Since I can't fly

I run. People often find that weird. I get it, I get that it is weird. I still run and more importantly, I love it. 

I run to de-stress, to feel myself within my body, to be more present in the world I occupy, to dream without limits, to connect with where I am. 

I love the way running makes me think about my body, the way it focuses me on the bits that feel good and what isn't working properly. An ache here and a niggle there become focal points of discomfort when you are running. I know that if I can work through them and let them go when I run, then I can let whatever is causing them in real life go as well. 

I can dream, imagine, drift away more easily when I am running. My mind is free from all the distractions that usually derail my imagination, but I don't have enough energy to create the drama's and disaster scenarios that my brain usually concocts for me. Running feeds and frees my imagination and lets it fly.

I love being out in my environment, part of the world. I love the opportunity to be on my own enjoying the vast expanse of the sky above me, then ground beneath my feet. To smell the air and be a part of the seasons changing, to take a slower view of my world. To see the little touches people embellish their homes and gardens with, to experience part of their stories. 

So yes I get why people think I am weird, my two feet, trainers, heart racing whatever the weather, but it's my kind of weird and I like it. 

Altogether now

I will have been to four weddings by the end of this year. I have been to full on extravagant weddings and brilliantly budget weddings, all unique, all wonderful. The thing with all this union of couples is that my entire life is weddings. My frame of reference at the moment is all marriage and nuptials and two becoming one. My standard response to anything I like is "Ooo I could marry that", to someone doing something I like "Ooo I'll marry you for that", everything cool I see, "I'm having that at my wedding". Just for clarity I am not getting, or even remotely close to getting, married, unless polygamy is legalized in a rash government turnaround.

The things is, and don't tell anyone this, I'm not sure I am fussed about having a wedding. Don't get me wrong, I do want to find that one person to commit myself, and I would want to mark that commitment publicly. A wedding though, all the trimmings? The teenage girl in me wants it, the bling, the dress, the party, the chance to show everyone how its done. The practical side of me though says, what is the point, it is just a party, the marriage is the important part, the commitment to another person, that's what I need.

There has got to be something in it though, hasn't there? A tradition which started as a way of fathers being rid of the burden of their daughters, whilst giving another man the means to continue his line, has persisted for an estimated 4,000 years. Nor is it some sort of novelty tradition either, some 250,000 couples exchange vows per year in England and Wales alone.

So what is it, what is the draw, what is the magical power held by a wedding. I guess it is the same as powerful moments. The draw of a wedding is actually the same as that of a music concert, a festival, of comic-con (what do you mean transparent interests), it is the power of the shared human experience. It has been written about through history, wound into stories and tales through the ages, the power of something that draws a group together for the same purpose. There is magic in people sharing a moment. Maybe that is the point, the importance of a wedding, making that commitment in front of your friends and family really does have something to it, something that makes you stronger as a couple, more capable of facing what may come.

Perhaps the blessing of the group is the reason we are drawn to share our commitment with others. Perhaps I'll rethink and in the process let myself fantasize about a little bit of bling and that perfect white dress.

Gasp

It is almost inaudible, but still I worry that someone might have heard it. That tiny, sharp intake of breath, that moment where my brain makes me gasp out loud as it meander by another disaster scenario.

Ok, maybe disaster is a bit strong, but it feels like it, in that moment of anxiety that causes me so much distress it is too difficult to hold within my internally frame of reference, and a bit of it escapes.

Whether eligible as a disaster or not, that isn't normal is it? It's not right that my brain is making up random moments at which my life may take a turn for the worse and playing them out for me while I casually answer emails on sunny, yet chilly Monday in September. An unremarkable Monday.

Do other people suffer this type of affliction? Do other peoples brains casual plot out potential downfalls whilst they try to enjoy a cup of tea? Do other people have so little conscious control over this process of major incident planning that they end up involuntarily gasping out loud at the culmination of the projections their brains randomly decide to run? Or is it that I have been living with anxiety for so long, that I see these moments of grim clarity about the possible future, as daily brain hiccups that one lives with?

I should probably look into that, I’ll likely just have another cuppa and open unread email number 134. 

Let Them Eat Cake

Does being a grown up mean getting to decide that cake is an acceptable dinner? Green layer cake with white icing and green glitter no less. If it is the measure of adulthood then I am officially grown up. I ate the most enormous slice of crocodile cake today. I think I like being a grown up, cake is pretty awesome. So is staying up late and watching movies with your friends. Talking nonsense, putting the world to rights and generally being pretty awesome. 

Of course being a grown up also means washing the dishes when everyone has gone home. Realising you have run out of milk and are the only one who is going to rectify the situation. Having to unload the washing machine at midnight. 

Oh and checking all the doors are locked, turning off the lights and going upstairs in a calm and rational manner even though you have suddenly realised you are all alone and you are afraid of the dark. Doing all those things even though your over active imagination has just wondered how you would react if the next time you walk into the kitchen there is a face outside the window. Worse still how you will react if when you go to pull your bedroom curtains on the first floor, there is a face outside the window. It means being able to look in the mirror even though your brain has just added, "what if there is another face there". 

If being a grown-up means having to rationally deal with all those things, and not being grown up means not deciding cake is ok for dinner, but someone else will sooth the anxiety created by your over active brain, I choose not grown up. It is not a choice though is it. We have to grow up. Even if our brains want to make it as hard as possible for us to achieve that. 

I'm going to go and wrap myself in the duvet, for I am not as grown up as I'd like to have people believe, but I do know that duvets are the ultimate protection again all and every monster know to those of the imaginative persuasion.