“There will come a time when you believe everything is finished; that will be the beginning. ”
― Louis L'Amour


i can't write fast enough to keep up with the things that i would like to put in words.
it's the endings that make us wake up.

as we walked across rivers and scrambled across tree trunks, M and C were talking about blogging. C said she didn't feel like she is a good writer, and that sometimes she doesn't feel like she can keep up with a blog. "I think a lot, and perhaps no one would ever understand or want to hear all I have to say." but in the end I believe that everyone can use writing for their own purpose. isn't that what writing is about? we create something in solitude for ourselves, and then cast it out in the world with the small hope that it will help someone; make someone else feel less alone; bring people together.

-

- a few weeks ago, i took my first spin class. i walked in, the room was dark and the music was throbbing, like a headache or a heartbeat, depending on the way you listened to it. a guy next to me who was decked out in biking gear helped me to adjust my bike. i was nervous. within 9 minutes i wanted to quit. i stared at the red seconds ticking away on the big digital clock and i wanted to walk out and throw up. the instructor was screaming at me to get my ass down closer to the seat and get off my handlebars. i was panting. i didn't even know what it was supposed to feel like, how do i "get off my handlebars?" it was foreign to me. i clung to the movement in everyone else's legs. i clung to the music, i clung to the feeling of being unable to keep up but trying to. i clung to every minute, and i told myself that i needed to stay the whole hour. i confronted the fact that i run away when things get tough. i confronted the fact that i've had the luxury of running away from things when they get tough. and then i made it, through the runs, through the hills, through the loaded weight, all of it. the guy next to me smiled and said that she is the hardest instructor in all of Houston, and that if it was my first class, i should feel proud to have gotten through it. i left the dark room feeling lighter, like i had dueled with something deeper than the physical exhaustion.

- on the yoga mat, R. talks about letting go of expectations. of smiling, of becoming more childlike. of not being afraid to try new things, to laugh, to dance a little. M reminds me to push myself. i stay comfortable. as I stood in warrior poses, I realized that i cling to the familiar kind of pain. what would it be like to push beyond, and reach a different place? not only in my poses on the mat, but in my heart?

-

and isn't it the way we think about things that matter? isn't it the way we command our thoughts that makes us weak or gives us strength?

“- This wife you have...
- Had. She's dead.
- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up
an unhappy memory.
- I can't remember anything unhappy
about [her]. ”
― Louis L'Amour