A little light run

Stretching our legs, seeing how they feel

This may sound odd, but as I was thinking about what to write, what kept popping up in the back of my mind was the idea of the phoenix. You know, the giant, raptor-like mythical bird that lives for hundreds of years, only to build itself a nest, ignite it, and then be reborn from the ashes?

The first time I can ever remember being introduced to that idea — somewhere along the way in school, maybe, or in a book I read? — I thought of what the phoenix does as a one-time thing. A single event in which a burst of flames consumes it, and then immediately it is something else — a something else it goes on being forever.

It’s a little like, when we’re kids, what we imagine growing up will be like. That one day, all the preparation you’ve been going through to become an adult will be done, and you’ll suddenly be transformed. Ready for the world, for whatever comes.

But as I’ve grown up, and decade after decade has passed, that’s felt less and less right. A few years ago, I met someone who’s now in their eighties, in a weekly class I’ve been taking ever since then. (The class involves a lot of reading and discussion about religion, ideas, philosophy and the like. It’s a ton of fun — if you’re a huge nerd like I am!)

At the beginning of the very first class, though, came a moment I’ve never forgotten. Each of us took turns sharing why we signed up; most of our answers were what you’d expect: to learn more about the time periods we studied, to broaden our understanding of history, to learn more about faith.

But when we came to the person I mentioned above, who is in their eighties, the answer made me do a double-take: “So I can find my purpose.”

For a moment, I was stunned. You don’t know by now? I thought to myself. How could you not know something like that by now? I judged this person before I even realized I had, like a reflex.

Now, a few years have passed. Those words still pop up in the back of my mind all the time, but not for the reasons I thought back then. Now, I realize how honest and open this person was, and what it took to share that with a group of people you’d only just met.

I think it’s because — maybe, finally? — I understand the myth of the phoenix isn’t about an event, a singular transformation, after which we’re forever changed. No, I understand now it’s a metaphor for a cycle we go through, a cycle that happens in our lives again, and again, and again.

This morning, I went for a run, a light little three-mile run around the neighborhood where I live. Finally, I’m able to get some miles in without feeling the plantar fasciitis pain you may remember me writing about through the first few months of the year. And it felt really, really good.

I’m starting at the beginning again of this whole running thing, I realized. I can’t expect to be where I was last fall, because I’m not going back to that. The only way forward is, well, forward. And that may be to a place I’m not familiar with, a place I can’t see clearly yet.

Up and down our street right now, houses burst with young kids right around our 10-year-old’s age. But a few doors down from us, I noticed a “For Sale” sign on a home I’ve loved walking by for years. Their kids were in high school when we moved in a little over a decade ago; now they’ve grown up, finished college, and moved on to their own adult lives. So their parents are moving on too.

To be completely honest, I don’t like seeing this. (“Do they really have to leave?” I wonder.) Because theirs isn’t the only house where the kids have grown up and moved out; it’s happened to a few others near us too.

There’s a part of me that wants to hold onto the past ten years of my own life — when my kids are still young, when I’m still young! — and not let go. But that’s not an option that’s actually available, is it?

Now, I can see the wisdom in what my classmate shared: that our purpose, our reason for being, isn’t fixed. It changes as we change. And maybe the anxiety we feel when we move into a new stage of life is a signal that whatever purpose or goal we’d been striving for — one we may have devoted years to — has been completed?

When, maybe even though we’re not ready, it’s time for a new purpose? I wish I knew the answer. I share this with you not because I know, but because I want to explore and find out. If you have answers, I’d love to hear them!

As always, keep in touch and let me know how your running/life is going — and I hope you had a great run out there today.

Your friend,

— Terrell