December begins; It begins with a full moon, and in Bellingham it begins with rain (this comes as no surprise). Three weeks will bring about the beginning of both winter and my 26th trip around the sun. I often marvel at time, how quickly it passes, and how difficult it is to wrap my mind around something like 25 years of living. But I’ve made a conscious decision to try to no longer chase after time, to stop wishing it would stop or attempt to pin it down. Instead, I’d like to get to a point where I’m content with the idea that my past follows me; it flows through my veins, and it’s written in my memory. It has its hands all over the present, but the present is still malleable, open, new.
I’ve thought about these ideas in all sorts of contexts: my relationship with my family, the possibility of creating something new (artistically, socially, culturally), my understanding (or lack thereof) of death, and even in the marathon I ran last weekend.
The whole of last weekend (beginning with a beautiful and wholly nourishing Thanksgiving celebration in Port Angeles and ending with 26.2 miles that went as well as I could have ever hoped) is still sending its positive vibrations through me – and likely will for quite some time. Its foundation, friends and family whose creative spirits and kind hearts I am forever grateful to have in my life, supports and inspires me daily. It’s impossible to explain how wonderful it felt to see a group of familiar smiling faces at the end of the marathon (a race that became easier and more enjoyable once I stopped chasing time and started listening to my body in the moment). And harder still to say what it means to me to know that these people bless my life past, present and future.