Ireland, Part I

In the mist and early morning blanket of gray which had settled heavily in the air, I could barely make out my rocking chair as I slowed my pace and pulled back slightly on the two leashes tethered to my waist.  Always happy to have a few more minutes of their run both dogs immediately wandered into the grass, absorbing themselves in the aromas and clues left behind overnight.  This far in the country it was a morning smorgasbord for their acute senses.

The mist and light fog clung to my skin, mixing with my sweat and hanging heavily on me, adding to the already significant emotional weight I carried.  It suited my pensive mood, which I had been trying to shake for days now.  The inner scolding in my head had been waging a constant war with my heart which chided me, and reminded me to be grateful for my upcoming trip.  Ireland was known to be a beautiful and mystical country, and I would be connecting with girlfriends I had not seen in far too long.  Yet I couldn’t quite feel in my heart what my mind was telling me I should be feeling.  In the furthest part of my heart there was a piece of me that didn’t want to go. 

In the weeks leading up to my trip, in the moments I should have been focusing on other things, important things I found myself ruminating over my inner turmoil and conflict.  How could I not be excited?  It had not been easy for me to swing this trip and I had had to work hard to make it happen. 

I carried out internal opening and closing arguments every day.  I always ran through the same checklist.  Was I afraid of a catastrophe, a plane or bus crash?  Nope.  Long ago tired of my desperate need to control the world around me, I had given up those large pieces of “what if” which are silly to even worry about.  Unless I am flying the plane or driving the bus I no longer allow myself to worry about it, because in the end it is not in my control anyway.   Ironically enough this epiphany happened as my knees pressed into my chest, jammed in the back of a Cessna, climbing to 10,500 feet.  My heart was pounding so hard I could feel the movement on my knees and as I tried to talk myself out of being too afraid to jump, I realized all the decisions were out of my hands already except that one.  Jumping was the only thing I had to worry about.  The pilot was in charge of the plane, the chute had been packed and I didn’t possess enough skill to do either anyway.  So the only thing I was in charge of was jumping and then staying in my head to make sure I deployed and landed safely.  This imaginary box I drew around what I could do was life changing and thankfully it has translated into other areas of my life as well.  Giving up control on that visceral of a level is either crippling or liberating and for me it was the latter.  Was I afraid of the run?  There was a piece of me which was apprehensive however I had the comfort of knowing I could drop my status to a lower distance, and that some of the other girls were likely going to do this as well.  So although I had not run since June 1, almost four weeks earlier, I wasn’t overly concerned about this either.  Which by the way, if rational is the benchmark, this should have been it.  A stress fracture in my foot which popped up only two weeks before I was to leave should have been the primary source of my angst.   Maybe, I thought, it was connected to being overtired and burnt out from long hours and little time off, with work and financial stressors at an all-time high.  But, I argued to myself, then I should have been looking forward to the break, and all I felt about being away from work was a slight sense of relief and a strong sense of apathy.

 In my daily introspect I could identify only one area which produced strong emotions and this was my dogs. 

In the four weeks since I lost my buddy of 14 years, my heart was still fragile when I thought of Tanner and experienced the daily reminders of his absence and how much I missed his big steady presence.  Ellie, my fierce and fragile rescue dog, shares an emotional enmeshment with me which is, I admit is uncanny most times.  She will mimic my facial expressions, she never leaves my side, she knows I am coming twenty minutes before I get home, and she refuses to leave her den for anyone else.  Maggie, my adorable little moppet of brown curls and tongue hanging out, loves the world.  However earlier this year when I was in Colorado she didn’t eat the entire time I was gone.  For any pain I have ever had in my life, my dogs provide the faith and love and healing which only unconditional, truly unconditional love can.  They give me safety, protection, significance and remind me daily to share with them the joy of the moment.  Ok so that was part of it, but it wasn’t IT.  And no matter how many times I returned to the loop, trying to unbundle the pieces which had now become woven so tightly together, I couldn’t come up with the answer.  I knew I would know it when I did, I knew it would resonate within me and then I would experience relief at the certainty of the answer and the promise of a solution.  Because surely as soon as I knew what it was which was creating this sensation of exposed and raw nerve endings, then I could find a way to address it sensibly and move forward with my trip and feel the way I knew I should. 

I write this in retrospect, having now returned from Ireland and am abashed at how myopic my vision was.  I truly was blind to the opportunity and experience I was about to encounter.  I am not always this nearsighted, my only defense, flimsy as it is, is the trials of the last two years. 

Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs describes a pyramid with the base level consisting of food, water, shelter.  Only as you reach this and each successional layer can you realize self-actualization which includes fulfillment and contribution. It is my true nature is to live with a focus on self-actualization, the traits of this being a strong part of my value system and my daily discipline.  Yet, as it often does, life took a spin for me these last two years and the series of changes and life changing events had left me reeling and moving through my days with rote and routine.

What I couldn’t have known as I vainly attempted to diagnose my pensive state was how much I needed this and how much the world was about to come barging in and remind me of who I used to be and how much I had forgotten who that was. The pieces of me which I had lost along the way and at times just let go of were still there.  It took traveling across an ocean, running beyond what most consider possible and opening myself to the very real possibilities of being hurt, feeling vulnerable and facing what I had allowed to happen to myself.  And as so often happens, along with the progress comes pain and lessons which defeat me in the moment but strengthen every part of me eventually.  As only retrospect can do, looking back with the clarity of hindsight, I am grateful beyond what words can describe for my trip to Ireland.