I've been writing to run toward and run away.
It's a strange thing to admit that I've been talking to God in an effort to avoid hearing something from Him. I don't think He's going to tell me what I fear He will, but I was (am) filling silences just in case.
He told me something in August that is ambiguous. I like clarity and certainty, because I like being in control. So now I'm waiting for the time He said to wait for, and flying between peace and restlessness in the mean time.
What's been grand about waiting this time around is how I am beginning to own my emotions and distinctly feel each one.
What's been less-than-stellar about waiting this time around is the extremity of each of those emotions. The time I'm waiting for will be cause for revelry or collapse. Not in the extremest of those extremes, no, not in the sense that I will be made or destroyed, simply overwhelmed for a time with joy or heartache.
And of course, since I am a woman living in the age of Disney and Darcy, I may be building this up a tad.
I am trying to not glamorize anything in my mind, and not produce my own film of the outcomes. Some days are better than others.
I'm both running to and from all that.
This phase of my life finally feels temporary and hopeful.
I'm trying to run to Washington, DC. I want to go to graduate school for business there, ideally.
I'm trying to run at least 3 times a week even though I don't have a race looming in front of me.
I can easily run a mile. That's nice.