The Sun Also Rises - Vineyard Haven, August 2011

What are you afraid of?

When did the thought of doing something new become an occasion we were more afraid of than challenged by?

I've been thinking about fear and its ability to paralyze a person. How many opportunities do we deny ourselves because we are afraid of what may happen if we take that step in a new direction? In many ways, the last year has been very scary for me. There have been surgeries and diagnoses that have frightened me, yet I have learned how to contend with medical situations which are out of my control - local anesthesia and information. I have made the choice to end my marriage, despite the anxiety I have about raising three happy, well adjusted boys in two households.  Ultimately, though, I  know that the condition "happy" has to begin with me. I committed to buying the marital home even though the financial responsibilities scare the crap out of me. Optimism, a hardcore work ethic and good credit will hopefully help me to manage this responsibility. 

These are big things - health and family and finances... I've contended with these situations because I had to, options were limited and I needed to take action with the belief that tomorrow would bring better things.  The  certainty of not doing something must be considered as potentially deathly as taking a risk, right?

I've just returned from a wonderful vacation where I consciously did two things that frightened me. The first, pictured above, was a leap jump off a bridge.  Prior to my trip to the beach, I had attended a party at a friend's lake house fully intending to jump into the lake from his deck, upper level, of course.  The day of the party I absolutely bailed on that idea due to fear.  Even the lower deck was too high for my comfort  and I ultimately ended up sliding into the water rather than leaping.  Fail.  This bridge was my chance for redemption and I embraced it.   The shriek  I emitted as I pushed off the bridge was my body's shout out to the universe - my "Hello, I'm here!"  

The second scary thing I did was a bit more foolhardy, I rode my son's bicycle in the pitch dark, feeling like a 14 y/o.  It was so dark I couldn't see my hand in front of my face, a sensation I enjoy when I'm on my feet in my home, but not when I'm in an unfamiliar place, riding a bike I'd never ridden before.  (With a helmet, of course.) I was really scared!  Tree branches were a genuine concern, and there were other unexpected obstacles, too, like misplaced telephone poles between the curb and the sidewalk that were a real peril.  And the word that kept running through my head was "reckless." But, was it?  Really?  I mean, I rode slowly, using caution.  I was mostly sober.  Yet I kept returning to the question "Why am I inviting fear unnecessarily into my life?"  

Maybe the better question is, "Why aren't I?"

Sunsets

Lieutenant's Island, Wellfleet

Lieutenant's Island, Wellfleet

 

Lieutenant's Island, Wellfleet - G and me

Vineyard Haven, Martha's Vineyard

My boys and me

Vineyard Haven, Martha's Vineyard

Vineyard Haven, Martha's Vineyard

Smells like Martha's Vineyard

Wet dog
Fudge
Skunk
Wild roses
Salt
Tar
Pine needles
Diesel fuel
Sunscreen
Cut grass

Sand in the vaseline - whatever that means

And in the sheets.  And on the floor.  And in my car.  After a week's vacation at the beach, I'm unsure if the pervasive sand is bothering me more, or less. Trying to sleep with random grains of sand in my bed is only slightly less difficult than preventing 4 boys from getting sand in my bed to begin with.  Pshaw, Princess and the Pea.  Sand is way more annoying than any benign green vegetable.  My wagon is filthy.  I have become so disturbed by the external dirt on my car that the interior's imitation of an explosion in a sand-filled minute timer factory doesn't phase me any more.  And speaking of time...

These two weeks at the beach are something I look forward to every year. Some folks define summer by track season in Saratoga or Jazz Fest, but, for me, it is the two weeks spent in Massachusetts in late July, that mean summer. I sometimes reflect on how blessed my family is to enjoy the travel opportunities that we do.  There is something intensely satisfying to me when I hear my children make reference to a place we have visited.  Just today Liam reminded Quinn that the last carousel ride he took was in Florence.  How cool is that?  I recall a total of two vacations from when I was a child, both camping trips taken with family friends, certainly not weeks spent seaside or going anywhere a passport is required. 

I can remember the precise moment when I decided that my eventual family would travel.  I was a Mother's helper in the early 80's for a family in my hometown.  During a particular summer, we spent a long weekend in the Hamptons at the home of a business associate of the husband's and I was incredibly impressed by the lifestyle the homeowners enjoyed.  The house was beautiful, lots of glass, a saltwater swimming pool, grass made green through the painstaking application of pesticides and attention.  In the living room area there was a series of shelves that were filled with photo albums, each meticulously labeled: "France, 1979," "London, 1980," " "Newport, 1981." Wow.  More than the house or the pool, I wanted THAT.

So, the boys go places, see new things, revisit familiar spots away from home and retain memories and experiences which will forever change them.  And if one of the related expenses is the need for good car washing and a few night's of less than ideal sleep due to grains of sand in my bed, so be it.  If I can consider each of those individual particles of sand a potential memory, being inundated by sand doesn't seem so bad at all.  

Vacation “cooking”

Vacation “cooking”

Today's epiphany while running

When I run I always learn something. Sometimes it is about the terrain or the location where I am running. Often, running is an exercise in gaining mental clarity while simultaneously eliminating stress. Frequently I discover something new about the capabilities and/or limits of my physical body. Knowledge gained by exertion, exploration and endurance. Good stuff.

Many of my favorite vacation moments in the past 20 years or so, involve running. This past week on the Cape, I have literally run the full gamut. Gentle runs on sandy roads, excruciating uphill runs, exceedingly short sprints to catch high tide and leap from a bridge. As I ran today, I admired the view with sincerity, counted my blessings with gratitude, and listened to the internal symphony of my body as the aches and minor pains came together musically. A more pessimistic person, might describe it as a cacophony, but, you know me, optimistic to the end -and that's despite my iPod's battery quitting .5 mile into my run.

Already this year, I've run gazing out on both the Atlantic and the Pacific Oceans. I've run in the desert and the-feels-like-desert of Albany in a spectacularly hot and beautiful July. I've run in mountains and on an island. I've experienced locations both new and old to me in a completely different manner because my feet have been touching the ground rather than the gas and brake pedals. Running is an amazing way to explore and become acquainted with one's surroundings. There's an incredible amount of freedom in running - it's your own pace, your own route, your own adventure. How can you fail to notice your surroundings when you're literally making physical, rhythmic contact over a distance of miles?

Running, or walking, is often the least expensive, most effective means of expanding one's knowledge of both the internal and the external. That's an exercise I hope to never grow tired of.