Tuesday, June 23, 2015
I was 2.1k into my run this morning, and I was really struggling. I had more than half of my distance left to go, and I just couldn't do it. My legs hurt, it was humid, my face and hands felt bloated. I hadn't slept well, I didn't stretch properly, and I hadn't eaten anything before setting out.
Everything about this morning was hard, and I was discouraged. I was furious at myself for not having prepped better. I was discouraged that I wasn't able to run faster and for longer intervals. I considered unplugging my headphones, stopping my run app, and slowly dragging my feet home in time to shower and eat before going to work. As I was walking begrudgingly home, sluggish and stewing in my cloud of frustration, I could just feel it in my body that if I made it home in this mood, I would feel defeated for the rest of the day.
I sat down on a bench, turned off my music, and took long, deep breaths. I reminded myself that a year ago, I couldn't run for 100m, let alone 5k. Six months ago, I wouldn't have woken up at 5:50am to run before work. One month ago, I wouldn't have gone to yoga to learn the stretching and breathing techniques that make running easier.
I am a goal-oriented person. I thrive when I am working towards accomplishments, whether as trivial as wearing heels around my house for a full week, or as grandiose as working as a writer for the BBC in the next 5 years. But when you spend so much time looking ahead, it's easy to feel like you still have miles to go.
I have this picture as the lock screen on my phone to remind myself not to forget where I've been. My friend Karen used to say "Honour where you are today." I like that too, because it keeps you in the present. It reminds me to stop thinking about what came before and what will come after, and to just be conscious of where I am right now.
I needed that moment to reflect this morning - not just on my running, but on other parts of my life. To honour that things are hard right now, but I've come so far, even from a few months ago. In January, I didn't really believe I'd be able to do a 5k race. I could barely believe I'd get out of bed on some days. But I have a theory that if you do the things you hate often enough, eventually you won't hate them anymore. And so even though every half hour on the treadmill sucked, and every morning layering up for to face the winter morning made me want to cry, and knowing that I had to do it again the next day, I kept doing it. Because we need to take steps forward to put the distance behind us.
I still have a long way to go. There are goals yet to be accomplished. But it was good to remind myself of what a long way I've come.
Monday, June 15, 2015
I suspect most people reach a point in their lives where they need to step back and assess why they are attracted to certain types of people. I have long known that the sort of people I seek out and intentionally befriend are people who are very smart and very funny. As early as elementary school, I can remember strategically placing myself on choir risers next to girls who made me laugh so loud I got in trouble. In every class I took in my undergrad, I would sit back for the first few weeks while, in answering profs' questions, the critical thinkers separated themselves from the blowhards before deciding who I wanted to hang out with after class.
I have never taken a psychology course, but I don't think I'd be too off base in surmising that my attraction to funny, smart people stems from my desire to be like them. I think we're all copy cats, in that we reflect the qualities we most want from the people we most want to be like. And my whole life, I've desperately wanted to be smart and funny.
More importantly, I wanted people to think I was smart and funny.
And sure, I wanted to be kind and thoughtful and sensitive, too. But only as tertiary qualities to cleverness and humour.
Last year, I was venting at length to a colleague about how the "real world" doesn't appreciate the work it takes to get a Masters degree, and how I was smarter than a lot of people who are doing the work I want to be doing. And he looked at me without any hint of irony and asked, quite honestly, "But who cares if you're smart?"
We all have those moments where you finally get a glimpse of the image you've crafted of yourself, and you don't like what you see. Because I had spent all these years desperately cultivating an identity that had no greater purpose beyond itself. Because intelligence doesn't matter if no one understands you or cares enough to listen to what you have to say. And no one laughs at your jokes if they don't sense community, because half of the job of successful comedy is making the audience feel like they're in on the joke.
And I realized that my obsession with being funny and smart was actually an obsession with being liked and respected. And you don't earn either of those by being narcissistic.
I was listening to the Harmontown podcast a few weeks ago, and they were talking about their friend Spencer, who was in absentia that particular episode. They took his absence as a moment to talk about what it is that makes him such an attractive person:
Spencer is one of the most charming, genuine, moral people I think I've ever met and that's just part of the allure [...]
We all have our qualities, that are sort of our "lead qualities" - and also I think that we're all good people, but Spencer is one of the few that the first quality I'd say about him is good. Spencer is a good person. And not that we're not good people, but he leads with good.
[...] He wants to do the right thing and he thinks about that a lot. He doesn't want to do the popular thing [...] he thinks about being a good person.
I've long believed that it's easy to be nice, but it's hard to be good. And when these people - people with money and fame and dedicated fans, talked about their friend and his goodness, their tone was almost reverent. In that moment, the normally raunchy and chaotic podcast turned gentle and respectful. Because goodness is difficult. It is pure and it is noble and it is holy, and it is for and about other people.
I've noticed a change in the past 6 months or so of the sorts of people I gravitate towards. My old friends - the ones who've stuck around, and new people I've come to like and respect: they are all good.
They are also funny and smart, as well as thoughtful, creative, feisty, attentive, caring, encouraging. But they lead with good. And it's so easy to not be good. It's so easy to not think about others at all, and to just do and say what is easy and expected. It's easy to be polite.
But what I've noticed about good people is that, because goodness requires effort and hard work, that it is not only easy to like them, it is easy to love them, too. When you radiate goodness, you can't help but bring a little bit of love out, too. And that's the kind of person I want to be.
And even though I value my skills as a critical thinker, and I still think I'm the funniest person on the internet (just kidding, that title goes to Katie Heaney), I hope someday, when I'm not around and my friends are talking about me on a podcast, they'll say that I lead with good.