Running with it

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I really do wonder why people share everything…I mean everything…with the world these days. Daily, I am astounded at what people put out there. I have an inner battle with myself about posting a picture on Facebook. I’m a pretty private person. I don’t even like to put stickers on my car.

But I want to write. And I want to write about all kinds of things; even things that are, well, personal. And now my inner self is doing it’s rodeo-kick “Ok. Really. You want to do what!?! And who is really going to want to read it?!?” But that is not very emotionally uplifting or confident or grown-up. I’m not supposed to care what others think as an adult, right?

Here I go-I’m doing that stream of conscience writing thing we did in high school. Which is really just the current running stream of thoughts I have going thru my head at any given moment in time anyway.  What was going on between my ears on my run this morning? I know it was cold, I think I had a minute of,  what are you doing…why!…you could be warm in bed. But, I went, I did, I conquered. Hey, there’s that little confidence thing! Yes, I did. And I remember thanking God for the air in my lungs, my two functioning legs that carried me, my heart that pumped warm blood to my cold extremities, my ghetto-booty (as noted by my husband since high-school and only appreciated by myself at a later point in life)  for propelling me along, and the will power to get out of that warm bed. That must be why He gave me a husband who snores. It’s this alarm clock that goes off with surprising accuracy every day. I watched the sun rise over the river, the fog lift from the water. I ran. I enjoyed. I started my day off in control, living, and being grateful. And it’s nice to remember that now, at the end of Friday, the end of a long week. I’m living. Maybe I can do this writing thing (hey, there’s that confidence thing again!). Who cares if anyone reads it. And if they do read it, who cares what they think? I will at least be testifying to my own lived-in life. Maybe my child(ren?) will read it one day. Hopefully they would be proud of their Mamma and say, hey, she went out on a limb – she tried- she lived.

I’m not a writer. I managed to complete an undergraduate engineering degree and then a doctor of pharmacy degree… I am currently a practicing pharmacist. I always thought about writing. I enjoyed writing assignments in school, and I did well at them. However, there were these other plans for school and life and accomplishments and pieces of paper to be obtained. So, I’m not a writer. I do not have any kind of degree in writing. This is not the first time I’ve gotten the whim to write. There are 2 blogs out there that I started, and then for the aforementioned fears, never continued. But, I wasn’t a runner either. I wasn’t a runner, but I decided I wanted to run. I committed. I set goals.  And now I have one half-marathon under my belt. I am  a runner becuase I get out and run.

I have an unexplained love affair with pens and paper. So, I think this desire to write and fill pages has always been a part of me. I have 2 whole shelves of beautiful journals that I have bought over the years. And I’ve been afraid that what I have to say isn’t worthy of their crisp, clean pages (in fact, I’m writing this on a crappy work pad). No longer. I don’t need anyone’s approval or rating. I simply must satisfy my own soul. I will be a writer becuase I will write.  Fast had nothing to do with running and good doesn’t have anything to do with writing. They are simply adjectives. I’m just gonna run with it.

I also have a love for words, for the English language. There is an endless combination of letters, word placement, inflection, accent and connotation. Any idea, thought or emotion can be expressed. For example, take the words extra and ordinary. Separate, they have completely different meanings. Together, extraordinary, has an entirely different meaning than either of the two words that make it up. And that’s why I think I’m going to use it for the title of this blog and a new life ideaology for myself. I think sometimes I am extraordinary – and sometimes I’m extra ordinary. I work, I keep my self up, I take care of a husband and a daughter and 2 dogs. I contribute to family and friends. I care for my patients and their families. I am extraordinary. But, I let the mail pile up and have dust bunnies and my kid throws food on the floor and I let the dogs clean it up and the toilet is dirty. I am ordinary. And I don’t think that is too far off from most.

For me, most days will be ordinary – but some, will be extraordinary. I have to live every day and fill the space between the extra ordinary and the extraordinary. I hope you will join me.

 

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