Running could be...

Running could be a great personal challenge to take on at this point in my life. Not that I necessarily need another challenge. For most people, working 60 hours a week; going to grad school full-time; trying to participate in church, relationships, and home would probably be challenge enough. But I happen to think that pursuits and challenges feed off of one another. The more that's in front of me, the more I seem to be able to accomplish. 

Running could be a great physical adventure. I like to push my body and see what it can do. I love yoga, mountain hiking, and volleyball for the same reasons. How far can I go? How consistent can I be? How many days, weeks, months, years can I maybe keep this habit up?

Running could be wonderful prayer and thought time. I'm finding even early on in my attempt at becoming a runner that my mind wanders from one topic to another, thinking about things that are current, troublesome, joy-filled... And I find myself drifting in and out of prayers, thanking God for relationships in my life, then recalling funny things my friends say; telling God my worries and fears, then deciding how I might best tackle them; asking God for things my heart desires, then pondering into the future about what my life might look like over the next few years. 

Running could be very representative of life struggles. As I strive for another few minutes at a time, all I can muster right now, I can't help but think of the tough times that lie ahead of me in school and at work, and there will certainly be some. Running can easily represent those hard things. And if I can push through another minute on the trail, then I know somehow I can push through another day of craziness in the office. And on the days I don't really want to run, I get up and do it anyway because sometimes that's just how life works. 

Running could be a real pain in the legs. There's a reason I haven't run before now. And that reason in my shins. They always seem to revolt upon the very thought of running, jogging, or even briskly walking with any sort of consistency at all. A flat arch and some tiny legs have certainly always been to blame. But, in all honesty, I could get three weeks into this running thing and have to give up completely because my legs just won't sustain such a lifestyle choice. And if that's the case, then I'll have to move on to something else. What, you ask? I haven't a clue. I've tried P90X, and I got sick of watching the tapes. I do yoga, but usually only once a week. Volleyball is seasonal and a minimal workout on our team's best days. Running just seems a natural choice, especially when the goal is to tackle something consistently that I can dual purpose with thought/prayer time and intentionality. 

Running could be, at this point, either a really good or really bad idea. We'll know for sure in a few weeks' time when I've either fallen in love or abandoned it completely.

Thoughts on Being the Baby

It has been a rare occasion that I have been the true baby of a group. In grade school, I fell fairly middle-of-the-pack due to my fall birth date. I was briefly one of the younger ones in my first job, but we were all within a few months. In my grad program at UWL, we were all close with a few exceptions on the older scale. But I found out today, that not only am I the youngest student in my doctoral program, I am the youngest by multiple years. I am the baby of the whole group. 

In my cohort, there are fifteen students. In three total cohorts this year, there are around forty-five of us. We were all in a room together for three days. Walking in on day one, I saw the few familiar faces from my interview and a whole room of people from all walks of life that I had never seen before. I was nervous. So was everyone else. I couldn't help but think that I must be one of the youngest. Others were worried about how they were certainly the oldest. We're all a little curious how we're being perceived, judged, analyzed by other students and the faculty. 

As the baby, even before it was confirmed that I was indeed so, I found some of my normal actions became things that I was a little self-conscious of. When my shoes came off and I found "indian style" the most comfortable seating arrangement, I suddenly glanced around and noticed all the other professionals in the room with their shoes clearly still on their feet which were clearly still on the ground. I twirled my hair and thought of the noticeable critical mass of mom-cuts surrounding me. 

I think there's great value in having such varied perspectives in one program. I think I'm at the biggest advantage as the newest professional - so much to learn from the experts. But I can still offer a lot, too! I know cool technologies like Prezi that I can wow my classmates with and make them all seem really hip and with it with their colleagues. I can bring endless energy, heart, and freshness. I can bring just a touch of crazy. 

Baby or not, this doctoral thing is going to be a lot of fun...a lot of hard work...a lot of frustration...a lot of research...a lot of fun. And I'm awfully excited about it.

First Day of School Jitters

Yesterday was my first day of school. And although this is something like my twenty-first first day of school, it seems they all begin the same. With jitters. Nerves. Anxiety. This first day of school was no exception. In fact, as I left my dad's cousin's house (where I'm staying while in Madison) I thought I actually might be sick. I was sweating, antsy. On my way to school, at first, I was just dwelling in the anxiety. But the drive was short, so I couldn't dwell for long. So, as I pulled up to the building, I began a little self-talk to try to pep myself up. You're just as smart as everyone in this program. You deserve to be here. You got into the program just like everyone else. 

But what I found when I got there was a room full of people that all had to do the same thing. They were all nervous too! People from all walks of life, all experience levels, all ages, all nervous. And for some reason, that little fact in itself makes everyone feel a little better. 

Despite the initial jitters, I am so excited for this journey. I am excited, believe it or not, to do an extended period of research on a topic I enjoy. I'm excited to get to know my cohort group. It's going to be a tough, long, quick, fun journey. And I am so ready for it.

Just an Idea

Is it just a girl thing? Or do guys do it, too? Or is it maybe just a me thing? Single gals, you may need to chime in and comment here to set me straight.

This has happened on more than one occasion. I have begun to "fall in love" with the idea of someone....someone, in fact, that I have never met. I have seen a picture or two, heard a story once or twice, and there I tumble. The daydreams begin. As does the googling. The looking for just one more photo. The hoping for another story. 

I don't plan to ever meet this man of my imaginary dreams. I won't ever even probably ask to. It would probably be far to disappointing to meet the actual man after building a fictitious one in my mind. 

Do all women do this? Well, the single ones at least? Are we supposed to grow out of this phase at some point? The looking longingly at his first name. Sneaking his last name behind your name just one time. Dreaming of hopelessly romantic proposals and weddings. Imagining Christmases with the family. 

Sorry if this post is really strange. Every woman I know that reads this is probably shaking their head in bewilderment wondering how in the world I got to be so strange. And if that's the case, well, at least I'm going down honestly. 

And in an only slightly related note, where in the world is the real man that will make my heart melt in reality rather than in dreamland? How do I go about finding him outside of my imagination? Twenty-seven years, and I still don't think I've come anywhere close to figuring this out. 

And in truly unrelated news, on Wednesday, I start school one more time. I have first-day jitters worse than the first day of middle school tonight already. Time to prepare for another great adventure!

Living Off the Land

What exactly is so very satisfying about living off of the land? I mean really? 

Last night after work, I went out to the garden, picked three summer squash, a large hand full of peas, a half a dozen onions, and an entire ice cream bucket full, no overflowing, with green beans. I couldn't even wipe the goofy grin off my face walking back toward the house with armloads of fresh food. 

Some of the neighbors were out in the backyard, and I couldn't wait to share the bounty with them. I told them to take whatever they'd like, and Mike promptly started pulling things out of my container. "What's this?" he'd ask. Summer squash? You've never seen that before? Weird. "Can I have some of these?" I did start with instructions to take whatever they'd like, right? Then Karen started to scold him for taking too much. As if more isn't going to grow. That silly contented grin just kept creeping in. 

Late into the evening, I washed green beans and snipped ends and bagged them up, and somewhere in there, I cooked up some peas that were still growing just minutes earlier. And tonight, I blanched and froze up all of those wonderful little beans while roasting up some summer squash for dinner. 

I don't have this kind of love affair with store bought vegetables, you know. I don't eat only vegetables multiple meals in a row. I don't giddily rush home to get to other chores. I don't risk bug bites, ticks, bird poop...for almost anything. But this time of year, when the whole garden is in bloom, it's all I can do to not go out and just watch it grow...to not seek out something to pick, pull, or pluck every single night. 

I think I may have to expand this living off the land thing and figure out how to do even more of it, for the very joy of digging in the dirt, witnessing things grow, sharing with loved ones, and eating well!

Risk and Reward (a.k.a. Passion-Gap Containers)

Why do we have hobbies? What makes a person pursue something that is just for pleasure (whether or not it actually appears to be pleasurable) even at great personal risk, effort, and time? And how do we get to our hobbies? Some people settle into quilting, classic cars collecting, model building while others are attracted to racing, sky diving, triathlons... 

This year, I spent hours working out to get into shape for my trek out West with my dad to hike in the Rockies, then rode fifteen hours in a truck to get there. Then, for four days, I allowed five 14,000-foot peaks kick my butt as I tried to conquer them one by one....as a hobby. 

Prior to this year, I never really stopped to think of how risky such a hobby was. For three years now, we've been driving to various locations around Colorado, hiking for a week or so fairly uneventfully (a great time with great memories), then driving on back. But this year, there was a series of events that made me stop cold in my tracks and really think about what it was that we were doing. 

For the most part, we had a beautiful week to hike, and the peaks we had selected were within our ability levels. We had proper equipment, food, and hydration with us, a GPS preloaded with maps for all of the trails, good shoes, and layers of warm clothing as we usually do. But on the second day of hiking, I saw a story on the local news of some missing hikers. You hear of this sort of thing from time to time, and I've heard stories from other hikers on summits of injuries, lost hiking partners, instantaneous blizzards or lightning storms, but nothing ever hit as close to home as the story on the news. 

A father and daughter hiking pair went out hiking on Wednesday, June 22 for a day hike up Missouri Mountain, a hike that would normally take somewhere between eight and twelve hours to complete. They were considered expert hikers with several years experience, and even some published articles on safety equipment and trail safety. At the end of the day, the hikers did not come down. They did not go back to their vacation home in town for dinner. They did not text or call loved ones. They didn't come back the next day either. Or the next. After three days, the ex-wife and mother of the hikers became concerned. So did the daughter's boyfriend. Finally, after five days, a search was started in the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness, an area that encompasses 167,584 acres of mountainous terrain, dense forest, and eight peaks over 14,000-feet. Helicopters, hiking teams, dogs, friends, and family all searched in vain for six or seven days. On Saturday, the bodies of the hikers were both found, 500 feet from the trail they were supposed to be on on Missouri Mountain, and only a few miles from the trailhead they started from. From Mount Belford's trail, my dad and I watched the helicopter land on a small flat space near some snow fields to pick up the last of the active search crews. News reports today indicate that they could have fallen as much as 2,000 feet from near the summit of Missouri. 

And if that wasn't enough, we also heard on Saturday that a woman fell to her death on Mount Princeton on Thursday, a peak that we had tackled just the day before. 

This is not some simple sport, not just something people pick up once a year or on the weekends for kicks. It's dangerous. Every peak offers life-threatening opportunities at many turns...exposed cliffs and walls, slippery scree fields, disappearing trails... So why do we do it? Why do we keep making plans and getting in shape and buying equipment, investing time, money, blood, sweat, and tears to go out and participate in the great risks that are clearly present? Something in us is designed for hobbies. Some place in us where passions meet irrationality. Where pursuits become personal vendettas against things that never did anything to us in the first place. Where your gut tells you, Yeah! Keep going! and your brain promptly agrees.

There are places in our lives where we get to pour passions, gifts, and abilities. For many, careers are the receptors. For many, it's family and children. For others its volunteering and serving others. For some of us, it's all of the above. But there are voids, gaps, where we still have passions leftover, gifts and abilities going unused. We seek out containers for the passion gaps, something with which to catch where those parts of us ooze out when left alone. Some seek out creative things, others things to get dirty and messy, still others to be able to just let loose and be free, some need a thrill or a rush, some a personal challenge.... And as these passion gap containers fill up with the drips of our gifts, passions, and abilities, we can peer into them and learn a little more about ourselves.

This week, I learned that although stubborn and bullheaded, I do have a cautious side. Ultimate freedom is too much for me. Boundaries, fences, and trails are good...even if they need to be pushed and challenged. They keep me focused. I learned that pushing myself expands my abilities and gifts to areas that I didn't even know they could be. Are those lessons worth the present risks? Because every hobby has risks...whether it's pricking a finger with a sewing needle, bug bites from the garden plot, a scraped knee falling off a bike, a parachute not opening with the ripcord... We were wired to seek out hobbies in order to seek out who we were created to be...making the risk completely worth the reward in every endeavor.