“Remember your name. Do not lose hope – what you seek will be found.” ~Neil Gaiman
For the past couple days I haven’t been able to run and I have felt horribly cranky and awkward, short tempered and short breathed. I know that running has something to do with it. Without running, I haven’t been myself. But what does that say about me? Running is so ingrained in who I am that I don’t know who I am without it. And I need to find out.
I began running as a way to cope with heart break and loss, but without it I feel like I’m right back there again, which means only one thing: I haven’t actually changed. I’m simply a conglomeration of the old and the new; a mixed up conundrum of personhood.
At some point down the road I lost my way.
It happened gradually rather than all at one. A left when I should have gone right. A zig when I should have zagged. Staying long on the highway when I should have taken the exit.
And I’ve been here before.
I’ve made so many mistakes. Mistakes that I know better than to dwell on, but I do anyway. Mistakes that have made navigating certain roads impossible, almost as if my car was on autopilot. I see myself making decisions, knowing they are bad ones, and yet I make them anyway. I know what I am supposed to be doing and I don’t.
I need to get out of the woods. I need to find my path. I need to return to me.
I’m lost. And I’m not sure if I can be found.