Portions

This morning I set out on a run to the gym, with the intent of working out there and then running back. It is a 3 mile trek, which makes a 6 mile round trip. It felt great to be outside, and at each corner I looked to the next in anticipation. Just one more mile, one more stop sign, 1 more bus stop, 1 more building... at each mini goal it felt as if I had finished something, when really I had a lot more to go, as well as the run back. Even once the entire work out was finished, and I was home drinking my protein shake, I realized I still wasn't done. Today's workout was only one of my three scheduled runs this week, and after this week is this month... and well, you get the point! So although breaking my goals into portions makes them seem more feasible, at what point can I say I have truly achieved my purpose ? Is that even possible, or would one goal simply beget another, like another corner to run past?

When Paul and I were dating we wanted to find an apartment that fit our meager income, and for weeks I knew I would finally be happy if we could just get our apartment. When we finally moved in we set our sights higher, and now we always say that when Paul becomes a Journeyman things will be great! I know there will always be something else to yearn for. Another goal, another obstacle, another setback, another corner to turn. Life is just a series of these segments, and at times the entire cycle can seem to stretch out endlessly, even pointlessly. When do I get to be happy? When do I finally arrive? For me, the answer is the path. When I run each step is fun, I don't only enjoy the run when it is finished. Paul may not yet be a Journeyman, but he loves going to work each day and I feel blessed to live the life we do. I may have health problems, but if I didn't it would be something else. I can't sit around waiting to die, when I am alive and well today. I can't waste my time worrying about something that hasn't even happened yet. I can't allow the inevitable happenings of life to weigh me down, I'm too busy running forward!

People ask me all the time how I deal with all of the stress in my life, and when I tell them I don't think my life is very stressful I am always met with an incredulous stare. I have a roof over my head, food on the table, a family that loves me, freedom to choose what to do with myself and usually enough resources to support those desires. What else is there to ask for? I take every moment as it comes and make a conscious choice to enjoy it. The day I stop doing that, I may as well die, because that is no way to live. I may not run another marathon, I may not break another PR, but today I ran, and that is enough for me.

Daddy's Home

Today is the last day my husband will be working out of town, at least for now. For the last few months we have lived separate lives. He wakes before dark, works 10 hour days on the steel, has beer with the guys and plays dominoes all night in their shared motel room. He eats top ramen and Jack in the Box, a maid makes his bed every morning, and twice a week he makes the 4 hour drive home to see his family. I have no idea where he is at most times, he showed me pictures from a Michael Jackson dance contest he attended the previous week, I didn't know he had gone. I married my husband to share a life with him, and when people ask me where he is I want to say he went to the store, not he is somewhere in Santa Barbara that I would need my GPS to find. When he visits I feel the limitations of his time, he yearns for sleep and I hold myself back, greedy for his attention. I settle for sleeping in his strong arms, his hands a deep dark brown from the sun, his cuticles gnarled and dry, his fingers swollen and at least one broken. He's too heavy and eventually he turns over, leaving me to stare at the outline of his shoulders and drift off pressed against the small of his back. I feel him kiss me good bye at 3am every Monday in the midst of my deepest dreams, and when I finally break through my sleep my heart drops at the darkness of our empty bedroom. The days he's gone are oddly normal, I've grown accustomed to his absence, which may be worse than missing him. When he comes home I jump on him, my legs wrapping tight around his waist and I inhale his scent as his unshaved face scratches my cheeks. He kisses me fiercely every time, but already I feel the clock tick. When he comes home tonight the clock will stop, but I will try my hardest to hold onto that feeling and not take his presence for granted. Our lives will intertwine again as naturally as they have the past 5 years, and maybe the next time I am irritated with him for leaving his clothes allover the floor I will stop for a minute and remember our empty bed, and just be glad his clothes are on our floor and not a motels. Maybe... maybe not...

Paul & his bed buddy Jeff, no more Monkey Bites, he's mine!

Happy 5 Year Anniversary Bebu!!!