What If Life Is a Marathon, Not a Sprint?

I realized recently that I have spent most of my life behaving as though I am running late.

There is always somewhere I should be getting.

A problem I should have solved.

A goal I should have reached.

A version of my life I should already be living.

Even when nothing is particularly wrong, I can find something that needs to be fixed.

My finances.

My weight.

My work.

My business.

My mother's health.

My future.

There is always a finish line somewhere in the distance.

And apparently, I have decided I should be sprinting toward it.

I'm 52 years old.

This seems like an exhausting way to spend the second half of my life.

I'll Be Able to Relax When...

I've noticed how often my thoughts begin with some version of when.

When I lose the weight.

When I make more money.

When my business is working.

When I know what's going to happen with my mother.

When I'm through my knee surgeries.

When I'm living completely on my own again.

When I know what the next chapter looks like.

Then I'll relax.

Then I'll enjoy myself.

Then I'll feel secure.

Then my actual life can begin.

Except I've been alive long enough to know what happens when you finally reach one of those imaginary finish lines.

Another one appears.

There is always another problem to solve.

That's life.

What If There Is No Finish Line?

I wrote something in my journal recently that stopped me:

What if life is a marathon?

Not in the usual inspirational sense of pushing through and proving how tough you are.

I mean something much simpler.

What if I'm supposed to pace myself?

What if I don't need to solve everything right now?

That idea changes almost everything.

I don't need to know exactly what my career will look like five years from now.

I need to do something useful today.

I don't need to know whether one of my businesses will become successful.

I need to give them a legitimate chance to become something.

I don't need to solve my entire financial future this month.

I need to make responsible decisions with the money I have now.

I don't need to know exactly what my life will look like after my mother dies.

I need to live the life that exists while she's still here.

That feels very different from waiting.

The Problem With Living in the Future

This season of my life has contained an enormous amount of uncertainty.

And uncertainty makes my brain want to plan.

I actually like planning.

Give me a problem, a spreadsheet and a few hours and I'm quite happy.

Planning makes me feel as though I have some control.

Sometimes I do.

But there are things I cannot spreadsheet my way out of.

I don't know how long my mother will be here.

I don't know exactly what will happen with my businesses.

I don't know what my finances will look like several years from now.

I don't know where I'll ultimately live.

I don't know who will be part of my life.

And when I try hard enough to answer questions that don't have answers yet, planning stops being useful.

It becomes anxiety wearing sensible shoes.

Today Is Not the Waiting Room

For a long time, I've thought of this period as an in-between season.

There's the life before caregiving.

And someday there will be the life after it.

This is the middle.

The waiting room.

Except something has been changing.

I'm realizing I actually like quite a lot about my life.

I love my home.

I love my neighborhood.

I love being close to my family.

I love working in my garden and making the house beautiful.

I like seeing my nieces.

I like having ideas and building things.

I like the simplicity of my days.

I even like being home more than I used to.

There are things I desperately miss.

Freedom is probably the biggest one.

There are things about caregiving that are difficult and frustrating and sometimes deeply sad.

But both things can be true.

This season can be hard without being a throwaway season.

My life hasn't stopped.

This is my life.

Maybe the Goal Is a Good Pace

There are things I want.

I want more financial security.

I want my businesses to work.

I want to continue getting stronger.

I want more independence.

I want love and companionship.

I want adventures I haven't had yet.

I'm not giving any of that up.

But maybe wanting something doesn't require being dissatisfied until I have it.

Maybe I can build toward a different future without treating my current life like an obstacle standing in its way.

That might be the lesson I'm learning at 52.

I don't need to sprint toward the woman I'm becoming.

I don't need to catch up.

I don't need to have the next ten years figured out.

I can take care of what is mine to take care of today.

I can build things slowly.

I can change my mind.

I can rest.

I can enjoy what is already good.

And tomorrow, I can get up and take another step.

There is no prize for getting to the end faster.

Maybe the point is to actually be here for the miles along the way.