So Close, Yet So Far

Years ago, it was typical for family to live near one another.  The home where you grew up was the base, and when you married, you  would live in that same city, sometimes in that very same neighborhood.  The extended family was a wonderful network of support and love, gathering for birthdays and graduations, cousins growing up together as close friends.  Somewhere along the line, that tradition changed for many.  Maybe it was the job market that called to another city, or the sense of adventure that enticed one to leave the familiar behind and move to a new part of the country.  I grew up on Long Island, and as much as I enjoyed living there as a child and through college, I never considered staying.  Being the youngest of five, I saw my older siblings move from New York to places like Texas, Maryland, and California.  We are a close family in heart, but not necessarily in geography. 

Bob and I moved to Atlanta soon after marrying and settled down near one of my sisters. We enjoyed the low cost of living and warm winters. We shared holidays and barbecues with my sister and her family, and it was delightful...while it lasted.  A few years later she and her family were called to move to Florida and we stayed in Atlanta, eventually moving to a neighborhood where we became very close with a group of friends.  They became our surrogate family and our kids were as close as cousins. 

Another job change for Bob led us to Indiana.  I left Atlanta heartbroken. As a full time mother, the friends who share this experience are your lifeline to sanity as they help you survive long days in the trenches with infants and toddlers. I remain very close with these dear friends.  That bond is very strong, and distance does not diminish my love for them.  We try to see each other a few times each year, meeting in Nashville for a girls weekend or I visit them in Atlanta, and leave with a lump in my throat and thoughts of one day returning to live there.  We email and call, send Christmas cards with family pictures.  It is not the same, but it is what we can do, and I cherish the friendship. 

It took time, but we have made a home here and found other good friends.  One of my sisters lives in St. Louis with her family and we have been together for many Thanksgivings and Christmas mornings.  It was nice to hop in the van on a Friday and be at their house less than five hours later, sharing a weekend and be back in time for Bob to be at work on Monday morning.  Sigh... I just found out that she and husband are moving to Tampa, Florida later this summer.  Another transition for us; we will be holding down the fort in the middle of the country. 

I hope that one day we can all live close to one another, choose a place to retire and live only a bike ride away.  How fabulous it would be to settle down in the same community all these years later.  I picture us sitting on the beach in the evening, enjoying visits from our grandchildren, and laughing at memories that families share.  Life is full of change.  But inside of me is a yearning for a return full circle to where we started, five kids hanging out together, if not under the same roof, at least sharing a zipcode. 

Running for My Life

I've been running for about twenty years.  I started when I lived in Atlanta.  Bob was a runner and I was more of a gym rat, following the exercise trends, but mostly loving step aerobics.  Something about the music, the group comradery, the sound of our synchronized feet hitting the bench  like a marching band.  It was enjoyable, albeit predictable.  Maybe it was the good weather that Atlanta offered, or the curiosity factor, but one day I decided to go for a run with Bob and see how far I could make it before needing to stop, or walk.  I made it about one mile, or ten minutes.  I was encouraged and began running.  Little by little I built up my stamina, eventually reaching six miles at a time and then entering local fun runs and the famous Peachtree Road Race, a 10K spectacle of sweaty humanity.  Every July 4th in Atlanta 50,000 runners jostle each other with sweaty elbows, the air filled with the scent of garlic from pre-race carbo loading, and the streets lined with spectatators offering orange slices and water sprays from squirt guns.   It was a tradition I embraced, but had to leave behind when we moved to Indianapolis ten years ago. 

I continued running and have entered several half marathons here in Indianapolis, challenging myself to stick to a training schedule, longs runs on Saturday mornings, lighter runs during the week.  My best time ever for a half marathon was an hour and fifty one minutes.  It was a glorious day for me, when the stars aligned and all my training paid off.  I have never seriously considered tackling a full marathon.  Despite having a father and sister who have run many, I do not seem to have that calling (or the drive) and am content to plod along, mostly doing four miles at a time now with an occasional half marathon thrown in when I feel up to the challenge. 

Running is a funny thing.  Once it is in your blood, you are compelled to continue.  It has carried me through two pregnancies, though I traded in my running shoes for less vigorous activities as I reached my third trimester, and Sam's autism diagnosis (back then I sometimes ran faster with angry steps, or slower, with tears streaming down my face).   My sisters and I ran together in sorrow in Myrtle Beach in the days before my mother's funeral, and we run together in Hilton Head each summer, planning our days on the beach and family barbecues.  I don't always love to run and I often don't feel that elusive runner's high.  Mostly it is just what I do to try to stay healthy and to release my stress.  Most runs are forgettable; just 45 minutes out and back, music to keep me company, and I step back in the door and go on with my life.  But once in awhile you receive a gift, as I did last night.  As I turned a corner to run around a neighborhood lake, I was overcome with the beauty of a sunset pink sky, swirls of purple and streaks of deep blue.   I turned down my music and walked for a few minutes, admiring nature.  A few fireflies lit up the tall grass along the path.   I was filled with gratitude and reminded of my blessings.  Then I began running towards home, with that image tucked away for a bit of future motivation.