On Mile Markers, Book Chapters, and Eras
I stepped off the treadmill this birthday morning having run my 218th mile of the year. A promise I made a while back to run a “5k every day”. Not as training for anything in particular or to compete with anyone. I needed to increase my fitness and just liked the way it rhymed. Plus, the distance seemed achievable within the span of an average TV show. A better way to pass the time I told myself. There was no celebration today for mile 218. I didn’t get balloons back at 100 or 200 either. Conversely, no coach is shouting from the sidelines that I should be further ahead. I simply am where I am. I’m where I decided to be, by making hard decisions every day. Fueled by habits to find progress over perfection.
"I am where I am."
Some miles were tough. A broken shoelace, a calf cramp, too much of an incline, and bouts of sheer boredom. Sprinkled in are some wins. New personal records. Binge watching “Welcome to Wrexham”. A strict regime for myself. Riding the endorphin boost. An increased appreciation for what consistency can do to overall health and wellness. What mattered is what happened between the 218 miles.
In the grand scheme of everything, the 218 miles do not matter. My first 6-minute mile since high school doesn’t matter. Neither does my worst mile time at well over 13 minutes. I am where I am. What a humble thought that caught me by surprise. I’ve become relatively indifferent to the metric, consumed and fueled instead by the idea of getting better. Comforted by the habits and routines of life. And proud of being a little better all the time.
"I am where I am."
Can't we say the same for birthdays? A little mile marker signpost on the side of the highway, letting us know where we are. I see mine now, it’s mile #46. I'm grateful to have made it here. Should I really celebrate the achievement? Is arriving here the point? Once I speed past it, it’s just where I am.
Instead, I want today to be part of the story told on road trips, between the mile markers. I’m living an open-ended narrative, a book that gets written line by line with every new day. A continuous work in progress. I find comfort in thinking of every birthday as the start of a new chapter in that book. Early chapters were character-building, developing backstory, and laying the foundation of a good tale. Some were rather boring. Kicking around on a piece of ground in my hometown. Filled with the monotony of daily life, painful moments of loss, and plenty of mistakes. I wouldn’t dare skip those chapters. In the middle are major moments of celebration, adulation, congratulations, accomplishment, and love. The story - not the mile marker - is deserving of celebration. It’s no surprise, a great book is way more entertaining than mile markers.
In good books, the main character usually has an epiphany. A paradigm shift moment or a sudden realization. Often, that the reader at home knew all along. It could be a pivot that changes the plot altogether. And usually, it sparks a new era. Mine happened a few chapters ago. I didn’t even know it at the time. But I'm better for my plot twist.
Much like Taylor Swift, we all have Eras. Bigger than chapters. Encompassing moods, themes, feelings, and vibes. I’ve found it doesn’t matter much trying to define an era while you live it. Like anyone can even know that? Trying to plan for the next is futile. And I’ll avoid labeling mine (although ‘sourdough era’ does have a nice ring to it). Eras are one of those things that can only be seen clearly in hindsight. Just like Steve Jobs’ dots. Windshields are bigger than rearview mirrors for a reason. Sneak a quick glance back every once and awhile. Admire what’s been done, and say goodbye to all that’s being left behind. Then look ahead to the next mile marker, the next chapter, the next era.
So for this year's mile marker and new chapter, I’m reminding myself:
- I am where I am.
- Acknowledge the mile marker.
- Admire all my Eras.
- Keep writing better chapters.