...I was craving the Pacific Northwest??
I received a call from a dear friend from San Diego days today. I haven't heard from her in ages. Her son and Owen were best buddies in Kindergarten, and their family relocated to Connecticut at the same time we moved here. Ami has been a wonderful support person, with regard to advice on how to tolerate a move, make friends, find a new dry cleaner, etc (they have moved 6 times in the last 6 years!). She just told me her husband took a job in Seattle six months ago and has been commuting. They just decided two days ago to make the move back to the West Coast this summer.
Life is so unfair. I am so jealous, my stomach feels sick inside. I am truly happy for their family, as they deserve every amazing wonder and opportunity this life has to offer, but it pains me to think here we still are, lost in the jungle, and time is marching forward. It's like there is still a huge hole in my heart, an emptiness I cannot reconcile. Most days I feel okay, but then news of something like this hits me and I am completely sidelined, sucked up by a pit of despair that seems insurmountable to climb out of.
I know some of this goes deeper than living in this provincial town. Some of this black hole stems from the idea that my children are growing up, I am not getting any younger, life is passing us by, and here we still are- living a life that I never imagined for my family. In a way, it is sick and demented and ungrateful, knowing that Marc has a wonderful career here, we are together as a family, I can be with the kids freely, etc, etc. I guess the rotten, spoiled, Malibu child in me seeks attention sometimes and needs recognition, pathetic as that may be. I guess I really am just not that flexible to roll with life's punches, evident from a very early age. Perhaps this is why I have ever so much sympathy for my own children when they cannot make sense of the world in which we live and the windy road we often find ourselves on.
When I am with my kids, I feel driven with purpose. I think even Marc kind of gets it now and wants to arrest my tantrums with patience and compassion. When I am running with my friends in the morning, I feel relatively okay. Speed today was great. Being with that crew makes me feel like I can do this, I can make it- everything is going to be okay. That for whatever reason, this is where we were planted and I am meant to grow.
4 x 800s descending and then 4 x 400s descending was palatable in that order. The trick, I think, is to organize my life in some sort of palatable pattern that makes sense and is tolerable. How is it I can always break up the workout into something manageable but life can be simply overwhelming sometimes?
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