Panic and the Art of Letting Go

One good (or bad) thing about running is that you have time to think. Sure, I listen to my ipod way too loud but there is also thinking going on beneath the music.

I did 6 miles Saturday morning and my thoughts started easy and manageable and progressed to pure panic and then back again. 

Much of my running is a prayer. I thanked God for the perfect running conditions; sunny and temp in the 50's. (It doesn't get any better than that.) I thanked God for my health and my ability to get outside and safely run. 

Sometimes thoughts turn self-deprecating when I have to stop and walk. When a woman probably 25 years older than me blows past me going up a hill, I think "what in the world?" Ginger, you should be doing better than this. But, then I remember I'm not in a race and I can usually tune that out. 

Then, I think about how Ryan will turn 6 next Tuesday and all thoughts lose all reason. The panic sets in because (a.) I do not want my baby to turn 6 and (b). He is my baby (c.) This means I am getting older too.  Makes perfect sense, right? 

I panic because I think about all the things I have to do before next Tuesday and his birthday party. 

How will I do it all? How will I have time to do this, this, and this and plan his party, and go to baseball, and fit in running and planning meals, and laundry and the other million little errands that have to be done every week. And did I mention he only wants his birthday party at home and I have a gazillion ideas in my head that I want to do but know will never make it out of my head by next week. 

The Virgoan panic of wanting things perfect sets in and so I keep running and eventually I realize: IT'S GOING TO BE OKAY.

No, I do not want my boys to grow up and leave me. I just don't.  But, I can't make them stop growing. 

Yes, it would be great to always have a baby, but that is not my reality. 

No, Ryan's party does not have to be perfect, because guess what? He doesn't care. He just wants his friends to come over to play and eat pizza and cake. 

And so I run. And I run slowly and that's okay too. Because on that beautiful Saturday morning I eventually got rid of the panic and headed over to the baseball fields in time to see my almost 6 yr old Ryan play baseball. The kid hits that ball every time it's thrown to him and runs lightening fast. It's a joy to watch my boys in whatever they are doing. 

Today my Nana turns 80. She has 3 children, 6 grandchildren, and 2 great-grandchildren. She is beautiful, smart, funny and very independent. Maybe growing up isn't all bad.