A thought occurred to me while walking to the bus stop: it’s the wait time that kills me.
Change is hard, and slow, and that wait time is the hardest part for me. I found myself thinking of the Evernote list I have running of all the stuff I need to get for my new apartment. I started mentally sorting it by what I’m getting in Canada and what I’ll have shipped from home. That prompted a thought of movers to call for bids, and that I’ll be waiting a bit for my furniture to arrive.
My thoughts tumbled over each other at the word “waiting” and how in disarray I seemed to have been the last few days. This starting over business can be quite exhausting. But starting over is kind of fun. It’s the waiting for things that is hard. And for all the talk of “go out there and get it,” there is still waiting. And it’s not the doctor’s office kind of waiting. It’s a more protracted, dare I say grueling, waiting. The outcome is unclear, regardless of your research and preparation.
So I started thinking of what I did to kill time. Kill the wait time. There was an awful lot of that while job hunting. Waiting for an interview. Waiting to hear back. Waiting for the second interview. Waiting to hear a “yay” or “I’m sorry but…” Waiting.
Two things popped immediately into my mind: raking leaves or grass clippings, and running.
There was a period where I was getting phone interviews and followups, and also debating on what to do about consulting and freelancing. Lots of thinking time, and waiting time. Lots and lots of waiting time. I found myself unproductive, sitting in front of the computer, so I started doing stuff around the house and out in the yard. My mother loves to garden. My dad loves to tend his roses. Those tasks are too limited in motion for me. I spend enough time sitting. I need to be upright.
So when the lawn crew had been over, I’d get out and start raking up the clippings. The crew sucked up most of them but there was still a fair amount left that required raking so the grass didn’t die. I plugged into my iPod and start raking away. Get totally lost in the act.
My folks have a pretty sizable yard, so it was an easy couple hours of work, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I could survey the grounds, and see what I had accomplished. Quite gratifying and rewarding.
But the lawn crew didn’t come every day, so something had to fill the gaps, as it were. And that thing was, or is, running.
There’s a part in Neil Peart’s Ghost Rider where he talks about how his vision and mind contracts when he gets on his motorcycle. His mind focuses on the tasks required to balance, start and operate his motorcycle. There is little room to think of much else as total concentration is required. Running is kind of like my motorcycle.
When I started, I had a tendency to hold my breath, especially when running up hills. Once I was aware of that, I started focusing on it and counting to myself to help keep myself breathing. I noticed, too, that my mental voice would gently prod me on with accolades. The more I ran, the stronger the positive thoughts and the better the concentration. Paying attention to the changes in the path, as it was a trail and thus not smooth pavement. Looking at my surroundings, the birds fluttering about in the prairie, the tall grass blowing in the wind, the trees whispering to each other.
My mind unwound and, again, I got totally lost in the act. It became how I started my day.
I’ve lost that, since moving.
There are a myriad of excuses. Weather. A commute. New work environment. All kinds of uncertainty. Stresses you only know once you move to another country. Self conscious of running with so many other people on the streets or along the beach instead of in the quiet isolation of the prairie.
The few times I’ve gone for a run though, have been fantastic. Well, except one. Apparently I can’t run and look at mountains very well. And I’m hard pressed not to turn and look at the mountains. Easy solution to that is to run through the streets and then run towards the mountains so that, for most of the run, I’ll be looking at them instead of over my shoulder.
But I digress.
It’s time to get back into a running routine. If that means getting up a little earlier, or going to the office a little later, so be it. I must get back into a routine. It’ll make a difference, and help me better manage all this waiting time.