Spinning out

So, I did something yesterday... that I've never done before and it was amazing.

I purposely and intentionally ran without a flower. Rather than deciding what I needed before my miles, I offered myself a different invitation:

To let it come.

To just be. To allow my run to serve as a blank canvas of which my miles and realizations would be painted along the way. To resist my urge to decide and then, perhaps, prematurely and unknowingly guide myself towards what I 'think' I needed... and instead, let my mind and miles take me to where I actually need to go.

Apparently, here's where I needed to go yesterday :)

I'm feeling like we spend most of our days, weeks and years and essentially, LIVES becoming. We become the next thing, title, status or role. We become the next adventure or opportunity or choice that we should take. We become the next version of ourselves that we have worked so hard to achieve. We become what people think is good and right for us. And then, for a myriad of reasons, we strive to become an even better and more efficient version of that role. We are so damn capable, after all. These roles slowly become our identity, and within our identities come expectations.

And it's almost as if the better we get, the deeper the ruts are that we create. And they become smooth, and the smoothness seems to lull us into a sense of relief and comfort. At least we can rest here. At least it's predictable.

So then, what happens when we decide that our good enough rut isn't what we need any longer? What happens when change is necessary? 

We spin out. We MUST spin out. 

And it looks irresponsible. It looks messy and unglamorous and likely, the opposite of a carefully crafted version of ourselves that would never - ever - do anything so reckless. 

From the outside, spinning out makes it look like we've lost control, when in fact, it is anything BUT. Spinning out of that rut is taking BACK control. 

And, I think women who spin out of their expectations and roles and identities deserve our greatest love. It requires so much truth and honesty. Every single woman I've talked to who is currently spinning out - or about to - or recovering from - has one very clear thing in common.

She is brave. Quiet brave, big brave, soft brave, loud brave. Brave that people can see, and brave that no one will ever know.

Do not judge a woman who is spinning out. Can we commit to that? Do not look at her as if she has lost control. In fact, be kinder to her than others because what she is doing is hard. She is steering herself back on to the path to her true essential self, and there is nothing braver in the world THAN THAT WORK. Give her coffee, tea and warm hugs. Tell her she's loved. Tell her we'll all be better because of her willingness to drive straight through the storm and into her true path.

From there, I shifted my thoughts then to the idea of un-becoming. In a recent conversation with a dear sweet friend, we acquainted this to a sort of 'pulling the loose thread' and finally letting it all unravel. Picture it. The annoying thread that grates on your nerves but you resist pulling it because you're not sure what's worse - the temporary distraction or the permanent unraveling. 

Un-becoming concerned, accommodating and efficient.

Un-becoming proud that I did it all. And fast, too.

Un-becoming of expectations that you have for me.

Un-becoming of roles that no longer serve me.

What do I want to un-become? What do you want to un-become?

These were my thoughts on my run yesterday. Becoming. Roles. Identities. Brave women. Friends I need to reach out to and just simply say, "I see what you are doing and I need you to know how brave you are. I'm here with you."

And so, after 90 minutes of running in no particular direction, I felt very, very found. I put a yellow flower in my hair for the last few miles and embraced a simple phrase from its message: To find your happy.

Spin out ladies. 

Become and un-become. And always, always choose kindness instead of judgment to those doing the same.