Do you remember that moment when you realized music was more than just music?
Can you pinpoint that infinitesimal, and yet life-changing moment, when art was no longer just a picture on a wall?
When you understood that stories make worlds, and break worlds?
That second when they first made your heart, and then ripped it in two?
When did you last love someone?
When did you last feel most alive?
This weekend I came second in a 10k race held at Shubie Park over in Dartmouth. I was sixth overall to finish in a time of 41:56. Although this was considerably slower than my last race, I can chalk it up to three things: the thick web of phlegm in my lungs; the hilly course; and the wind.
That morning the entire city was battered by a cruel and vengeful Aeolus.
I felt blown about. Like a whisper, half heard in the fall air.
But it didn’t matter.
For a while now, running has been the only that has made me feel truly alive.
Sometimes, I fear that I’ve become a shadow – a poor replica, forever lost in a back-lit cave.
But when I run, I am a shadow with a shadow.
I am real.
I am alive and I am okay.
Running reminds me that it’s not just a matter of being alive and being okay; it’s about taking every single thing that makes you alive and okay – the things that make your fingers itch and your heart ache and your knees weak and your arms shake – and saying: I see.
I see and I know and I love.
It reminds me of the stories and art and music that build my word.
That build my love.
And it reminds me that I can build worlds.
That I can build love, too.