flying

I have always dreaded winter break.  The last ten years or so.  Even as a student.  I hated being taken out of my routine.

I hated it because it gave me too much time to think.  And it used to be when I thought too much I'd end up in a spiral of depression.  Full throttle down the drain.   Well, depression was really just part of it and maybe not the worst part.  Anxiety.  It should be a four letter word.

That hasn't been the case this break, and there were certainly reasons it could have gone that direction.  But it didn't.

Granted, as my last post expresses, I've done some stupid shit.  I've thought way too much about a particular man.  I've been distracted by memories of my dad.  I haven't been my best self.  I even cried a few times.

But there were no panic attacks.  No depression.  There was really only one or two days that I wanted to spend in bed.  One of those days I was sick.

A few months ago a friend commented that I've been 'getting my house in order.'  I think he's right.

I didn't walk twice today.  I walked once, after a series of all-day meetings.  But I didn't just walk.  I also jogged.  I also ran.  Ran.  I ran for maybe the first time in my adult life.  Ran faster and further than I have in probably thirty years.  And I hadn't even planned on it.  I was walking my normal trail and the thought crossed my mind and the next thing I knew I was flying.

Felt good.  Damn good.

I'm going to do it again tomorrow, in fact.  After class.