let's do it!

Bri: Awesome. I'll send you the link.

Me (whimpering inside): Yay, sounds great.


Aaand that's how I got involved in this half-marathon. Since then I've gotten seriously excited about it. Every time I run, half of me feels amazing, like this was the best idea in the world, and the other half of me takes note of my weak knee and is like, "Are you sure about this?"

Yes, I am sure. Like I've told Bri, I'm doing this whether I have to walk the whole thing, whether I come in dead last, or whether I have to cross the finish line on my knees (or on a stretcher). We're doing this together, and every mile will be dedicated to something we've had to overcome this past year. It's a testament to the fact that we don't give up, and we won't give up. We may cry, I may complain, but we won't quit.

Besides, this is turning into quite the family affair. My sister just decided to train with us, and I found out I have some other relatives running, too. Now if I just convince my dad (who runs religiously and even has one of those crazy winter running masks that makes you look like a burglar) to join... Dad, if you're reading this - join the race!

Anyway, I'll end this blog with my last running trip. I got up at dawn and ran with the sunrise yesterday, and it was one of the most beautiful mornings I've ever experienced. If I could always run in that condition, I'd be a happy camper. Well, a happy runner. Now if I can just get my knee to keep cooperating...

Running Away: Part Two

My alarm went off at 5:45am, and my first words went something like, "Uuuhhhhnnnnn.... Nooo..." And I went back to sleep for 5 more blissfull minutes. Then I dragged out of bed, got ready and walked outside to see a sky still full of stars. I said, "Oooh!" and then immediately registered that I felt queasy and my side hurt, like my body was already anticipating the imminent pain that was to come. I told my body to suck it up and went running anyway. As with most of my runs so far, it started out painful, but got better with each stride. It helped that I was running with a good friend who can amazingly keep up funny banter while she runs, whereas I'm still at the stage where I wheeze-breathe my way through the whole thing. But by the end of the run, I felt like I could have kept going which is a good sign. My left knee was unhappy with me, but the rest of me felt strong and energized. Not bad.

So now, my running enthusiast readers, can you give me any pointers for protecting/strengthening a weak knee during training? I hurt it 6 years ago (dislocated the knee cap), so it occassionally likes to complain when I run too long. I've gotten some tips already, like using a wrap, icing it if it swells, etc, but I'm open to more advice. My bum knee can't be the reason I don't do this race!

"My body tells me no, but I won't quit 'cause I want more." - Young the Giant