Ram-bunc-tious

    This is how the conversations have gone:
    "Hey, remember the last time? You were really hammered."
    Me, "No, I wasn't."
    "Yeah you were. You were totally lit!"
    "I was drinking coffee."
    "No way, but I saw you..."
    "Yeah."
    "And then you..."
    "Uh huh. Stone cold sober."
    "But you were.... and it was hilarious."
    "Sober."
    "Wow. Really?"
    "Yep."
    Rambunctious. Eager. Enthusiastic. Excitable. Delirious. Intense. Joyful. Enraptured. Rowdy.
    Or... Hyper. Obsessive. Manic. Spastic. Dysfunctional. Childish. Fixated. Intimidating.
    "Relax." "Breathe." "Take it easy." "Grow up." "Knock it off." "Take it easy." "Settle down."  "Simmer down." "Slow down." "Sit down." Down, down, down.
    No! No I will not. I will not take it easy, settle down, or grow up. I will not rein myself in for propriety's sake. I want to bounce off the walls. Run down the halls singing at the top of my lungs. I want to do cartwheels in the grass. I want to live my life to the utmost. I have spent too many years of my life trying to obey some unspoken rules on "Grownup" behavior. I call bullshit. I want to charge ahead, full speed, feeling the winds of my very existence with the same physicality as 85 mph on the back of my beloved Bob. My life is my own, to enjoy, to revel in, to share, and I will not be tightfisted. I want to consume life with both hands, wrap myself around it, let it explode all around me, revel in the messy glory of it all. I want to feel life, laughter, and love with every fiber of my being. I want to experience all that the Universe has to offer. I will  not Settle Down. I will not Rein Myself In. I am rambunctious. It is who I am. I am and always have been the Whirlwind, the Maelstrom, the Fire Within. There is far too much joy to be experienced, too much laughter to release upon the world, too much love to share, too much life to even think about trying to rein myself in. I am me. I am Rambunctious.

The Universe Answers

    My life is amazing. I believe the Universe is striving to teach me to live my life fully. The last few years I have walked through fire, fallen into the Abyss and climbed my way out, stumbled down pathways that lead to dead ends and briar patches, fallen, been knocked down, trampled, picked myself up and wiped the blood from my nose. I have cried and raged against the darkness, battled demons, wept at tragic loss. I have felt discarded, used up and tossed aside, second best, winner by default only, never the first choice. Through it all I knew, knew in my heart that my happiness depended on me, myself, no one else. Against the assaults of the chaos that reigns around me I have held tight to the belief that I am the mistress of my destiny, that my life and happiness depend on me. I have held tight to my eternal optimism, the Fire that burns within my heart. I have not allowed myself to become tarnished, jaded, disillusioned. I have accepted my injuries, taken the hits, massaged balm into the wounds as they heal, cherishing the scars that I wear as a tiger wears her stripes. But I know I try to force things to happen, often when the time is not ripe. I struggle to make change happen, burning energy until I exhaust myself. Then, when I finally relax, realize I am content with who and where I am, allow the Universe to come to me, and fill my eyes with the beauty of the night sky, then and only then, do events to slip into place. Smooth, sweet, and easy. When I open myself to the possibilities the Universe has to offer, the Universe answers. My life is amazing.

Freedom?

    I love my life. I do. I am living My Dream in ways I had only barely imagined just a few short years ago. So why then do I have the itch of dissatisfaction niggling at me? I can hear it whispering, but can't make out the words. I am plummeting through my life at an astonishing pace, a pace of my choosing. I am careening from one week to the next, enjoying the ride, eagerly anticipating the upcoming twists and turns. My life is a helluva ride, and I am loving every minute. So what is the problem? Why do I feel the quiver of my demons trying to make a reappearance? Of course I know that they are never really gone, they just slumber in the shadows, waiting for the slightest tremor, the merest hint of a crack in my armor, the barest breath of doubt to wake them from their somnolence. They are still sleeping, though restless. I do not expect any nocturnal visits from them, but then, they often show up as unexpected and unwanted guests. So what is it that is trying to disturb the peace? Right now I feel as if I have it all; my own little home, a job that I love, I am in the best physical condition of my life, I am enjoying the now and anticipating the future. So what could be lacking? As much as I try to deny it, as much as I relish my freedom, as much pride as I take in my independence, the truth is that I am lonely. Funny thing, I am currently getting in more socializing on a daily basis than I think I ever have before. Between work, time spent at the station, races, neighborly visits over the fence, cuddling the grandbaby, I am truly having a wonderful social life. There should be nothing more that I need. Should be. But should rarely ever is. This feeling comes and goes. More often than not I am more than content. But some nights, like tonight, I miss having someone out there who cares that I am lonely. Someone who wants to tell me "goodnight," even if it is only via text.Someone who wishes I was with them. Truth be told, I think I am too much for most. Too independent, too free spirited, too busy, too active, too happy, too honest, too giving, too loving. I am not for the faint of heart, the insecure, the broken. Neither am I for the brash, the arrogant, the egotistical, for that is nothing but a mask for the faint of heart, the insecure, the broken. Maybe I see too deeply into the hearts of others, and give too willingly my own heart. Whatever the reason, the rationale, I am left standing alone, rejected. Rejected, or set free? I cherish my freedom, maybe the occasional bout of loneliness is the price I will always have to pay. But right now, at this moment, I am lonely. And tired of being alone. Tomorrow I will wake, independent, wild and free, as it should be. I am free to be who I was meant to be.

Farewell, My Sweet, Goofy, Loving Girl

    Monday was the day I had to make the tough decision, set my own selfish needs aside and think of the best interests of a beloved friend. Monday was the day I had to have my dear, sweet, goofy Wolfhound put down. She developed bone cancer earlier this year, and I knew I was counting my time with her, waiting, watching, feeling helpless. I knew a day would come when she would tell me it was time to let her go, to help her cross the Rainbow Bridge so she could join the Wild Hunt with her father, my beloved Tork. The day was actually last friday, but in my selfishness I did not want to listen to what she was telling me. I did everything in my power to make her last few days as sweet as possible, petting, brushing, massaging, cuddling, indulging. I can't count how many times over the months that I wept into her wiry coat as I rubbed her ears, scratched her chin, kissed her grizzled face. It has been painful, watching the progression of the vile growth as it slowly robbed her of her mobility. It was only the last few days though, that seemed painful for her, before that it was more an annoyance, troublesome, an inconvenience. Monday, when I knew it was the day, my final day with her, I had to struggle against bouts of weeping at work. I cried most of the drive home, and had to fight hysterics when she greeted me at the door for the last time. I fed her a tasty dinner and gave her a smoked bone to keep her happy. She lay in the shady backyard, crunching the bone with her mighty jaws while I dug her grave. The physical aspect of digging let me find my center, reel in my emotions for a bit. But when the time came for her to cross over I hed to go in the house with Hugo, and cry. I thought my heart would break, Hugo was worried for me, and I for him, knowing that his bonded mate was taking the long journey home. My sweet, darling, sloppy faced girl. I miss her giant head resting on my lap, or on the bed next to my face. My bed, high as it is, was just the perfect height for her to stand and plunk her face down next to mine, and breathe her warm, doggy breath on me. Last night as I was getting ready for bed, the room seemed so empty without her massive presence that I cried myself into exhaustion. Even now, as I write, tears flow freely. She was such a gentle soul, a loving companion, a sweet spirit, a loyal friend. She was there for me in my darkest of hours, always strong and silent, yet comical and adoring. She was truly a Gentle Giant, in every sense of the word. I will always love my sweet, goofy, loving Girl. Tonks. a truer friend there never was. My sloppy-face girl, my goofball, my rock, my irreplaceable friend.

Freedom

    I revel in my freedom. Lonely as it is sometimes, I still cherish my freedom almost beyond all else. I think this is reflected in my life and lifestyle. I live alone, and don't see that changing any time soon. I chose a home with one neighbor, a bit out in the boonies, and it is mine, just mine. I ride a Harley, alone, no one talking to me, no distractions. I have chosen sports that are solitary, not team efforts. I train alone almost exclusively. I swim endlessly, the only sounds are often my own breathing and the near silent entrance of my hand into the water, with smooth strokes. I cycle for miles and miles, either up on the trainer in the privacy of my home, or alone on narrow roads in rolling farmland. Trail running, even in a race or with a group, I tend to maneuver out of groups so I can enjoy the solitude, the sound of my breathing, the lightness of my step. As I motorcycle, swim, bike, run, garden, cook, live, workout, meditate, I take pleasure in my freedom. The freedom to be who I am. True to myself. Yes, there are times when it is lonely. Usually late at night when there is no one to share the triumphs of the day with. No one I can text, call, or crawl into bed with. I have had opportunities, but after a lifetime of feeling restricted, or even shackled, by life, it is hard for me to relinquish my hard won freedom. I love the feel of the wind in my face at 60 plus miles an hour, barreling through the backcountry on a balmy summer afternoon. I love the feel of my body slipping through emerald waters. I love loping along sun dappled forest trails. I love my shaggy little house and the freedom to do with it what I want. So I will feel a little lonely now and then. But I will feel the power of my freedom always.

Trust. And A Promise.

    Trust. Promises. Promises made and broken. By me, to me. I have not lost my ability to trust whole heartedly, but I have learned to guard myself. This is why I have made the promise to myself, that in eight weeks (oh my god, only eight weeks?!!!) that I will begin, and complete my first half-Ironman. It is a promise made that I know will not be broken, unless by some unforeseeable cataclysmic act of fate. I will not break this promise, I have made the vow to myself. So I devote much of my energies towards being ready. Not only will I complete 70.3 miles under my own power, but I am hoping to do it well. I know I am unlikely to place, even in my age category. That is not the point. This is not a competition with anyone but myself. I am pushing myself far beyond what I ever thought I might be capable of. I do wish I could have started this journey 10 or 15 years ago, but I will not waste energy on could haves and should haves. Instead I am focused, pushing forward, making changes within myself that will last me throughout my life. I have chosen to change my life, and myself. I refuse to let myself stagnate, to let fate toss me about willy-nilly, to feel trapped. Instead I am reveling in the freedoms that I have pursued, found, created. Whether it is swimming alone in an emerald green lake, cycling through rolling farmlands alone, or as a solitary runner finding trails and the splendor of the woods. I relish and treasure my freedom, the kiss of cool waters, the delicate touch of the wind, the glory of my body. I have made a vow to Self, a promise that I will not break, a pact with my Spirit. I trust myself completely.

My Son

    Anyone who knows me knows how much I love my sons. They are my moon and stars, I would readily give my life for them. I don't need to tell them this, they know it deep in their hearts. Tonight my older son and his family hit the road for South Carolina. Just about as far away as they can get and still be within the continental U.S. of A. Not just for a vacation, but a permanent move. To say I am saddened by this is akin to saying that The Titanic was a bit of a bummer. When I said my goodbyes tonight and saw them on their way, I cried. I cried all the way home, until my nose was swollen shut and my eyes were puffy and burning. I will miss my child. The strong, quiet, intelligent man who I can still clearly see as the impish child he was. As much as I hate seeing them leave, I totally understand it. I get it. I know why he must go. So as much as I wanted to plead, cry, pound my fists on his broad chest, beg him to stay, I did not. I let him go, to take on this great adventure that is ahead of him. I held my tongue, knowing that what he has chosen to do is right for him, even if it is horribly rough for me. This is the hardest thing I think I have faced as a mother, letting him go out into the world and be his own man. I trust him, trust his judgement, and trust his upbringing. But g'damn, I am going to miss him. A little voice, one of my demons no doubt, makes me fear that I will never see him again. I know this is not true, just a mother's fears bubbling to the surface. Rationally, I know I am being silly. But rationality has little or nothing to do with a mother's love. I will miss my baby boy, I will miss the amazing man he has grown up to be. I don't know if he even knows just how much I will miss him, but I know he should go. He will face the world, make a place in it for him and his. That is what children do. And I cry, because that is what mothers do.