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The Path of Commitment

07/01/2017 by John Leave a Comment

I am commitment phobic. I fear making commitments and then not living up to them, thereby disappointing myself or others. I fear committing to the “wrong” thing. I worry that commitments place boundaries on my life, something I am resistant to. But, a commitment can also be thought of as choosing a path, a metaphor that resonates with me.

A path can provide focus and a sense of direction. But while following a path, there is the freedom to change direction if I find a fork that looks interesting. I am also free to leave the path all together and head out cross country if I see something in the distance of interest. A path is there to provide guidance, not constraints.

Likewise, commitments help to guide me in the direction I take my life. They limit the amount of choices I have to make in my day, usually for the better. For example, when I am training for an ultramarathon, there is no question when I wake up in the morning about whether or not I will go for a run or how long that run will be. When I am fully committed to something, I find it much harder to talk myself out of doing it.

The benefits of commitment are evident in many areas of my life. I have been committed to the same person for close to 20 years now and it has brought about a relationship of depth and intimacy that is only possible through so much shared time and experience together. Commitment has allowed me to run 100 miles. Commitment to a plant-based diet has provided me with more vitality and mental clarity. Commitment to a meditation practice is changing my treatment of others and my perception of myself and the world.

The benefits of being committed to something worthy are hard won. They take time to manifest. They require sacrifice and there are plenty of times of discouragement and doubt along the way, but a well chosen path is worth taking. Though we may not know where it leads, each step of the way can teach us something valuable.

Based on a journal entry from 6.23.14

Missing Bonnaroo

06/24/2017 by John Leave a Comment

There’s Bonnaroo; and then there is the rest of the year. Written on 06.18.13

Every June from 2008 through 2011 and again in 2013, three friends and I made a pilgrimage to Bonnaroo to enjoy four days worth of music, beer, and friendship. There is something magical about being at Bonnaroo. It is a place dislocated in time and space, a sort of dream state where the responsibilities of waking life cannot penetrate. In this world of throbbing music, swirling currents of people, and quiet moments of relaxation; our friendships were renewed in ways that can’t easily happen in the short encounters of a couple of hours at best that usually constitutes time spent with friends.

During those years, Bonnaroo was a way I marked time. Making the journey to “The Farm” in the fields outside of Manchester, Tennessee was an annual right of passage, something I thought would be a part of my life for years to come. But our projections about the future are rarely accurate.

Life has had other plans for my friends and I, and we have not returned to “The Farm” in four years. The pop-up camper whose air conditioned interior where we retreated from the hot Tennessee summer has been sold, the roar of the gas powered generator that lulled us to sleep at night silenced. Still, when the heat of the middle of June rolls around, my thoughts always return to Bonnaroo, no matter where in the world my body might be at the time.

With each passing year, there are fewer and fewer bands whose names I recognize listed on the line-up. But for me, Bonnaroo was never really about the music anyway. It was about four aging men getting to spend a long weekend pretending that they were young again. Someday, with deeper wrinkles and perhaps an even greater appreciation of how precious time is, I hope we return to Bonnaroo again.

Learning How To Dance

06/03/2017 by John Leave a Comment

In the life of a relationship, there are periods of pulling together and pushing apart. We seek closeness with others, yet are also afraid of it. Sometimes two people push away too hard and their connection is irreparably broken. Sometimes people pull together too tightly and smother one another.

It is a delicate dance, to stay connected and intimate with another and still provide space for the individuals involved to breath and to grow. The dance of a relationship takes practice, attention, and hard work. But there is learning in the missteps and joy when the moves are flowing freely from one to the next. It is a dance that can never be perfected, but one that rewards every effort we put into it.

Based on a journal entry from 5.30.14