I ran this morning. I really didn't want to. I had to force myself out the door. But before I could get out that door, there was an internal battle I had to wage. My mind came up with all kinds of reasons why I shouldn't or couldn't run. Any one of them could have worked as an excuse. They all seemed so logical. Deep down though, a small part of me knew I was lying to myself. It was self-sabotage. There was no good reason not to do this run, on this morning, at this time. No good reason, at all.
So I ran.
Once my feet were moving, I felt good. The battle with myself now seemed ridiculous. I was actually running at a faster pace than is normally comfortable. I ended up having the fastest run of the month, so far. Along the way an interesting thing happened, it started to rain. It was a gentle, invigorating rain, backlit by a rising sun struggling through some broken clouds. And, as if on cue, I glanced over my right shoulder and there was a partial rainbow. It was a perfect moment. The kind of moment you know is going to stick with you for a while. The kind of moment you are going to want to recall when things aren't so perfect.
After my run, I wondered how many "perfect moments" I had missed because I convinced myself to do one thing over another. What will it take to remember this for the next battle with myself?
Pat Greenwell is an artist. A painter and sometimes poet, he has been searching the New Mexico desert for a couple of years now, looking for lost possibilities and probable intentions.
"...mostly stream-of-consciousness stuff, you know...