Tag: reset

How Little We Know

I stood in the shadow of the Hotel Sam Houston, trying not to shiver.

Corral A of the Aramco Houston Half Marathon was packed. Half marathoners brimmed with anticipation.

And then, there was me.

I had never run a half marathon before. I had no idea what I should have been doing or thinking. I hadn’t even brought throwaway clothes to protect me against the 33-degree temperatures.

Fortunately, I didn’t have too long to dwell on these details. The clock reached the top of the hour, and suddenly I was off.

It took about a few blocks for me to recognize that I was actually doing it. I was running a half marathon.

And it took a few miles for me to realize that I was running it a lot faster than anticipated.

I thought about dialing back and saving my energy. But I felt good running in the crisp morning air and decided to keep at it.

I passed a pace group and dozens of other runners, and I didn’t even start to fade until the last mile. I rallied to cross the finish line just over 90 minutes after I started running. My time was a full 10 minutes ahead of my goal.

As I caught my breath and headed over to claim my finisher medal, I was still in disbelief. I had never run that distance in that time before. It must have been a fluke.

But it was no fluke.

I bested my time at another half marathon in Fort Worth six weeks later. And then I went to Oregon two months after that and set yet another personal best.

It turned out I had a knack for distance running. But I had no idea this power lay within me as I waited in the frigid corral that morning in Houston.

How little we know.

That memory from Corral A in Houston seems distant — a sepia-toned postcard from another era.

In truth, it occurred less than a year before I put these words to paper.

Yes, a year ago, I had no idea I’d become an accomplished distance runner. I was just hoping I’d cross the finish line without running out of gas.

These days, I’m hoping for the same thing.

A rash of injuries has put my running adventures on pause. And after a series of interventions to help those maladies heal, I’m hoping I can return to form someday.

Many in my circle are bullish about my chances. They’ve seen what I’ve accomplished and have no doubt I can do it again.

But I’m far less confident.

This sport can bring you to new heights, but it can also break your heart. I’ve experienced both outcomes in less than twelve months’ time. And what comes next is anyone’s guess.

I hope my will remains strong and my body gets stronger. I hope to make it through the grueling rehab cycle without major setbacks. I hope to fly again, my strides gliding over the pavement with a burst of speed.

But I expect none of that.

How little we know.

As I write this, the world is preparing for one of my least favorite rituals.

The calendar is set to turn over again. And we’re set to stay up until midnight, watch fireworks, and pour champagne. Again.

New Year’s Eve is always quite the party. But it’s also something of a last hurrah.

We might speak broad platitudes about the year to come. We might erroneously muse about how we’ll be different when the clock strikes 12. (Seriously, stop that nonsense!) We might put on a brave face, sharing tidings and cheer.

But deep down inside, we’re terrified.

There’s no clue what’s to come in the next chapter. There’s no proof to validate our gut instincts.

The road ahead is shrouded with fog, and there’s nothing to clear it away.

We hope for favorable outcomes. But we cannot count on them. Millenia of history prove as much.

How little we know.

This New Year’s seems more fraught than many.

Spiking interest rates, rising prices, and a spate of high-profile layoffs have many Americans concerned. Violence and divisiveness continue to hound our society. And a spate of health crises remains ever present.

It certainly feels like we’re up against it. The pessimistic responses to various opinion surveys certainly bears that out.

But there are others who remain cheery and optimistic. Even amidst the spate of dark clouds, they see brighter days ahead — and soon.

It’s a classic conundrum — glass half-empty vs. glass half-full. But both sides are wrong.

For the mindset we bring into the upcoming year won’t impact our fortunes. The future writes itself the same way, whether we approach it with a smile or a frown.

We might think we have a peek around the bend. But these thoughts are nothing more than false prophecies.

How little we know.

I was obviously ill-prepared for the Aramco Houston Half Marathon. But it wasn’t for a lack of information.

All week, I’d checked the weather forecast. I’d looked at the hour-by-hour conditions, and I’d brought a variety of athletic clothes with me to Houston.

Yet, in the moment of truth, such prognostication meant little. As I dressed for the race, I had little confidence that the forecast would hold. And even if it did, I had no idea what those temperatures, wind speeds, and humidity measures would feel like as I ran.

So, I scrapped any plans to predict what came next. I committed to embracing the gray.

And while that left me underdressed at the starting line, it didn’t cost me at the finish.

Perhaps I can repeat this feat as I stare down the future. Perhaps we all can.

It might not make the events that lie ahead of us any rosier. It might not make the outcome any clearer. And it surely won’t leave us any readier to hit the ground running when they occur.

But it will save us the disappointment of dashed predictions. It will spare those around us the toxic effects of pessimism. And it will shield all of us from the futile temptation to write tomorrow today.

We gain acuity through our experience, not our musings. And the best way to gain that experience is with an open mind, a full heart, and a courageous spirit.

How little we know today. How much we are yet to know.

Let’s make it happen.

The Reset

There’s an old country song that I like. One whose chorus reverberates on the wildest of days.

Stop the world and let me off. I’m tired of going round and round.

When the going gets tough, it’s hard not to heed those words. It’s tempting to fantasize about heading to a remote beach somewhere and just letting all our troubles slip away.

Yet, when these thoughts do enter my mind, they don’t stay there for long. For try as I might, I just can’t embrace the thought of an escape.

This has frustrated friends and family, who have tried to lure me onto cruise ships or out to the wilderness. Every time they’ve asked me to join them on these ventures, I’ve resisted.

I just can’t give up the life I know, not even for a minute. I just can’t reset.

Unless, of course, my hand is forced.

I was once asked which animal I most identified with.

A lion, I quickly replied. I’m honorable and courageous but also determined.

As I think back on this question, my answer seems spot-on. And yet, I keep thinking that I should have chosen a mule as my spirit animal instead. Because I’m stubborn as heck.

Yes, ever since my earliest days, I’ve been a creature of routine. Change hasn’t excited me; it’s terrified me.

This fear wouldn’t rear its head in normal ways. But my aversion to novelty was still plenty evident.

For instance, I would travel with my family without much of a fuss. But once we got to our destination, I would often refuse to eat much. I was already a skinny kid, but I’d come home looking like a skeleton.

So no, the idea of a reset didn’t appeal to me. In fact, I’ve mostly acquiesced to resetting when I had no other choice.

I have had the courage and determination to see the process through in those moments. I wouldn’t say I enjoyed the experience. But I’ve found myself better for going through it.

Heading off to college made me more independent. Moving halfway across America for my first real job made me self-sufficient. And leaving that career without a backup plan made me reassess what I valued in life.

I transformed from a mule into a lion, rising from a lowly pack animal to the king of the jungle. And as the years went on, I settled in. My metamorphosis was complete.

Or so I thought.

I’ve experienced some jarring moments throughout my life.

I made the harrowing journey out of New York City on 9/11. I once got into a car wreck on a Florida interstate. I’ve hunkered down in the wake of multiple tornado warnings in Texas.

And yet, nothing quite compared to the early days of the COVID pandemic.

At first glance, everything seemed normal. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. Plants were in bloom.

But such rites of springtime were punctuated by the sound of silence.

My once-vibrant world was reduced to ten square miles for about three months. My SUV sat idle in the garage while I worked from my dining room table. My friends and family went from real people to faces on my laptop screen.

I should have been OK with this. I’m an introvert, after all. And a deadly virus was on the loose.

Still, I couldn’t help feeling cheated by the circumstances.

I had built a life that I was comfortable with. I was anticipating a blockbuster year. And then it was all quickly ripped away.

As I waded through the quagmire of those early-pandemic days, I kept encountering the same advice. It was in news articles, business podcasts, and seemingly every other type of media I consumed to pass the time.

Now is the time to reset, the advice read. Now is the time to try something new, to build something from the chaos.

This advice enraged me. For I didn’t want to reset. I didn’t feel I needed to reset.

I was fine with the way things were. But now, that feeling of Zen had been ripped apart by an invisible storm. And once the storm passed, I’d have to work my tail off just to get back what I’d so recently had.

So no, the idea of a reset was not appealing in the least.

But maybe it should have been.

How do we look at the past?

Do we assess it honestly, warts and all? Or do we add a golden hue?

These are questions I consider when looking back on the calm before the storm. For our mind can play tricks on us.

I remember the months before the 9/11 attacks being a joyous time. But they weren’t.

My grandmother was undergoing cancer treatment that summer. And I was in the early stages of teenage listlessness.

Similarly, I like to think I was on a roll before the COVID pandemic rocked our world. I was successful and self-sufficient. I’d recently gotten a graduate degree in business administration. I was writing, cooking, and exercising regularly.

On the surface, things were great. But some subtle fault lines had begun to show.

I had developed a degree of social anxiety, particularly when around large groups of friends. I had started to lose patience with a stagnating job search. And I’d been working myself to the bone to avoid dealing with these issues.

The prolonged pause brought on by the pandemic didn’t magically fix these issues. If anything, it exacerbated them.

Social anxiety gave way to a profound sense of loss. The job search gave way to the realities of a steep recession. And I found myself working even harder as I adjusted to my new reality.

Still, there’s no doubt that the pandemic forced me to reset. The attrition of the event alone made that unavoidable.

And as I’ve emerged from that reboot, something strange has happened. I’ve found myself thriving.

My bandwidth for socializing has increased exponentially. I was able to land a job that’s been everything I hoped for and more. And I’ve approached each day with an air of confidence that simply had not been there before.

As I consider all this, I regret my previous aversion to the reset. I wish I had forced myself to pause here and there before nature forced my hand.

I now recognize that resetting is a sign of strength, not weakness. I now understand that rebooting is a key feature of growth.

So, moving forward, I will heed the gospel of that old country song.

Every now and then, I will stop the world and let myself off for a moment. Not to escape my reality, but to realize my potential.

But this is not just about me. I encourage you to do the same when the moment calls for it.

A well-timed reset can work wonders. Don’t let the opportunity pass you by.