It’s always recommended that you find time to yourself. Moments to reflect, allow thoughts to flow. People like me hate these moments, however. For the last few weeks I’ve done nothing but ran from one endorphin-inducing project/adventure to the next. Constantly accompanied by a great friend, someone who makes me laugh, the attention of a charming man, or my ipod sending motivation signals straight to my brain as I break my next record in speed on the treadmill. No time to stop, no time to think. Constant good, constant go.
In fact, I hate any pause in this dance. Because when it all stops you have to reground, to make adult decisions and use adult judgement to prioritize and take care of things that aren’t endorphin-inducing. I woke up today for the first time in weeks with little desire to get up. Originally, my Tuesday plans included flying from Oakland to LAX to watch the American Idol dress rehearsals and then fly to Anchorage to join my cousins for St. Patty’s Day festivities. Unfortunately, my plans were interrupted by not having anyone to come with me to the American Idol event nor a ride from the airport and all the flights to Alaska are full. The worst part? Not necesarily the change in plans, because in all honesty I’m a subject of constant change, I consider my existence to be purely fluid, but that it left a BIG FAT BLANK SPOT in my day. Like dead air on the radio. And I hate it.
Fortunately, I recognize that the pit in my stomach is caused by this thinking and since I can recognize it I have the opportunity to overcome it. The opportunity, anyway. My friends and family constantly remind me it’s okay to slow down, to breathe, to stop running the marathon I call my life. But I can’t tolerate the thought that I could miss something, a photo, a memory, but worse…to pass away in a stale moment.
Last month I sprained my ankle horribly. I could barely so much as stand after the first day, it was torture to lay there, but I did. One day was one too many though, the doc said I needed crutches and anywhere from 6-8 weeks to heal. This mean no turbokickboxing. No treadmill. NO WORK (aka NO MONEY). How about NO WAY. 4 days after the sprain I went back to turbokick with a wrap around my black/purple ankle. 6 days after the sprain I went back to work. Unfortunately, I went to the chiropractor last week and it was ugly even though it’s been over a month. They did electroshock therapy on it and some numbing solution. I am now popping 4 ibuprofens to work out everyday. I know this is the result of not chilling out, but good god, how do people just watch TV and lounge around all day? It gives me anxiety just thinking of it.
***Written while on a flight from Oakland to Portland, and on the MAX train in Portland…so, always in transit, moving. 
