Early April 2012
They say that variety is the spice of life. Changing things up keeps you from getting bored, lazy, apathetic. For the most part agree with that. I enjoy variation in the weather and my clothing, the type of tea I drink in the afternoon and the flavor of jelly I spread on my toast. But there's also something very good about things that are consistent, familiar, routine. (I may like to change up the kind of sandwich I have for lunch, but don't mess with my Kashi Go Lean and sliced banana breakfast - you get the idea).
I sometimes struggle to know which parts of my life can (or should) be routine, and when I need to add a little variety. The other day I was riding a stationary bike at the gym and reading an issue of Women's Day (which was the only magazine that was left, really,) when I came across an article by the well-renowned Dr. Oz. I'm not actually familiar with Dr. Oz and don't recall most of what he had to say, but I do recall that the article mentioned something about the benefit of "automizing" as many choices in your life as possible. Something about giving your brain a break from making decisions that don't really matter. Are you happy eating the same thing for breakfast every morning? (Well, yes, Dr. Oz, as a matter of fact I am). Then do so. Do you continue to benefit from your 7:30 Pilates class and 8:45 shower? Then you should stick with them.
That got me thinking back to the days when I used to have a running routine. Due to knee problems and a fluke foot injury I haven't been padding the pavement since November, and it's been a sad five months indoors. The past week or two I've begun venturing out again. Just short distances around the neighborhood, but it's an improvement over Dr. Oz and the stationary bike at the gym. This morning I thought I would push myself and head back toward the river. (Bodies of water continue to be my favorite destinations for runs, hikes, walks, and wanderings). I was pretty confident in my ability to get there and back without pulling or straining something. A "river run" for me averages anywhere from 8-14 miles round trip. Up to this point I hadn't done more than 6, but I was eager to return to my route.
The first two miles from KCK to the Lewis and Clark Viaduct went fairly well. I'm used to navigating the alleyways and side-stepping the curb-sitters of Minnesota Avenue. I crossed the Kansas (or Kaw) River on the elevated runway that hangs from below Interstate 70 (see photo). It might be my favorite part of the run, especially when there are trains crossing on the bridge just north of the one I scurry across. Over the water, under the interstate and beside the trains, but completely isolated from traffic on the Riverfront Bike trail.
I first ran this trail in the fall of 2010, not long after I moved from the suburbs and strip malls of Johnson County to the Little Mexico of Kansas City, Kansas. I googled "bike trails" and found the map pictured above. Portions of the trail were "unfunded" or "under construction," but even when points of the trail came to a halt (going straight from a clean square of pavement to a pile of dirt), I still managed to find my way to downtown Kansas City, Missouri (skylines are helpful that way).I continued down the two miles of the Viaduct, taking in the familiarity of my old stomping grounds. I flashed back to memories of the countless podcasts of "This American Life" that I had listened to while covering this same stretch. (The weekend that Ira Glass featured the games sector of World's of Fun was a personal favorite.) As I did I kept waiting for the paved portion of the bike path to end. It should have happened about half way to Broadway Bridge, but it didn't. It just kept stretching on and on. "This," I told myself, "must be where that check I wrote to the Kansas Department of Revenue went." I made a mental note to take advantage of public services more often.
I ran the length of the trail, hopped on Woodswether Road, and made my way up the winding incline of the Broadway Bridge, coming out on 3rd Street, just a few blocks from the River Market - another personal favorite when it comes to running destinations. As I edged toward Main Street I thought of the numerous times that I've run this stretch of ground in the past 18 months. There's something almost sacred about revisiting a stretch of pavement. I thought of the summer that I moved to Kansas City, of the excitement and disappointment and frustration that I felt my first few months in the area. I thought of the months that I spent learning my new neighborhood by foot when I wasn't scouring the internet for job opportunities. And then training for the KC half-marathon while working as a document specialist at an animal testing facility and a part-time server in Westport. I recalled agonizing over my decision to leave that job and have a go at being a youth director at a small church in Liberty, Missouri.
I reached the edge of the Town of Kansas Bridge (which begins at 3rd and Main and juts out over the Missouri River) and I paused. Usually I would continue down two flights of stairs and onto the trail that passes the Town of Kansas wharf and leads to the two-mile stretch of the Berkeley Riverfront Park esplanade. But for now, just reaching the river was enough. I looked out across the water below and watched the murky current steadily flow. How many times had I come to this spot and spilled out the thoughts that were sloshing in my mind? Questions about my job, my purpose, my relationships, my life. Questions that the river could not answer, but also questions that it did not judge.
I continued watching the water flow by, and felt that the river and I had something in common. Always moving, always changing, filled with a life-giving flow of energy, and yet still the same from week to week and month to month and year to year. Rivers can change their course over time, but the Missouri River will remain the Missouri regardless of how high the water level is or whether or not one of its tributaries dries up. I thought of how I had changed in the past year, even the past six months. Happily settled in Kansas City, moving forward with a job that has wound its way into my heart much like the boyfriend who recently moved to San Francisco. I am no longer worried about being alone, and yet still very much afraid of missing out on what I was made to do (whatever that may be). Some of my circumstances have changed. My thoughts have changed. My feelings have changed. But I am still me. Full of emotion, full of feeling, full of uncertainty - all of which course through my being like the waters of the river.
I stood a moment longer before trudging back up the bridge and heading for home. I still had four miles of ground to cover and my legs were growing tired, though my heart felt somewhat lighter. I embraced the familiarity of the situation. Going home, to the place I have called home for 18 months now. The place that will be home for a time longer. Until change comes again. Rerouting my course, but not changing me.
I reached the edge of the Town of Kansas Bridge (which begins at 3rd and Main and juts out over the Missouri River) and I paused. Usually I would continue down two flights of stairs and onto the trail that passes the Town of Kansas wharf and leads to the two-mile stretch of the Berkeley Riverfront Park esplanade. But for now, just reaching the river was enough. I looked out across the water below and watched the murky current steadily flow. How many times had I come to this spot and spilled out the thoughts that were sloshing in my mind? Questions about my job, my purpose, my relationships, my life. Questions that the river could not answer, but also questions that it did not judge.I continued watching the water flow by, and felt that the river and I had something in common. Always moving, always changing, filled with a life-giving flow of energy, and yet still the same from week to week and month to month and year to year. Rivers can change their course over time, but the Missouri River will remain the Missouri regardless of how high the water level is or whether or not one of its tributaries dries up. I thought of how I had changed in the past year, even the past six months. Happily settled in Kansas City, moving forward with a job that has wound its way into my heart much like the boyfriend who recently moved to San Francisco. I am no longer worried about being alone, and yet still very much afraid of missing out on what I was made to do (whatever that may be). Some of my circumstances have changed. My thoughts have changed. My feelings have changed. But I am still me. Full of emotion, full of feeling, full of uncertainty - all of which course through my being like the waters of the river.I stood a moment longer before trudging back up the bridge and heading for home. I still had four miles of ground to cover and my legs were growing tired, though my heart felt somewhat lighter. I embraced the familiarity of the situation. Going home, to the place I have called home for 18 months now. The place that will be home for a time longer. Until change comes again. Rerouting my course, but not changing me.
No comments:
Post a Comment