run-on-run-on-run-on.

Today I was exhausted and just wanted to take a nap but instead needed to run and managed to stall as long as I could but ended up just lying to myself all the way out the door about how easy the run would be while it wasn't easy at all but rather, nearly every minute of all seven miles were painful and/or difficult and the only good parts were the blooming azaleas I passed, the eccentric grungy gentleman driving an old green Volvo that gave me the thumbs up at a stoplight, and also the part of the run where I stopped running.

This kind of running experience is one of the reasons why I absolutely love running because it's not always what I want it to be, or what I know it can be, much like the beautiful life I wake up to each day, but I keep running, because of what I know I want it to be, and because of what I know it can be, and because I feel better about finishing, not stopping, and pushing a little further than I do about letting go and giving up and just taking whatever comes...do do do do do.

you fool.

Present in the majority of us, I think, is a natural inclination to avert foolishness. The same act can be taken two different ways, depending on the situation. It's a delicate balance. And there's that element of misunderstanding that will always weasel its way in.

Dancing on a table at a dinner party, for example, is an act of foolishness. Everyone's picking away at their meals, someone takes a bite of carrots, another guest is munching on asparagus, you get up out of your seat and put one foot on the edge of your chair where you begin to hoist your weight. Your other foot gravitates to the edge of the table, followed by your hands, which push you up, followed by the rest of your body. Your right foot ends up the the mashed potatoes, which doesn't phase you, or avert your mission. You begin to groove, hips going one direction, swinging arms going another. No one else at the table has any idea what's going on. You continue to dance, though the only music being played isn't heard by anyone but you. If someone were to ask you what you were doing, an honest answer would be, "dancing". You also happen to be making a complete fool of yourself, and I would venture to say that whoever you came with is feeling a bit foolish, too.

Fast forward to this evening. Scene: Mixed tape night, a bar, hip hop in the background, and an empty dance floor. You are beckoned to the empty dance floor, officially filling it. Your hips go one way, and your arms swing another. Your head is bobbing to the beat, and your feet have taken a direction all their own. If someone were to ask you what you were doing, and honest answer would be "dancing".

Same act, different scenario. One merits a feeling of foolishness. The other presents it as a possibility, as you're exposing yourself and your moves to the world. But your honest presence on the dance floor merits more pride than foolishness.

I have been thinking about this struggle a lot over the past weeks. I determined a while ago that feelings of foolishness are a natural part of life's journey. We can spend money and time trying to avoid them, but then our life's work becomes about keeping up an image, which not only feels inauthentic, but also way too time consuming. I have realized lately, however, how much the actions of others can change what felt like a courageous set of behaviors into feelings of pure foolishness. One minute I am grooving along on what appears to be a dance floor, eyes shut, arms in the air. Still grooving, I open my eyes just in time to not fall off the edge of the dinner table.

Reasoning through this phenomenon in my head, I am amazed at the power of these feelings, their ability to keep me from sleeping at night, and furthermore, how powerful they are despite their dishonesty. When deciding how I should feel about myself or my actions, factoring in the actions of someone else shouldn't be a part of the equation. It's tempting, as others are a part of the whole. But at the end of the day or week, season, or whole of my life, I don't care so much about whether or not my actions fit in line with the honesty or dishonesty of others. What matters to me, and to how I feel about myself, is if my actions were rooted in honesty and authenticity, with the goal as a whole being an open and loving perspective of people, and of life.

The dangerousness inherent in a foolish feeling: its tendency to keep us from dancing life's dance altogether. This would be a tragedy. A certain amount of self-respect, hopefully, will keep me off of the dinner party table, but damn any dishonest feeling of foolishness that closes me off of the dance floor.