Well ...... Here Goes Nothing

Over ten years ago I started a blog called "Trying to Be a Runner".  It was about my journey from barely running to running marathons.  I wasn't very fast and my form was terrible (I am a heel striker), but running and then writing about it was an outlet.  One that I miss.

Fast forward ten years and I was having coffee with an old friend.  She told me the blog had gotten her back into running --- this was as she was training for both the Chicago and Boston Marathons (a day apart).  All I did was write.  And since that coffee date roughly 2 months ago, I've been thinking about it.  Could writing help me now?

We're 19 months into a pandemic.  When the pandemic started I was a little over a year into recovery for a panaply of mental health issues.  I was admittedly worried about the impact this time alone would have on me and my mental health.  Of course, it coincided with a new apartment and a new job.  I made a promise to myself, and those closest to me that I would ask for help if I needed it.  I would take my meds daily, go to Zoom therapy until it could be in person, and check in daily.  The first few months were OK.  It was summer and fall in Wisconsin and being outdoors and distanced was relatively easy.  I could play golf and sit by outdoor fires, two things that always calm me down and dissuade panic attacks.  Then came winter --- and Covid ---- and it sucked.  My saving grace (aside from my family, my doctors, and my medicine) was my dog Porter, who I rescued (but who rescued me) on December 26.  He was my emotional support animal and I wouldn't be "alone" anymore.

Months went by, though Porter was only supposed to be 35 pounds it was obvious he was going to be significantly larger.  I was vaccinated.  I still wore masks.  It got warmed, and I could go outside again.  More golf and outdoor fires.  Yet in the months that had past I had done a lot of deep diving about myself with my doctors.  I was figuring out who I really was --- without perceived expectations of who and how I was supposed to be.  Things that once interested me had no significance any more.  My hair went from dark brown (dyed) at the beginning of Covid to a great shade of silver.  The possessions that had once been a source of my pride didn't really matter anymore.  (Keep in mind, I still love a great pair of Gucci loafers, but because they are awesome and not because how others would perceive them.). I was taking it day by day and trying to keep things simple.

I read a lot and listened to a lot of podcasts.  Music, especially the Grateful Dead, Brandi Carlile, Bob Dylan, The Traveling Wilburys, Joni Mitchell, Tom Petty, and Josh Ritter became daily "friends".I read a lot and heard a lot about mental health and its importance.  At 46 I was dealing with issues I should have dealt with 30-40 years ago, but I suppose better late than never.  It hit me one day, I was trying to become who I was always meant to be without actual or perceived expectations, pressures, or input from the outside world.  

I was happier than not, most days.  Made sure to drink plenty of water, take my meds, and track my sleep to make sure I was getting enough.  As Covid numbers started to rise again and I saw most people without masks, the panic attacks started again.  Seeing people I respected and admired care so little about Covid and being safe for others made me really mad.  Porter and I spent lots of time walking it out instead of screaming or yelling or calling people out on their crap.  

Fast forward to today.  Porter is 72 pounds.  He loves to watch golf on TV and thinks he can chase the golf balls.  And I am still trying to figure out what it means to be a human being?  Maybe this will go somewhere, and maybe it won't.  But if writing and questioning helps me then it's a win/win.

I'm working very hard at trying to be a human being who isn't ashamed or embarrassed of who they are.  Every day isn't easy.  Some are magnificent and others are shit (and some are just blah).  We've all done things we're proud of and also things we regret.  But I'm trying to figure out why and I'm really trying hard to love a happy and healthy life.  I’d love your comments, input, and advice. Discussion is good.