When Inner Storms Swirl

I’m almost fifty years old and I still seek my parents’ advice.  Their wisdom rarely fails me.

Almost fifty.  Decisions matter more than ever.  When I was thirty, thirty-five, even forty I still felt time and life stretched forward far beyond what I could see.  Or imagine.

No longer.  Not when I’m just months away from half a century.  By the numbers I’m closer to the end than the beginning.  Closer to the end of my career.  Closer to the end of my life.  Fifty sneaks up on you.  But 50 is a number that does not lie.

Decisions are supposed to get easier as we age, drawing on maturity and life experience to guide us forward.

Fat chance.

Decisions get harder.  There’s more at stake.  Less time to play with.  Maximizing every moment matters more than ever.

But what does maximizing mean?

For a few days this week it means being by the ocean.  In a hotel with big windows and long views.  A hotel just a few steps from a sandy beach.   

A hotel with one bedroom, one bed, and a four-year-old tossing and turning all night.  Maximizing means me getting out of bed when I’m still tired, escaping to the living room, and reading and writing, well before 5 a.m. when it’s too dark to see the ocean, and too cold to be warmed by the fireplace.

And it’s quiet.  Quiet helps – helps with making decisions, helps with maximizing.

Quiet does not provide answers.  But quiet lets you listen to the inner-voice.  To the collected wisdom of friends and family.  To the doubts that eat your insides when the path forward isn’t clear.

And it rarely is.  Big decisions have big consequences and are rarely straightforward.  Big decisions are not a flashing red 99 on a scale of 1 to 100.  Big decisions are often 50 – 50.  There is no clear right answer.  There is no clear wrong answer.  When we agonize over these choices, we work to tip the scale – to get to 51.  Or higher.

Sometimes we are right.  Sometimes we are wrong.

And sometimes we realize that there is no right, and no wrong.  That 50-50 means that there is good and bad in whatever path we choose.  And those paths often flow from within.  Do we seek comfort and contentment – or strive for challenges where growth requires pain? 

Maybe the closer I get to 50, the more comfortable I am with 51.  With accepting that consequential decisions are made – must be made – when inner storms swirl.

No storms swirled around us this week.  The ocean and sky competed for the prize of bluest and most beautiful.  The sun warmed everything.  Inukshuks lined the shoreline.  Parks reverberated with children’s voices and laughter.  Ice cream sundaes were devoured.  Wine was savoured.  Life was relished.  Family was maximized.

I got a few days closer to 50.  And a lot closer to 51.

The Constants

I saw some pictures recently which jolted me back a decade. Back to where I was – both literally and figuratively. Photos from a fun and important weekend. Photos filled with people who aren’t in my life anymore.

Much has changed in those ten years. Big changes. A new family. A new home. A new life.

Some important things have not changed. Reading and running are constants.

Not just reading – but my favourite authors. Writers I have been reading for many years. Writers whose brilliance and insights add richness to my life. Writers whose words help make me who I am.

Those authors include David Mitchell and James Lee Burke. Each has a new novel out. Buying those books brought me joy comparable to the proverbial kid on Christmas morning. I wanted to dive into them.

Dive slowly. I hate the idea of ‘page-turners.’ The best books should be savoured, not raced through. Every page turned is sad, because it is one page closer to the end of something special. I take my time – underlining and starring my favourite passages – beautifully turned phrases, and insights into life.

David Mitchell creates worlds that remind me that life is mysterious and filled with connections both seen and unseen which bind us all.

James Lee Burke captures the horrors of my profession, the complexity of humanity and our spiritual nature.

I’ve never meet either man, but they are as much a part of my life as my best friends. Constants.

 

Like running. The routes have changed but the runs continue.

A decade-ago I ran along the ocean daily. No more. Now on my daily runs I hit the trails. Roots and rocks. Oceans of trees, streams of water.

I love it all the same. My favourite run now is just a few minutes from home. It’s quiet and calm. A challenging uphill that is neither too steep nor too long and rewards every repetition with beautiful vistas. It is the running place where I find the greatest beauty and the greatest fulfillment. Like my favourite novels, I never want those runs to end.

Today it ended very well. I descended from the hills through our neighbourhood. Coming towards me my wife was in the midst of her own run, pushing our daughter in her stroller. We met up, and switched up – she raced ahead while I ran with our daughter, who, minutes later, asked me to stop at a community book box – one of those ‘take a book – leave a book’ community libraries that make all our lives a little better.

I opened the box and my daughter’s, attention focused on colourful covers – with pinks and purples trumping all else. I pulled out the pinkest and purpliest for her – I Heart Vegas. Needless to say, it is not exactly a children’s book. But a book she wanted nonetheless, as a present for her mom. We hid it underneath the stroller and snuck it into the house where she placed it on my wife’s nightstand, so proud of the gift she was going to give. So proud of what she called, “the fanciest book I ever saw.”

Ten years. It seems like so long ago. It seems like yesterday.

Life changes. None of us knows what’s in store up the next hill or around the next corner.

The constants in our lives help us navigate those changes, enjoy the journey and prepare us for those unexpected moments. I’ll never read I Heart Vegas. But I’ll treasure it forever.

 

Vista

 

RavineLooking overA Private CathedralUtopia AvenueThe Fanciest Book Ever