Purpose, Greatness

Just watched three episodes of The Bear and in one Cousin talks about purpose, how he wonders if he has one in what they're doing. All the characters are struggling as they work toward something spectacular, something worthy. They all seem to be trying to prove something to someone. Sydney to her father and dead mother. Carmen to his dead brother, Mikey, and to an idea he holds of himself. Cousin to his daughter and Mikey and maybe Carm.

Which gets me thinking who I'm trying to prove myself worthy of. I'm sitting here, ten-thirty at night, typing words no one will read. Trying to impress somebody. Anybody. I hearing the tone and tempo of The Bear. I'm thinking about a book I tried to make for my wife. Printed pages I tried to bind without knowing how. Half-assing it.

That's a present she never liked. One story was "Nancy," about me trying to work up the nerve to kiss a girl. Never got there. Didn't think I was worthy. Couldn't figure out how to impress her. I didn't need to impress her. I needed to kiss her. She was waiting. Seems so simple now.

The Bear gets me thinking about my work too. I want the community center to be great. I want it to be big. But here's the problem: I want to be seen as having made it great. I still want to be worthy. That's the wrong way around. You don't become great because you want to be great. You do it by not giving a shit about your own worth and just doing the work.

A guy I know a little does the work, as far as I know, but he blows his own horn so fucking much I can't stand him. I don't want to be like that. I want to cultivate greatness in others and myself, but I feel overwhelmed so much of the time. I worry I'm doing it all wrong when I should just kiss the girl already.

Purpose? It might be to let go. Believe but don't hold on. Accept not expect. Do what I can right now. And quit worrying so much about myself. It's not supposed to be about me.

Greatness is always up ahead, over the horizon, across the river. It is the very model of moving goal posts. Greatness is in what I can't or haven't yet achieved. Even if I do achieve some measure of greatness I know it's something I'll likely lose.

The purpose has to be something other than greatness. I'm a thousand miles away from understanding what my purpose and just as far from knowing much of anything about what greatness might be.

A Year, More and Less

Most every morning, I read one passage from Daily Doses of Wisdom. Yesterday, I read passage 351 of 365 and thought about how we mark years.

Someone I used to know scoffed at celebrating birthdays. "Why celebrate an orbit around the sun?" As if we need reasons for celebrations.

More and more, I'll take any excuse to celebrate.

In a couple weeks, I'll read passage 365, my New Year's Eve of Wisdom. My Daily Dose year, begun May 13, 2022 on passage 1, will end after a bit more than 365 days.

A year can be anything I choose. 365 days, 365 Daily Doses of Wisdom, or even some other number of something else. Whatever I choose for it to be, it's reason to celebrate.

The thing about finishing an orbit of the sun is that the orbit continues, another year begins. Around June 1, I'll return to Daily Dose #1 just as we return to January 1 each new year. That passage like every first of January will be new and familiar, both at the same time.

If nothing else, that freshness combined with comfortable familiarity is worthy of celebration.

Wherever you are, whenever you're reading this, I say, Happy New Year. Let's pop some champagne, share a warm embrace, and sing in the new beginnings as we continue our path around a star that keeps us warm and lights the way through an otherwise cold and dark universe.

Sore Knees and Anxiety

My knees felt stiff and sore coming downstairs this morning. Nothing major, but enough to have me holding the handrail, taking it slow. I'm not getting any younger. I accept that. Besides, I knew what to do. While the coffee water boiled, I did knee lifts and squats to loosen things. It worked. I felt better. Still do.

Also this morning, Ive been feeling tightness across my chest as I hold my breath and spin up about tasks and expectations I have today. Doing my knee lifts and squats, I worried there wasn't time for all that and I had to get going. Where I needed to go wasn't clear. I just felt anxiety about it.

I made coffee, moved to the couch, settled in to write Morning Pages, my mind wandering toward anxiety. The voice in my head demanded all sorts of things I should have been doing. Anxiety darkened the weather in my mind, all clouds and no sun with a threat of impending storms.

Loosening my knees is easy. Stretch and move. If that doesn't work, rest and ice. But what can relieve this anxiety? I place a hand on my chest and take deep breaths. One and two and three and four. Again.

This loosens things some, but the anxiety creeps back. My knees only get looser as the day goes on and I forget about them. Forgetting anxiety, I forget to breathe and accept, and then here comes the anxiety.

I just took a big breath and went back to typing but noticed I was holding my breath and felt the tension. Turns out I haven't figured out how to work with this anxiety, which is why I'm talking to you, whoever you are, guessing it's better to share this than carry it all on my own.

The weight of the anxiety, after all, is enough to really wreck my knees.

Better. Faster?

Went for a slow run this morning. Barefoot. As I often run. I got thinking of another barefoot runner in town. An acquaintance. Someone I'd like to know better. A much faster runner. But they hate to run and so don't run much.

This was two miles into a run I was loving. Felt like I could have run ten miles. Slowly. I felt joyous. Bare feet padding pavement. Moving steadily down the road.

Later in the run, another runner came off Peck Hill onto Tecumseh and passed me. They asked how long I'd run barefoot. Almost fifteen years. They said they only do it on grass fields. Everyone says that. I joked that I do it because I'm a broken down old man. They laughed and ran ahead. Steadily pulling away. Another faster runner.

Again I imagined being faster. Thinking it would make the run better. I envisioned keeping up with that faster runner. Going faster than the other barefoot guy. Doing a 5K in fewer than twenty-five minutes. Faster is better. Common sense on which I get stuck.

Even when I'm in the midst of a perfect run. When I feel completely happy. Unlike the faster guy who hates every step. Faster is better? Maybe better is better. Speed might have nothing to do with it. If walking feels good, that's fast enough. If I'm happy crawling, that's fast enough.

Boom. Insight. Enlightenment. I kept running down Tecumseh, hung a right on Old Lyme, and left onto Standish. Each step joyous. Complete. Better.

An hour ago, I got thinking about how to crack that twenty-five minute 5K.

Enlightenment, it turns out, can be fleeting.