I opened the door and let my heart out to play this morning at the gym. If it had a tail, it would have been wagging. Gleeful and with reckless abandon, it bounded around until it was beating at a perfect rate and grabbed the hands of my mind and soul. Together, they twirled and giggled and delighted in the games.
I closed my eyes and imagined myself running through the countryside on a crisp day warmed by the sun. One day, when my Achilles is healed…
The waves of adrenaline and euphoria washed over me and cleansed me of any remaining yuckiness from the holiday drag. It will take a lot more soaking and scrubbing to get rid of the clinging pandemic parts that tried to mold me into someone very different from my Self. I haven’t even had COVID-19, yet I suffered, mentally, physically, spiritually.
For 10 years, I identified mostly as a Runner and a Writer. Recently, I’ve been more of a Waiter. What have I been waiting for? The end of the pandemic? A return to “normal” life? To lose these extra pounds? To heal my ankle? For an urge to write or exercise?
I don’t know what I will become, but it’s clear that I can’t simply pick up where I left off and continue as though my life didn’t skip a beat. It’s a new chapter – a blank page – ready to be written.
Like a child on a new playground, I see so many opportunities and things to do. I have no plan. I just want to follow my heart, run around, and have a good time.