Monday, August 27, 2007

Cheaper than Therapy and Healthier Than Doughnuts

I had intentionally not set the alarm, hoping for a leisurely night's sleep. Nonetheless, 4 a.m. arrived with me wide awake and no prospects of drowsing. Sliding quietly out of bed, I found the two newspapers already waiting outside my door, and leafed my way through their pages. I booted up the laptop to pay the bills that had accumulated in the basket. I checked e-mails while I was at it, though found nothing much beyond the usual unsolicited offers of internet romances and medications aimed at anatomical enhancement. I logged off, fed the dog, checked the time, started the coffee, and tried to think. But whatever was going on in my subconscious was using its "outside voice", though I couldn't catch its meaning. Something was churning, but I couldn't find its name. I considered self-indulgence -- I actually thought for a moment about driving across town to buy a dozen Krispy Kremes that I would single-handedly consume, but instead I grabbed by walking shoes and headed to the lake for a walk.

I parked, jabbed ear-buds into my skull, selected a playlist, and hit the trail. I was hardly alone, though the path was much less crowded than I usually see it. A dog or two. No skaters. No bikes. It was cool, and the new sun was just above the horizon. And I pushed along.

I was two-thirds of the way through my second time around when I realized I hadn't even noticed the lake. It is one of my favorite parts of this city -- a scenic, beautifully landscaped lake surrounded by a paved walking path in the shadow of downtown and just a block or so from my house. Every morning I pass it, gratefully, driving to work and feel nourished by the mist rising from the water. But not this morning. Today I simply walked -- one foot in front of the other as briskly as I could push it, arms swinging for maximum effect; I walked and walked and walked, without paying any attention. I hadn't even noticed the mystical line where the glassy smooth water from the side met the wind swept choppiness from the center. I hadn't even noticed the wafer of black cloud in the western sky knifing in beneath the cottony white above it. I hadn't even noticed a single name affixed to the railing along the rainbow bridge. I hadn't even noticed what flowers were blooming on the hillsides, or how the urban prairie is developing between the path and the road. I hadn't noticed if birds were in the area, flying or singing or absent. I even realized that I had scarcely noticed the songs from the iPod playing into my ear. The overarching reality of it all was that I simply hadn't noticed.

What was so turbulently on my mind -- during the night, and now along the invisible lake? Was it something in the news or something in my spirit? Was it the collision between the bills and the monies available? Was it self-pity over all the "other people" work that dominated -- indeed owned -- the weekend that should have afforded some leisure? Was it accomplishing too many of the wrong things and not enough of the right? Was it gnawing indignation at a news story from the night before? Was it the tasks awaiting me at work, too long neglected? Was it pent up energy that was insisting on its way? Was it exasperation at my physical condition, slowing and thickening and settling? Is it about the way I look or see myself, or generally the way I feel? Was it some latent anger that was eating its way to the surface, or an aching silence clamoring for a voice? Was it disappointment, anxiety, apprehension, disillusionment, pain? What had I been doing on those laps besides taking faceless steps?

Tearing up, I realized, as I hurriedly wiped my eye and tuned into the sentimental song currently playing.

Praying, I recognized, as I became conscious of the names already on my lips.

Blowing off steam, I understood, as I felt my calves and lungs and knees.

But what else, I don't yet have a clue. I only know that if I hadn't done something I was going to explode. And so I walked. And just for good measure, for the last quarter of a lap, I ran. I don't remember the last time I ran. Neither could my legs or my lungs. But it felt good, and the cacophony has found, again, its "inside voice".

Quieter now, and calmer, showered and in my study, I even see the leaves outside my window; rustling in the wind that blows through them, as well.

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