Tuesday Epiphany

I’m sitting before my computer, and just to my left is the calendar hanging on the wall. Today is Saturday, January 3, 2015. Tomorrow is a full moon. And two days after that, the calendar simply reads, “Epiphany”. Whoa. Nothing like a little pressure for an otherwise plain, old Tuesday. I’m sure there’s a religious connection to this particular day, but I prefer to read it as a sign of optimism (No offence, God or Jesus, or any other Higher Power that Epiphany might be associated with. We still cool?). I like to think that on Tuesday there might be that singular, glorious moment of clarity where suddenly the neurons and synapses fire just right and you find yourself with vehement purpose and fervent determination. When suddenly you’re like, “Game ON!” and good luck to anyone who dare stand in the way of your locomotive-ish fortitude.

For me, my Tuesday, January 6^th came before Tuesday, January 6^th. And I can’t say that it really came with the luster and intensity that I expect from this Tuesday. For me, it came more gradually and, if we’re being honest here, more from a place of unresolved issues, grievances with the universe, and a bitter opposition to fear of failure. So, probably not what Tuesday “Epiphany” is all about, but whatever gets you out the door, right?

So, here’s the deal, I’m going to start writing more. I’m going to start writing my thoughts. Maybe not all of my thoughts, because I’m not sure writing about how I wish I could finally find out how squishy Big Orange Cat’s tummy really is, is really blog worthy, but who knows? If it plagues me during the day, maybe it is. And maybe I will write about it. The point is, I’m often encouraged to write more. Partly because I enjoy it, but mostly it makes me less cantankerous, and it helps me work things out in my head. But, I often think people don’t want to read what I have to write. Well, (epiphany alert!) I can still write it. No one has to read it. Boom! That just happened. So, I’m gonna write. And I have two blogs. Well, no more. I first had a blog to detail my running, which I love and adore and will often be the focus of many of my entries (Wanna see my old posts? Aces. Go here: www.jmo9179.blogspot.com). But, I’m multidimensional and think and breathe more than just running (i.e. Is Big Orange Cat’s tummy just a little squishy, or a lot?). So, it’s all going to go here. Sometimes it will be light and airy, sometimes it might be dark and twisty. Sometimes, it will be a total swing-and-a-miss…and I’m okay with all of that. And, what makes it easy to be okay with all that, perhaps, is that I have about six people that actually read my blog (Hi Mom!), so it’s not like I’m blowing minds and erupting a civil war somewhere (You’re welcome, fragile and oppressive government systems). Also? Because what I have to say matters, if only to me. So, that’s the first thing.

Secondly, I really hated 2014. It was fraught stress, anxiety, injury, and worst of all, the most tragic heartbreak that you can imagine (for more, read preceding blog entitled Goodbye, Ronnie). I normally loathe the New Year holiday because I would take no pleasure in celebrating the passing of a time that I wasn’t really ready to end. But this year, while I still went to bed several hours before the turning of the New Year, I could not be more jubilant for 2014 to hit the road and 2015 to begin (Two Thousand Fifteen Shades of, “Hey!” LOL. No? Okay). The other thing about 2014, and all the other years for that matter was fear. Yes, good ‘ole fear. Fear of failure. Fear of humiliation. Fear of failed expectations. I am not, nor have ever been, someone who takes risks. Everything is safe and calculated. I like to be in control. I do not like the element of surprise. I do not go big, because I much prefer to go home. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem except when there’s this tiny, little voice inside of you that starts to get louder and more obtrusive when you have this untapped and untested potential that you just know is dying to get out. I usually mute it. Or ignore it. But after just barely surviving 2014, I’ve decided to let the voice roar and go for a big, scary, oh-my-God-I’m-gonna-vomit, goal. In 2015, I’m going to attempt to qualify for the mother of all marathons: The Boston Marathon. That means I need to shave more than 15 minutes off my current marathon PR (personal record). That means I need to risk crashing and burning. That means I might end up crying in the fetal position at mile 23. That means I might fail. “Might” being the operative word here. And since it’s nothing more than operative, why the heck not? Anyone who has ever known me knows that when I get my mind set on something, I’m kind of like a starving jackal who sees food just across the swollen river. I’ll nervously, relentlessly, and hysterically pace the water’s edge until I find a way to cross it and reach the goal. I’m super appealing that way. Very likeable. So, yeah. Boston, I’m coming. It might not be as soon as I’d like, but I’m coming. And this is my public declaration of it.

So, really, just the two points I’d like to make for Tuesday Epiphany. That, and I think I’ll start being a little more honest with myself and the six of you who read my blog, a little less apologetic for the things that do not require or necessitate apology, and a little more risky for the things that do not cause actual physical or financial risk. Big goals are good. If your goal doesn’t’ scare you, then dream bigger, dang it. We have just this one life and if 2014 taught me anything, it’s that it can be over much sooner than perhaps you’d wish it to be.  

Keep it real, friends. More later.

P.S. Big Orange Cat. Now we can all wonder about his tummy. You're welcome.