Breathe

One of my yoga instructors has a tattoo on her arm that reads, in her own handwriting, "Just remember to breathe." Good advice, indeed.

Without breath, we really have a whole lot of nothing. And sometimes, the universe conspires to teach us to slow the hell down and breathe. Take, for example, last Saturday. I began the day with a run - the 5K Monster Dash along Chicago's lakefront. To run, ya gotta breathe. For me, running takes a great deal of effort, so it's a constant forward motion to a rhythm in my head that pretty much goes, "pick it up, put it down" to my feet and "in ... out" to my breath. My footsteps and my breath join in a cadence that keeps me going, and the run becomes an exercise (pun intended) in connectedness.

So imagine my shock when, a mere 10 hours later, I found myself in Charleston, IL, having yet another emotional freak-out and forgetting to breathe.

I'd made the journey back down to pick up the Jeep after it had been repaired, and I was so excited to get back behind the wheel of my baby. It started up like a champ, and then I tried to drive it. Sluggish and noisy, especially on corners; there was no way it was drivable. Commence meltdown.

My poor friend Annie, who had driven me down to Charleston. My poor dad, on the other end of the phone. My poor brain, a pool of moosh as my worst fears seemed to become real. Moments passed. I drove around the parking lot, Annie waiting patiently, Dad listening across the miles, in hopes that all would be well. I finally decided I would just go stay with friends for the night and figure it out in the morning, letting Annie go and crying on the phone to Dad. As I journeyed through the one-way streets of Charleston, my dad suggested I try the emergency brake.

In a flood of relief, I found the lever, pushed it to the off position, and all was perfect.

If only I’d remembered to breathe.

The whole event is an important reminder of two things. First, if I’d just slowed the heck down – mentally, emotionally – perhaps I would not have panicked. Perhaps I would have noticed the brake and kept peace in my heart. Perhaps neither is true; perhaps I still would have jumped to conclusions, but I could have done so a tiny bit more rationally, I suppose. I’m quite highly strung, in case you hadn’t noticed. Perhaps I can work at being less so.

Secondly, I was reminded – for the second time in as many weekends – of my intense good fortune when it comes to people who love me. No one would have left me stranded. No one would allow me to endure whatever was wrong with the car in an isolated state, regardless of how it felt in the moment. And even if the worst were true, I was in a place I love, with access to people who would care for me through whatever came next. There was really no need or point to the meltdown.

And so, all’s well that ends well. I spent Sunday with my girlfriends, surrounded once again with the absolute truth that is my life: I may feel alone, but I am not. I just need to breathe, and remember that.

Someone saved my life

I feel like this is one thing I have to do, I have to write, I have to allow to be real ... in order to let it go.

If you were to use the search function on this blog to find the name "Brian," you'd see that this guy is predominantly featured during some of my darkest times. He saved me from myself when I was going through the divorce, showing up when I needed something, someone to cling to. He was my rock. He was beautifully intuitive, knowing what to do or bring or be when I was at my lowest.

He provided me friendship when I was at my least lovable. He saw me through a horrible time. But now, he's just gone.

The last time I saw him was a few days after I had my gallbladder removed in July of 2009. He came over and made me waffles, once again sensing what I wanted most and then providing it. After that, he stopped taking my calls.

It breaks my heart, because he doesn't know this version of me. He has never met Maggie the Runner, or Maggie the Jeep owner. He doesn't know that I've become someone I (generally) really like. He doesn't know that I am, for the most part, healed.

Ours was never a romantic relationship. Well, except for that one time, right before I left EIU. Or that one summer day on the lawn at Rae's apartment. Or on Mother's Day 1997. Other than that, we were best friends. I thought he would always be in my life.

But he's not. So now, even though ever time Elton John's "Someone Saved My Life Tonight" comes on the radio, it's Brian I think of, I have to let him go. I have to accept that he left my life for a reason, even though he never said anything ... he just disappeared. I have to find a way to believe that it isn't something I did, or something I lack, that drove him away, because the wondering has made me crazy for two and a half years.

I have to be okay with being let go, and let my friend, go, too.

But I will always have memories of picnics in the park, great music, 1 a.m. trips to Denny's and that one day when he wouldn't let me go home to watch my husband pack up his belongings and leave me. I wish things were different, but I am eternally grateful that, when he could be my friend, he was very very good at it.

Coming Home

There is something special about Homecoming Weekend at Eastern Illinois University. It's a time for families of a sort to come together. Groups of friends who became family while in school gathered around the dinner table. Groups of Journalism students and their teachers with one common goal - tell the truth, and don't be afraid - gathered over bowls of chili. All of us, everyone who calls EIU "home" in one way or another, gathered near the stadium to swap stories, quench our thirst, and celebrate our oneness.

I haven't been back for Homecoming since 1999-ish. It was a different time, and I was a different person, in many ways. But even then I'd begun to build amazing relationships with people who, frankly, are so much more awesome than I. (Even after all this time, they've not figured it out.) So this trip was a little bittersweet. Going back without Mike and Rae, without Shamie, without Vana or any of our old newsroom crew pretty much ensures that something will be missing. But honestly, it was all okay, because of the people who were able to be there. Old friends, new friends, knitting together to create a beautiful blanket that warmed me all weekend long.

So when the going got tough, and my car refused to make the trip home, I shouldn't have been surprised by the outpouring of offers to assist. This morning, I actually thought to myself, "If one more person is nice to me, I am going to lose it!" But it didn't stop. From the moment the car decided not to go, people made it better. I was shown that, in no uncertain terms, life is good, even if this particular moment in time lacks something. Whether it was a perfectly starry night, having someone work through all the details in a way that made sense, sharing cinnamon toast and coffee shared, hysterical laughter when talking with my father and trying to figure out how the heck to get the rest of my week to function, or a myriad of other things that brought me from a major meltdown last night to the relative relaxation of this moment, I have learned one thing this weekend:

I am loved.

It's difficult to wrap my head around sometimes, and I don't mean this to come from the po' me corner of the world. Truth is, I can be a thoughtless bitch sometimes. I have done things, said things that hurt the people I love. It was never my intention, but I know beyond a shadow of doubt that some of the people who reached down to lift me up today have not always been cared for by me in the same way.

This is what forgiveness feels like.

And then there's the woman I met on Friday. Becky is a mutual friend of the Poulter family, with whom I stayed over the weekend. I can't explain how this happens, but sometimes I meet people and within a few hours, we sync up. (It happens a lot in Charleston, to tell you the truth.) And that happened here. Which is a damn good thing, because I'm pretty sure she saved my sanity at least twice in the last 24 hours.

This is what being in the right place at the right time feels like.

I'm not sure whether it happened when I dialed up my photography professor at 11 p.m., or when I sat on the sofa feeling foolish and pathetic while the tears flowed, or when I lay snuggled in bed under an antique quilt listening to my stressed-out heartbeat in my ears, but eventually, I let myself accept that I was not in control. I could try to cling to some semblance of it, and wind up truly miserable. Or I could just let go. I realized I needed to at about 5 a.m.

I'm still clinging to some of the leftover bits. These things take time.

I have, however, finally come to the realization that this is not a tragedy. This is inconvenient. But it is also an opportunity to take a step back and appreciate that the love thing? Yeah; that's real. Friends new and old, and every member of my family, offered me love, comfort, support, cookies, rides, assistance and at least one pumpkin pie blizzard.

So I came home the long way. From my favorite house in Charleston, Northward we headed ... by way of a tow truck near a corn field, a mechanic's shop, a gas station in Dwight, the house I grew up in and, eventually ... blissfully ... to the little place I call home. It's quiet here, which is a bit disconcerting, but it offers a chance for me to shut off my busy brain and realize, for real and for true, that this day is what coming home really is all about.

Nostalgia

It's homecoming week at EIU, and for the first time in at least 10 years, I'm going. The last time I was in Charleston for Homecoming, I wasn't yet married, but Chris accompanied me. Things are different now. And yet, in so many ways, I am more like the person I was when I was a student.

How refreshing is it to realize that who we essentially are cannot be altered? It may go on hiatus for awhile, but we always return to our core values. The last five years have taught me that the things I value are friendship, health, knowledge and fun. Not so different from Maggie circa 1997 ... except maybe the health thing. Maggie back then went to class, studied hard, worked hard, played hard. She made memories so vivid, it seems like only yesterday we were crawling through a grate in the floor of the gym hallway, or driving home from the St. Louis arch in the wee hours of the morning.

Maggie today works hard, plays hard, and yes, she's still making memories. Sometimes, with the same people she made them with back in '97.

I will spend a good portion of this weekend with Patty and Brian Poulter, two of the greatest professors at EIU. I will see my ish-bro Chunk and his fiance Erin. I will eat chili with the Journalism department, I will watch the homecoming parade, and I will smile, laugh and remember. And make more memories while I'm at it.

10 on Tuesday

Haven't done one of these in awhile! Let's see if I still "got it" ...

1. I love live music. Lucky for me, this weekend brings not one, but two opportunities to enjoy some. On Friday night, my sister Jenn is taking me to see Mary Chapin Carpenter at the Paramount in Aurora. I love her music. (Mary’s, not Jenn’s, although she’s pretty talented, too.) Jenn and I have seen Mary before, and she’s awesome … but it’s been years, and we no longer have the matching cow vests to wear to the show. My friend Karen had an extra ticket to see Matt Nathanson at the Riv on Saturday, and she offered it to me. Hello? Yes please! I love him, and I’ve never seen him live. So we’re planning to spend the evening in the city, with dinner at a wine bar and dessert at a bakery and lots of time to visit. Yep. Perfect.


2. But what am I really looking forward to? Sunday. I have nothing on the schedule on Sunday. I will not schedule anything on Sunday. I will not even walk outside my apartment on Sunday, unless it’s to walk to the Dumpster to throw out garbage. Other than that, Sunday will be spent barefoot and curled up in my little home. I haven’t had a day like that in a really long time. Based on my psyche lately, I need it.


3. I ran six miles on Saturday. That’s my longest run to date. I ran it with my friend Di, in a Naperville forest preserve. It was perfectly lovely; I was a little blissed out, to tell you the truth – doing something I’ve never done before with a dear friend at my side? Yes, please. Working toward the 15K Hot Chocolate race on November 5. Nine miles? Yikes. I can to this. But I may limp afterward.


4. Speaking of, I am in desperate need of a massage … which means that, while I’m far too busy for my own good, I need to get up to Lake Geneva to see my friend Jeremiah, the massage therapist. We barter – he massages, I buy him breakfast. It’s a good trade, but I need to find the time.


5. Last Sunday I did something I haven’t done since about 1998 – sang with my family in church. It was meaningful for lots of reasons, not the least of which being that it has been such a long time since I shared in music with both Jesus and my family at the same time. My dad is still one of the greatest worship leaders ever; the man has the greatest soul, and it translates into meaningful worship for everyone, I think. What a great day.


6. I desperately need to clean my closets. I’m surprised I can actually pull together a matching outfit these days. I wish I were kidding.


7. There are lots of fun opportunities coming up. Like what, you ask? Well, next weekend I will be travelling to Charleston to visit my friends Patty and Brian, and go to my college homecoming. I haven’t been to homecoming in years, and let’s face it – I love and miss my college town. Very excited to get back there, see my friends, eat some strawberry bread and enjoy the atmosphere. And chili.


8. Tucson calls! It’s been too long since I’ve wedged my ass into an airplane seat and travelled to Tucson to see my Southwest peeps. I’m fortunate to have people in lots of places that I can visit. Tucson offers the perfect quick weekend, because Mike & Rae live right by the airport, so it’s an easy trip for just a few days. I will get my training runs in, relax, and eat delicious food. And probably stay up way too late talking, because that’s what we do.


9. Okay, so not only did I run six miles on Saturday, but I ran five last night. Five of the most difficult, horrific miles ever. On a god-forsaken dreadmill at the gym, prior to Salsa/Funk class (which left me really feeling like dancing. NOT.) I felt like I was clawing at each fraction of a mile, trying to get to five. At about 1.5, I moved treadmills. At 3.3, I had to poop. Seriously. But I did it; I made it to five miles. Begrudgingly. Painfully. I made it.


10. I deal with change pretty well. I do not deal well with it when tons of things change, all at the same time. Please take note, and knock that shit off.

Autumn

Fall is in full swing here in the Midwest. The trees are beginning to turn, showing their gorgeous color, and the sun has been shining for the better part of a week. The air is crisp - it's the perfect weather for sleeping - and it's hard to believe there was ever a time that I hated this season.

My mother was not a fan of autumn. Sure, she appreciated the colors, but she told me on more than one occasion that fall, to her, signaled an ending. The earth was going to sleep and the beauty and life of spring and summer were, in a way, dying off for a time.

I think I adopted that feeling, which only got worse when I married a fella who hated winter so much it ruined his autumn, too. I spent years dreading this time of year, but as of last year I declared "no more". There is too much to enjoy.

Case in point, this photograph, which I took on the Fall Color 5K at Morton Arboretum on Sunday, October 2. The orange and gold are just starting to peek out; it's beautiful.

Life is far too short to waste it hating the environment you're in. And frankly, hating it is a choice. You can just as easily embrace it! And when you start doing that, you begin to find all sorts of things that make the season quite lovely ... even mundane tasks take on a bit of beauty.

Take, for example, my drive to work. It could be painful. It happens way too early - 7 a.m. on most days - and I'm rarely ready for it. But I always have a hot cup of coffee. I usually have a warm breakfast sandwich. And I always drive past the forest preserve. Today it was particularly beautiful. The elk were out in the pasture (yes, an elk pasture just happens to be on my route) and the leaves were crimson and eggplant and mustard and brick red and seriously, how can you not love that? Against a cloudless cerulean sky, it was immeasurably beautiful.

And I thought to myself, "Self, this may well be a perfect day." For you, too, I hope. Enjoy it.