It’s tacky to quote myself, I know. But I once wrote a memoir in verse and a key line in the book is, “I don’t go many places twice”. I’ve lived my life full-steam ahead, and in fear.
I had several hours to kill between the isotope injection and the scan yesterday, so I drove into Stavanger and walked around the lake. It has been a long time since I’ve walked here. Years. Though every year around this time, driving along this stretch of the city, I am struck by the lushness of the trees that thrive as the city’s green lungs.
They’ve built a new wall between the park and the motorway. I had to strain to hear the cars over the birds. Not that I put effort into it, once I satisfied my curiosity. Once I grounded myself in the reality of a kind of “this too”.
There was a soft rain. Perfect running weather, though I can only walk right now. I like that tug in my center that tells me: run. It means something different now. Not a running from or a running to – but a way of being with the world.
Art pour’art. Life imitating art. Life for its own sake.
I recognize this feeling. It’s not a high. It’s filled with gravitas. Maybe this is what contentment feels like: joy tethered to the deep unknowns. Fear has a story, I think, while this is something akin to reverence.
I will return to running. I am ready now for the familiar.
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