August

 I have to begin now to see my year as a challenge that I will complete. 

Melancholy- a feeling of pensive sadness with no apparent reason. Pensive means reflecting deep or serious thought.

bittersweet-is both bitter and sweet-pleasant but including elements of suffering or regret. Brene Brown says that it is a mix of feeling of happiness and sadness. It is a sadness of letting go of somethig, mixed with happiness and/pr gratitude about what's been experiences or what's next. Considering these descriptions, I would not call August the saddest month. Yes, we are losing daylight with the peak of summer on August 7th but there is anticipation of things to come. It is a month of awaiting the next thing...the leaves are falling from the drought conditions usually leaving a crunch beneath my feet on the trails, but there is sun, heat, and swimming still to be done. 

I don't think I ever felt the sadness of August. I think August has always been a bittersweet, but exciting time...back to swimming, back to school (and my friends), and moving closer to being an adult. By August, I had grown tired of the long days with nothing to do, I craved a schedule, sports, and friends. When I think about it, August is when I would usually visit Florida with its thick humidity and heat. That was not marking the end of summer, but an exciting time I had looked forward to. The freedom of the farm. Dad would not have agreed with that statement. His memories of the farm were filled with family and all the good stuff, but also pain, suffering, and stagnation. 

Back to August...the author points out that we lose 80 minutes of daylight in August. I like that late August dimming of the sun, which brings cooler evenings. This year running the 55k followed by visiting with Mom and Dave then cleaning out Cannon's room and going through old papers, letters, and memorabilia, had me feeling reflective and definitely thinking about how quickly time moves from year to year, season to season. Tucker and I have been together for 24 years, married for 23! Amazing. I remember being 23 and thinking that l couldn't wait for life to begin. I still feel that occasionally. Constantly thinking about, "what is the point of all this?" We worked so hard to provide and pay bills, but did we live? Did we miss out on doing things as a family that we will never be able to do with our littles again? I have to be reminded of all that we did together. At times, it is hard to see all the good stuff with the cloud of Covid, and that time that ruined me for a while. Yet, August is not all bad. It singles a new beginning. The opportunity to move closer to truth. 

I was also shocked by my melancholy feelings while I was in Michigan. That late summer sun, the hazy days with crisp grass and leaves underfoot, were ominous. I had a pressured feeling to make things right with Mom, but to also express my hurt. When I yelled at her, I wanted her to know that I am tired of always being the one to soldier on without emotions. Just keep moving...being the child who was forced into adulthood and a caregiver too soon. That is what I thought was the truth. It is what TikTok tells me is the truth about Generation X children. I was a product of my upbringing and both the Boomers and the Silent Generation. We did what we had to do and respect for your parents was akin to "be good, and don't cause any trouble for you, Mom and Dad." I can now see that my anger, frustration, and sadness, are aimed at how I grew up.  I was taught not to ask for help, not to ask for my needs to be met, and not to need anything from my family. True that my family was always there for me, but it is hard to override that internal code. I told Mom that my sense of independence was not from a place of confidence but of necessity. I was responsible for myself and my needs. I was blaming Mom, Bebe, Dad, and Dave for my problems today. I can't be vulnerable and ask for help because of YOU! I am a teenager. Stunted when that trauma happened. But do you know who is responsible now? ME. 

The author says that as our kids grow, we get to relive summer with a sense of joy, freedom, and wonder that comes with childhood. As they grow we lose that connection. This confirmed why I want our lake house. We will have grandchildren someday and I want to have a place where we can all grow together and experience life. Beach house would be amazing but the lake is good and a boat might be a good place to start. How about start now? We had an excellent time in MI at the lake and I would be happy to do that every year. Maybe at Silver Lake which is a little closer. BUT let's live now. Today! How about the water park? Not too sure that would be good with this UTI. Tonight...pizza and a fire? 

This is why I need to keep a journal or blog. I need to remember all the little things along the way. Shopping with Campbell was special. Going out to eat with her was special. Tucker and I having time together while the kids were skiing in Colorado was special. 

I was feeling it all so much last night. That and somehow I was lucky enough to receive three rejections in one day, two for the novel I’m querying and one for an article I pitched. I’ve been quiet around here because I’ve been drafting a new novel and trying to place several essays I’ve written, revised and polished with my writing group. I’ve been feeling like my writing bio needed a few new bylines that weren’t exclusively related to running. These new essays range in topics from Dawson’s Creek to Lindsey Vonn to Beach Leaf Disease. Normally when I receive a rejection for an essay, I just put it here on Substack. It’s easy enough, it gets the work out into the world even if the audience is small. But lately I’ve been trying to have some patience, to spend more time revising pieces for a specific outlet, polishing them until I think they have a chance. They aren’t finding homes though, neither is my novel. August is the saddest month, especially when you keep putting yourself out there and keep hearing “no.” When I feel like everything is ending or a dead end, the only medicine for me is to get outside. So last night I announced at dinner I was going for a walk on the rail trail. I needed to see the ripples on the lake, walk through the tunnel of oaks just past the boat launch, hear the crunch of my feet on the gravel, my arms swing through the still air. It’s the best way to get un-sad. The best, best way is a sunrise hike or a long day above tree-line, then I feel so high no amount of sad can touch me. Not time slipping away, not even rejection. We walked for longer than anyone wanted to. “How much longer?” They asked. “To the boat launch,” I said, powering ahead carrying the sweatshirt of someone who was too hot. I told him to tie it around his waist so I wouldn’t have to carry it, but he was off and running before he heard me. I bunched the sweatshirt in my hand, so it swung in time as I walked. Then I tucked it under my arm, hugging it to me. Glad to have something to carry, glad to be mothering in this way. As I walked I could feel the sad seep out of me, gratitude taking its place. Oh, these legs! Those oak leaves! The tunnel of fading light. The final pink of sunset shimmering on Back Bay. “Red at night sailor’s delight,” I said to everyone as we walked back to the car, reminding them of the good weather to come, reminding myself of the good days to come. The facts remain the same. I had a single mom, Dad went to rehab in 76 so we stayed with Grandma and Grandpa while he was in the Anchorage. Perhaps we just did not see him for a year or two and then we went to GA? Anyway...we did see Dad after he left. Both Mom and Dad were in our life. Mom did a good job raising us. She did the best she could with help from the Bares. I grew up with safety and love. Except for the times that  Notes from my visit in August and the 55k triumph not fast but finished With August being a season of reflection and new beginnings and the beginning of the end, it is only fitting that I begin my reframing journey here where I am. Where am I? I am drinking a glass of chardonnay at 4am. Why do I think a little buzz is every better than straight clarity. I seem to have acquired the idea that a few drinks will help me reach understanding. It probably won't help any more