Inspiration in running

On a recent Wednesday afternoon, I stepped out of the brick building for the first time since 7:33 that morning. The sun shined upon the heavy school bags filled with papers to be graded as I walked, a coat in my hand, with my teacher friend. We both agreed it was the perfect afternoon for a run. That is what I would do, I declared. She said, "Do it. And then write about how running is a metaphor for your life". Damn her. Now I new I would have to. You see we just shared a conversation at the back of her classroom about how I needed more inspiration as a teacher. Sure, I like the kids. But, the paperwork. And the conferences. Grading endless stacks of paper. The kids' attitudes that day were edgy, which I am sure mirrored my own. Writing seemed like my salvation. My inspiration to make teaching worth it...at least for today. So there I was having just walked in the door of my home. Howard, our golden retriever rescue dog bounding with excitement and energy, and my couch beckoning with the image of a comfy pillow and a tall glass of iced tea. Maybe I would read. Or maybe I would just nod off. I knew I had about 35 minutes until my husband and two year old daughter would get home. I knew then my chances of a nap, reading time, or a light jog would be done for. What's a working mother to do when faced with time all her own? I went for a run. The only reason being I told people I might do it. My friend and my sister knew about it. Damn. I had no choice. Once I got my feet shuffling, I was happy. The wind sweeping my face and the sun on my neck, I knew that biology was on my side and the endorphins were flowing. And the further into my run I got, the more I realized just how running COULD serve as a metaphor for my life. It was hard to get out and do it, but once I was moving, I was glad I did. This pertains to my career. I feel stuck in my current school and professional title. I want to change, but it seems like it is going to be a lot of work to make the change. Now, I could see that once I tied up my shoes and got out onto the street, it got so much easier and actually became fun. In fact, my happiness, depended on it. I kept seeing the sunlight poke through the leaves of overgrown trees as I trodded over bumps in the sidewalk, and I knew that too would serve as a reminder that there might seem some inspiration left. That is, if I can see past the branches.

I am a writer

I am a writer. There I said it. The stack of journals in my parent's basement proves it. My college newspapers with my byline proves it. And now this blog proves it. If you are wondering, the proof is for me. You see, I'm not fully convinced I am a writer. I am under the false notion that writers get paid to write. I don't. I am a high school English teacher trying to inspire my students to write. But, life has got in the way of my own writing. In the beginning, I blamed not pursuing this passion on college and graduate school obligations. Teaching. Planning a wedding. Basking in wedding bliss. Getting pregnant all too soon after the wedding. Getting up in the middle of the night to nurse and rock and soothe. Getting up in the middle of the night with a toddler to hear a tantrum or to get tickled by her. Job searching. Planting a garden. Going on walks. Drinking a cup of tea in silence. Having to call family. Writing that thank you letter. Washing dirty dishes that are piling up. Folding laundry. Baking banana muffins. Although the truth is I am only a writer when I actually write. So, here it is: my pledge to write. To post to this blog and to continue my handwritten journals. You see, my life pledge is to live in the moment. I find I do this most successfully when I write, practice yoga or focus solely on the people in front of me: my daughter, husband, and even my dog who we embarrassingly consider a member of the family equally. So, I will say it again and again on this blog as I try to convince myself that there is truth to it. Here it goes. Sincerely, A writer