Showing Up & A New Equation

I stood in the early morning dark, gloved and cuddle-dudded. My numb fingers managed to work the safety pin on my race number. My running buddy and I bounced up and down in sync to keep warm. We had left the January cold in Michigan to run a marathon in the Phoenix sun. But Mother Nature had different plans, and it was colder in Phoenix than in our home state. Each of us was running for a different reason. This was her first marathon, and when she had asked to train with me five months prior, I was thrilled. I was running for charity and in memory of my friend, Liz.

Both of us agreed to run our own races, not wanting to hold each other back, but we had big plans for bowls of margaritas and Mexican food afterward. The race was a hard one. We stayed together until mile 13. My emotions got the best of me as I thought about the friend I’d just lost who had supported my marathon and charitable running endeavors even though she would’ve given anything to be able to join me. I hit the wall a mile earlier than usual and staggered through to the end. I looked for my buddy at the finish line. Finally, I found her on a massage table in one of the tents. As I approached her, she sat up and said, “I’ll just catch up with you at the airport tomorrow. We (she and her husband) are going to go out to dinner.” That was it. There were no high fives or chatter about blisters and chafing (runners really do swap these war stories). It was at the very least, odd. 

I was stunned. And then hurt. And finally, I was furious. I had shown up for her for five months of 5:00 a.m. runs, weekend 20 milers. I had encouraged, prodded and coached. I just wanted to drink a damn margarita with her to celebrate and relive the agony and ecstasy. She might have come to Phoenix with me that weekend, but she did not show up for me that day. 

What am I supposed to learn from this?

                                                                                  -Liz

That was the end of our friendship and for months afterward, I kept wondering what the situation was supposed to have taught me. I think it's this:

I can show up for you, your neighbor, your brother, and even your dog, but I can't seem to show up for myself.

To me, showing up is like lighting a candle for yourself or others. When I show up for others, I'm sharing my light, and sometimes, I expect reciprocity. I'm not so good at lighting my own candle for my own sake. If I don't have a buddy or someone who needs me, I won't do it... IT can be a race, a daily yoga practice, a good meal, or an art class. 

Maybe it's because I'm a woman. Women are brought up to light everyone else's candles: Husbands, children, parents, and siblings. Or is that I'm a teacher? I light 25+ candles every day, and when I go home at night, I'm still striking matches as I lesson plan, grade papers, and organize materials for the next day. 

Regardless, the things that make time stand still for me...my boundless practices (yoga, meditation, hiking, playing with my pets, exploring new cuisine, writing for myself) all take a back seat the minute I sniff out someone else's needs. A therapist might say that I should develop stronger boundaries. However, I recently discovered Brene Brown, and what she says resonates with me. 

But so often we run and avoid stillness and standing because we are afraid that if we slow down the truth might catch us. The bad news is that we can't outrun hurt and struggle. The good news is that we can't outrun grace either.

This month, I've begun item number two on my boundless list. You can view that list HERE. I will practice yoga for 30 days straight, like the American postal worker, "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." In the gloom of night, you'll find me attempting to light my own candle. 

My New Equation:

Show up(Focus + Energy) - Expectations = Boundlessness

Wish me luck!