there have been numerous times in the past two weeks when I have wanted to bolt from the spin room, screaming, escaping.
and I haven't.
but at times it has taken every ounce of willpower I have to stick it out, to keep on spinning, to keep doing whatever I've been told to do, to stay committed. every ounce.
I've written before about how power camp and cycling itself have helped me overcome that little voice in my head that says you can't do this susan. the one that says you've got to stop NOW or you're going to die. the one that says you can't you can't you can't as if it's an old LP stuck in a worn vinyl groove.
that little voice is still there: I've just learned that it usually is incorrect. it's negative, it's a fatalist, it's a drama queen. it's hysterical and melodramatic. it thinks so little of me it's embarrassing. and what I've come to understand is that even though I've taught it to back off a little, it will never truly go away. I will always have to try to squelch it, to talk back to it, to conquer it with a resolute disregard.
so the fact that I've been able to stay in class, to finish whatever drill we're practicing, to sit amongst people when I want to be a hundred miles away . . . this ability is a result of years of discipline. I don't want to be there: I want to be curled up in a ball on the couch. but I know I need to be there, I need to keep moving, I need to stay focused on the parts of my life that I've worked so hard to develop. I've trained myself to function in ways that keep my head above water, that keep me from slipping below the surface and melting into the comfort of oblivion.
I'll keep going to class, although I don't want to. I have the courage to get out of my car and enter the building, and I will pull it out of my core each morning. I will find the strength to converse a bit with those who try to engage me; I will find small smiles to return to those who smile at me.
and there will come a day when it will not be quite so difficult. because everything changes, everything fades, nothing lasts forever: life is transient, and each stage we experience is just a prelude to the next.
these next words came to me from my stepfather, who paraphrased his son-in-law's response to jake's leaving us: as we cannot understand God, or God's plan, we do not know that for Jake, his soul being in Jake's body for almost 19 years could have felt like one hour in our time, and that hour, stretched over 19 years, might have been necessary to ready him for something else.
I'll never know how much discipline jake had to practice over the years, to stay present in his body when the alternative must have been ever so much more attractive. but I'm pretty sure I'll be honoring him best by continuing to live, continuing to be disciplined, continuing to focus on what ultimately brings me joy and connects me with spirit. and I, as will each of you, will move along into the next phase of my life, to see what this one has been leading me toward.