Me, The Writer

I am having a hard time writing an “about” page. I have to ask myself, why this writing project at all? Is it a purely narcissistic endeavor to see how many views, likes and comments I can accumulate? Perhaps on some level.

I could list all the roles I’ve accepted throughout my 42 years: daughter, shy only-child, accomplished student, wife, ex-wife, stepmother, ex-stepmother, homeowner, roommate, girlfriend, friend, kindred spirit, elite ultra-runner, injured runner, cyclist, reluctant yet ardent mountain biker, employee, teacher, yogi…

I could talk about how I’ve experienced depression and anxiety that has, at points, thrown my life for a loop and dragged every bit of joy from my daily existence. I could explain that I’ve self medicated with frenzied endurance training and dietary restrictions and hurtful isolation.

I could write about my exuberant love of and faith in high mountain trails and hot desert mesas as my sanctuaries. I could try to communicate the freedom and joy I’ve found on a long solo run when it’s just me and my heart scrambling up exposed lava rock to get higher than I’ve been before and where not many others will venture.

Too often off the trail I find I am tired of being Me, tired of repeating the same patterns, feeling purposeless and getting stuck in my ruminations. I hope that taking some risks, sharing what goes on inside and outside my head and opening myself up to opportunities encourages a new (ok, hidden) Me to sneak out.

10.4.17      Bishop, CA

We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls. (Anais Nin)


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