Running Away and Towards…


Everyday I like to think I am moving closer to the life that I have talked about living for so long.  How many more years need to go by before I do something I love…have a dog to come home to…take horseback riding lessons that aren’t an hour away…go out for a run along the ocean….

With my thoughts now concentrated solely on my own future, I’ve been thinking a lot about the difference between running towards something…and running away from something else.

A few months ago, I was living the life whose future did not stray far from the norm.  I was to go to school, get a job, get married, buy a house, and have my 2.5 children.  But after falling down the rabbithole, it seems logical to want to lace up my Brooks and head for the hills.

But moving is a hill that I put on hold for a while, a hill that I wanted to climb previously, before I met B.  I distinctly remember coming home from our first date, calling up a friend and being genuinely frustrated, yelling on Columbus Avenue “Grrr, I don’t want to meet anyone in New York now!”  But I did.

Where one door closes, another door opens…and maybe that door belongs to an apartment in Russian Hill, heck if I know.  In the meantime the hallways are really long.

So when I am asked if I am running away from my sadness here in New York…or running towards a potential peace in San Francisco…I have to admit I’m doing both. Wouldn’t you?  I’ve been here forever.  The sirens are less charming and the bad attitudes less refreshing than they were when I was 26. Will a slow California life make me go nuts?  Absolutely.  No one will walk fast enough.  But I’m at a stage in my life where I’m willing to learn to walk slower.

And yes, there are indeed too many memories here.  It’s time to go and start making my own elsewhere.  I was a rare student who looked forward to a new year at school…simply for the fresh school supplies.  Sharpened pencils in a shiny new case, pens with caps still intact, notebooks untarnished.  I see this new beginning as my first day of school – an opportunity to learn from my past errors.  I know that we are not defined by our mistakes… that once you get the lesson, you don’t need to repeat that one anymore.  It is with great relief that I can say that in this circumstance, I have gotten the lesson.  Ironically, it was a mutual friend who moved to SF who said to me today: “you’re wonderful and deserve to find someone who appreciates that 100% and not 95%.”  I couldn’t agree more.  Lesson learned.  Grade: A+.

Walking home from a run on the West Side Highway tonight, this song came on, one that I have loved since Crazy Heart was released, but whose lyrics I almost ignored.  Tonight, with the running toward / running away thoughts on my brain, it spoke to me…of my feeling about my place in this city right now.  The place I once called home just doesn’t feel the same.  Who knows what will happen?  I’ve decided that thinking and analyzing doesn’t work.  If our heart disregards our brain, it is love. If our brain blocks our heart it is pride.  That’s all I know.  The rest will just come to me.

Your heart’s on the loose
You rolled them seven’s with nothing lose
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind

You called all your shots
Shooting 8 ball at the corner truck stop
Somehow this don’t feel like home anymore

And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
And this ain’t no place to lose your mind
And this ain’t no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Your body aches…
Playing your guitar and sweating out the hate
The days and the nights all feel the same

Whiskey has been a thorn in your side
and it doesn’t forget
the highway that calls for your heart inside

And this ain’t no place for the weary kind
And this ain’t no place to lose your mind
And this ain’t no place to fall behind
Pick up your crazy heart and give it one more try

Your lovers won’t kiss…
It’s too damn far from your fingertips
You are the man that ruined her world

Your heart’s on the loose
You rolled them seven’s with nothing lose
And this ain’t no place for the weary kind

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