Crooked Paths

The pictures below popped up in my Facebook Memories a few days ago. It’s from my friend’s “bridal tea”- a posh, pre-shower gathering of close friends and family. We were going for retro-chic in our fascinators and 1960’s inspired garb a la Mad Men. It was 5 years ago, but it might as well have been 50 years ago. So much has changed in our lives since then. I look at all of us; young and bright and happy and wondered for a moment if I would go back in time to prepare us for everything we were headed for. But that’s not how life works. I’ve written before about the rocks in our paths that divert us from our plans. I’m starting to realize that they’re not there just to trip us up. By getting in our way, sometimes they’re actually guiding us to the right way. If we take all those rocks and lay them out together they eventually create their own road. It’s a crooked and bumpy road, but it’s the one that we were meant to take.

It can be difficult to see it that way when things don’t go according to our perfect plan. Our hope is so often tested. It’s especially hard to know when to hold on and when to let go. As I’m getting ready to run the Achilles Hope and Possibility race in a couple of weeks, I’ve been reflecting a lot on hope, despair, and perseverance.

Here’s a story that brought all that to mind:

Something terrible happened a few weeks ago. In the middle of my a.m. run, a lip balm fell out of my pocket and got caught underneath the treadmill belt. In a fury, the belt started folding under my feet. Noooo! I jumped to the side and turned the machine off. Chest heaving, I stared at the carnage in disbelief. Effff! I tugged on the belt trying to unfold it. It wouldn’t budge. Stuck! Stuck!! Stuck!!!

I didn’t have much time to assess the damage if I was going to finish my run before work. I put on my fluffy fleece and grabbed my gloves and my apartment key. It was brutally cold and a little too dark out for my liking. I ran on the sidewalk next to a busy road to feel safer. The wind was biting, though, and it took my breath away a couple of times. The weather reports had been calling for negative degree temperatures. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up this routine.

I spent a good part of the work day contemplating what I was going to do about the situation. The treadmill is no longer under warranty, but the belt had been replaced before so maybe it was an easy fix. Surely I’d be able to take the thing apart and unfold the belt. I got home from work, tossed my coat onto a chair and rummaged through the kitchen drawers for my screwdriver. Returning to the scene brought a pang like a tiny dagger in my heart. My poor old treadmill in such a state. I decided to start disassembling from the front. There were three screws in front and two on the side. I got this, no problem. I went to work on the first one. It was was pretty snug, but I worked it out after a couple of minutes. I made my way to the second and third. By the fourth one, I was feeling quite hopeful. But this one didn’t seem to be moving. I wasn’t sure at first, though. The light was too dim in my room, the screw was so small, and my hands were getting sweaty. I wiped my palms on my pants and held my phone up to the screw for light. It was stripped. Ugh!

I gave it a couple more half-hearted attempts before tossing the screwdriver onto the floor. I let out a long, defeated sigh. I picked up my phone and made my way to the living room. I slumped onto the couch. “Okay Google, find a gym near work”. I guess it was
finally time for a membership. I’d been reluctant until this point, but what other choice did I have? I lifted the living room curtain and turned to gaze out the window. Flakes whirled a few times and then disappeared into the dark. There’s no way I’m running in that for the rest of the week.

A few clicks later and it was done. I’d become a gym rat- one of those people with a gym membership that actually goes to the gym. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The reasons for my initial hesitation has to do with my own vanity, not my distaste for gym people. I’m sure gym people are great. Except for those inconsiderate mid-life crisis guys that insist on using the treadmill right next to you when there’s a dozen others to choose from. What’s up with that? So irritating! I might have to address proper gym etiquette in a future blog…

But for now I have to address something else. The broken treadmill that’s still in my apartment. Not the machine itself, but what it represents. I really haven’t tried again to fix it since that day. I’ve managed to work the gym into my routine pretty seamlessly. I need routine, but I can adapt like nobody’s business. At least when something important is at stake. Although, with this adaptability, I fear I’m lacking something in the way of persistence. Whenever I get a hint that something won’t work out, I shift my focus and find something else to work on. That can be a good thing, but I’m often left wondering what would’ve happened if I persisted.

Life’s a giant pool of possibility and opportunity. If you merely dip your toe in, you won’t be refreshed, you won’t be challenged, you’ll get bored. But if you get in over your head, you might drown. At the very least you’ll be sputtering and gasping and you’ll be left depleted. Hope is life-renewing but false hope can be life-ruining. It’s important to have things that you’re passionate about. Something that if you lost it, you’d be heart broken. Heart break is important too; it’s character building. But it’s so incredibly dangerous to pin your hopes onto one thing or something unattainable.

Our passions help us find our purpose. And anything worth having is worth fighting for. But you have to be able to recognize whether to soldier forward or to reroute your pursuits. This is one of life’s most difficult tasks. Imagine treading water and not knowing which end of the pool to swim towards. It takes experience and wisdom to eventually get you there. I pray every day for that wisdom.

For now, that old broken treadmill remains like a reminder of unfinished business. It reminds me of things I gave up on too soon. It reminds me of traits and bad habits I still have to work on.  It reminds me that I tend to be more diligent about my running than about my faith. That’s one I’m working on. Because in the end, it may not matter how vigorously we pursue our own plans. It’s the plan that was meant for us that will be better than we can ever imagine.