Update

One of my two readers told me that although she likes the photos I've been posting, I need to write. Ask, and you shall receive, no?

Here's my monthly report in six words: I ran, I coughed, I read.

The El Paso marathon was at the beginning of the month. After being around people the week before with varying levels of illness, I started to not feel well the Friday before the race. I managed to sleep pretty well that evening and made the drive down to ELP. The day of the race, I didn't feel great, but I didn't feel unwell, either. Since the race was paid for, I decided to do it.

I thankfully had my mile nine even before I hit mile two. Nearly the first four miles is straight uphill. There are a few ups and downs but for the most part you're climbing. I noticed that my heart rate started to skyrocket, so I walked about a mile. A slow mile. Aside from being told multiple times before a hill, "It's all downhill from here," the race was fun.

El Paso holds a special place in my heart, the place where all the toxins have congregated. Seriously, the soil under the Asarco plant was black. Black. Look at the mountain off in the distance to see the color in the rest of ELP. The plant's smokestacks are visible.

Okay, this is not the greatest picture, but you get the idea. Nevertheless, I got sick after the race. (I do like El Paso, considering... See the line of cars? Those were people going to the race. We stayed two blocks from the start line. 9 flights of stairs was my warm-up.)

Yes, folks, the never-ending battle with the microbes that won't leave me alone. It was worse than a marathon. My endurance for this crap is wearing thin and my inner adolescent has been unleashed. I'm tired of it disrupting my life and having to forgo things because I don't feel well. I'm finally getting my energy back, though.

I've had more time on my hands to read. Part of the month I didn't have much energy to do much else but read. When I went to Las Vegas last month, I came upon a book entitled The Solace of Fierce Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality by Belden C. Lane. It mixes death, life, and stark landscapes. I've had a hard time getting into certain parts, but there was a quote Flannery O'Connor that he referenced: "...sickness is more instructive than a long trip to Europe." There may be some truth to that.

Lane also discussed books by Kathleen Norris. I had heard of her when I read Anne Lamott, who quoted Norris in one of her short stories. Last week I read Acedia and Me and Dakota. Both were good reads, but Dakota really hit home. Although the land that I'm from is not as stark as the western plains, many aspects of the culture she described hit the mark. Right now I'm reading The Cloister Walk. Maybe I'll write a post about all the things that are coming up reading her works.

Next month I'm headed to Colorado for another training for the leadership program. My sister will be joining me for part of the time, and we'll likely be able to catch up with other family members. I have a long weekend starting Friday. My plans for the weekend didn't pan out, but I feel like I need the time to emotionally get over the malaise. Retreat and renewal.

Welcome, Spring.

Fantasy

I've finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up: a writer living in Northern California. I'd be near the coast and spend my days hiking, caring for plants and animals, and penning witty prose.

I would write about love, food, travel, and the fight for justice. The stuff that makes up any good story. I'd probably write non-fiction just because my threshold for suspending disbelief is so high (or would it be low? i just can't do it!). Plus, my life often seems as if it's made up, so inserting reality through writing should be just the thing to do. Maybe composing impassioned social work research would be another option. The opportunities would be endless.

My new home would be within the reach of the ocean's breeze. It wouldn't be big-maybe two rooms with a large porch, complete with a hammock. I've always had a penchant for small houses. Ever since I was little, my dream home had only a few hundred square feet. (If you ask me what's wrong with the US today, I'd definitely have to say it's the houses.)

I have a creative streak in me that I've only let come out in homeopathic doses. Perhaps I need to water those seeds more. And the California thing...I miss the water, trees and rocks.

I'm not planning to go anywhere anytime soon. I'm not under any delusions that I can plop down several digits for an abode and make enough to support myself by stringing words together.

But a girl can dream, can't she?

The pursuit of happiness?

After reading Eric Weiner's The Geography of Bliss last month, I've begun to ponder the role of happiness in life. I really hadn't thought about it much, besides reflecting on whether or not I'm happy. Since finishing the book, I've noticed several references to the psychology of happiness in other places.

It was an interesting, if sometimes incomplete, read. I was drawn initially to the chapter on Bhutan's "gross national happiness." Weiner visits several other countries and devotes a chapter each, looking at what causes people to be happy in those places (with the exception of unhappy Moldova). The answers ranged from having clean toilets to being able to trust those around you.

As I was reading the book, though, I wondered if the wrong term was discussed. Being happy is an emotional state that's subject to change. The sources of happiness identified in the book were primarily external.

If I had to rank my happiness these days, it would rank pretty high, higher than it was a few years ago. Of course, I still get bouts of cynicism and anxiousness when I feel that things are getting out of control. However, when I stop and calm myself, I see something that's deeper and more constant than the variable emotions. I'm not sure what to call it: centeredness, satisfaction, or equanimity?

Whatever it is, it's there, too, when I'm happy. And while having this centeredness has helped me to be happier, it's not happiness. It's something more.

Maybe it doesn't need to be named.

Or studied.....


Or written about.....


The End.