THINGS NOT ABOUT HIKING
The week’s lumbers thus far have not been my best, with my mind firmly in the clenched jaws of the black dog. Thankfully, on Wednesday afternoon, I had my bi-weekly appointment with the OG Mindbender.
I knew my mind was in a dark place when, for the second time in 6+ years, I made my 70-year-old therapist tear up and cry as I recounted the thoughts and feelings I have about myself to her. However, that was short-lived, and she quickly found a way to talk me down off the virtual cliff in my mind, and when I left, I felt like someone had lifted a 16-ton weight off my shoulders.
The OG is a great therapist, but therapy is funny. Some weeks, I go in and spew the hate (towards myself) in my mind for 60 minutes until she calmly and kindly talks me down. And other weeks, I go in and we spend half the session talking about the best ways to make chicken salad.
I know therapy isn’t for everyone, and finding one you click with can be difficult, but when I look back to where I was in 2017 when Mike was killed, and I was also DEEP into thinking that because I don’t work a traditional job, I’m somehow a fucking loser, she was there to listen and help, and next to Wifey and Brennan, be my biggest judgement-free supporter. Then, after B graduated from high school, when I was struggling to find some shred of identity and self-worth in the midst of Empty Nesting and the shift away from full-time dad/soccer dad duties, she was once again there to help.
Sometimes I go through phases where I’m unsure if I should continue therapy or not. Then, I go through a mental dip like this week, and the OG bales me out with kind, shame-free, judgment-free words of wisdom, and I somehow claw my way back to thinking normally. Well, at least as normal as someone like me chooses to think.
Often therapy reminds me of when I was in my late teens and early 20s, and I would need to get out of the craziness of the house, and I would go visit my Grandma Helen. We would sit at the kitchen table, and she would tell me stories about growing up, living through the Great Depression, or about my grandfather, whom I never had the chance to meet. And when I left, I would feel refreshed with my mood boosted after having spent time with someone so kind and special.
THINGS ABOUT HIKING
When I woke up on Thursday morning, I felt like a different person. Nothing in my life had changed in the least; it’s all still pretty damn good, it’s just my thinking about myself had improved immensely in the past 24 hours.
And with that, I was in the dark woods just after 7 AM again, with my headlamp on, and my legs and mind feeling better than they had in days. I busted out another 6+ mile lumber, and found the thoughts in my mind centered and at peace in the woods.
The forest was oddly still and quiet today, with barely a noise at times, save for the acorns hurling themselves from the tree limbs above like they’re getting the job done at Jim Jim Falls.
In fact, as I was into my last mile, I heard an acorn ricocheting through the limbs like a plinko machine, and saw the very acorn fall at my feet (see photo).
Right now, I sit at 23.48 on the week, so if I want to get thirty in five days, I’ll need to bust a minimum of 6.52 miles tomorrow. Easy peasy.
Later.