Not My Race

 When I was in 8th grade, I joined the track team.  To this day, I don't know why I thought that was a good idea.  I think that I knew I wanted to belong and it seemed that being in a sport was a good way to orchestrate belonging.  It didn't work.  

I have a vivid memory of the first race I "ran" in.  We were all lined up in out respective lanes and I was excited for the new adventure.  Maybe *this* would be my THING.  The starting gun popped and I ran with all my might.  At first, I was right in the pack, but about mid-way through the race I realized I wasn't having fun.  I don't like running.  I also realized that I could run my very fastest and I would never, ever catch up to the leaders.  The weight of that realization filled my heart & soul and my pace slowed.  By the time I finished the race in dead last place, I was basically walking with a bounce.  

From the outside looking in, I'm sure it appeared that I had given up.  I suppose in a certain sense I had.  However, I wasn't being a "sore loser."  I didn't care about winning.  Not really.  It was just that in the middle of that race, I realized I was *supposed* to care about winning.  I was supposed to have some kind of fire in my belly that pushed me to keep running and want to win.  I think I was supposed to feel that the chase - the striving for better and trying to beat the next person - was fun.  And it wasn't.  I didn't find that fun.  

The tragedy in that situation is that I wanted desperately to please people - my family, my teachers, my peers, and, in this situation, the coach.  I wanted them to measure up and be who I was *supposed* to be.  This is a tragedy because instead of viewing the realization that I didn't like track (or competition) as just developing a sense of my own self, I saw it as a failure. I should want this, so I will pretend that I do.  I'm not good at pretending, by the way.

I've been thinking a lot about that track experience lately.  I know that's odd because that experience happened about a million years ago.  However, I think it's because the school year is looming before me and there are so many "shoulds" staring me and my family in the face.  

My kids *should* be in a million activities.  They *should* get up ungodly early for practice. They *should* get exceptional grades.  They *should* have limited screen time and eat vegetables and engage in social activities.  We *should* like end of the season sports banquets and pep fests and homecoming and school spirit.

I *should* want to continue rising in my profession, which apparently means taking on more duties and working all of the time.  I *should* win awards and popularity contests and accolades.  I *should* volunteer and serve on boards and be a leader.  I *should* want to be involved and active and productive.  I *should* do all the things, be all the things, and get my kids to do and be too.  

And you know what?  I'm tired.  This isn't my race.  I don't find that fun.

In 7th grade, it looked like I was quitting when my pace slowed.  But, what if that was just me taking a step back to figure out the direction my next step should take?  What if that was me trying to listen to the still small voice telling me my truth?  Sometimes we need to pause and take a deep breath in order to listen, really listen, to our intuition.  

That's where I'm at.  The starting gun is about to pop and I'm supposed to be in my lane ready to bolt.  Only, it doesn't feel like this is my race.  I don't want to fight and claw my way to relevance and wide-spread respect.  I just want to be.  That's it.  I just want to BE.  

So much of our culture runs counter to what my inner knowing is telling me to do.  And so, at this moment I'm not exactly sure how to get myself out of the lane and excuse myself from the race.  Maybe the next right step is to slow my pace and not worry about the people streaming past me.  Maybe the next right step is to pause and not be bothered about the winning or the losing or the striving or the doing.  And maybe in that pause I'll find the path that takes me off the track and out of the race altogether.  

Maybe, right now, knowing this isn't actually my race is enough.  I can figure out the rest.  

Our first act of rebellion. 
My girls are *supposed* to be at swimming practice.
We are "sleeping in" instead. 
We're running our own race at the moment.