I ran a half marathon just over 5 weeks ago and feel like I’ve been running ever since. Since the race on Labor Day, I have travelled to 3 very different places--Puerto Rico, Minnesota, and Utah. When I returned from the last trip last week, I decided that it was time to take off the running shoes and stay home for a while. Within an hour of being in my quiet, childless home, I also realized that I had subconsciously scheduled these trips so close together for a good reason--to avoid having to feel the loneliness of this new phase of life.
Logically, I know it’s ok to feel lonely. I just don't like it. It makes me sad and depressed, and who wants to feel like that? So I've decided to see loneliness as a good thing. When I re-frame my sadness, I see that I feel lonely because I also know what it's like to feel loved. Some might say I'm avoiding reality, but I don't think so. I remember when my daughter started running cross country in high school and she learned that a hill wasn’t just a beastly thing to endure while running, but also an opportunity to grow stronger. Seeing it like that didn’t make the hill any shorter or less steep, but it did help create the motivation to push yourself upwards. So the fact that I know what it’s like to feel loved helps me to see loneliness as a way to increase my compassion and love for others.
My recent travels have also shown me that my definition of home has expanded to include far off places. In fact, I now see that “home” is really more of a feeling than a place. My home is here where I raised my family and live with my loving husband who can still make me laugh after 25 years; my home is in Utah where I went to college and where my sons are currently having both good and hard experiences (as only college can provide); my home is in Berlin where my daughter is looking for ways, every hour of every day, to serve people and teach them about God and Jesus Christ; my home is in Minnesota where I grew up and where my siblings still live and where there are autumn leaves of every hue that crunch when you walk on them and beautiful blue lakes around every corner; my home is in sunny St. George where my 84-year-old mom lives among the red rocks and desert landscapes.
I have lived long enough to realize that my definition of home will continue to morph as my life’s circumstances change, and I look forward to seeing what “home” will mean in the next phases of life. And I think that I will keep running and looking for new opportunities at the top of every hill.
