Commit to Something

I went to my son’s school’s Home and School Association meeting earlier this week - the first one I’ve attended in his two plus years at his lovely little parochial school. It surprises me that it has taken me this long to get there. For one, I have three degrees in education so you’d think it would be a no brainer for me to be an attentive and involved parent in the Home and School Association. But the other even bigger thing is that we’ve made a commitment to this school and to our son’s education. We pay for him to attend. And the least I can do is actively participate and be involved.

Truly committing to things you want and believe in takes more than just time or desire; it often takes courage. Because sometimes we just don’t know what’s on the other side of a commitment. Take me for example – staying slightly removed from any major volunteer roles at my son’s school. I am afraid I won’t have the time, that it will take me away from my family, that I will be asked to do more than I willingly want to give.

Sometimes a commitment gives us a goal and some structure. And sometimes, this is exactly what we need. A plan, something to hold onto, something to work toward that lives in the future. Something we can see and count on.

I came up with such a plan recently. Running a marathon has always seemed to live somewhere in my future. And in recent months I’ve come to the conclusion that it would be a great way to usher in my fortieth year. I’m hesitant to totally commit for many reasons but I think if I had a partner I might be more motivated to see it through. Someone to both help me and hold me accountable.

So here’s my lifelong friend Terri navigating her recent losses and working through her grief . . . and I’m thinking this could be good for both of us. The idea is fanned and a flame ignites in me – I feel my convictions growing stronger. Of course I’ve got to try and co-opt her into my plan (I was always good at this – her dad thought I was the brains behind our many schemes but he never gave her enough “credit”: she gave me the energy and motivation for many a well-laid plan).

I tell anyone who is grieving that physical activity – particularly walking or running – is one of the best ways to help yourself when you are sad and muddling through. I keep telling Terri she needs to walk or run – that this will strengthen her heart, quiet her mind, nourish her soul. The on-going banter goes something like this in my almost daily check-ins. “Get your new running shoes yet?” Her latest response was, “Meaghan. I’m depressed! I don’t want to get out of bed. No I haven’t gotten my shoes yet.” “O.K,” I answered, “but when you do I want to tell you about an idea I have. Nothing you need to worry about now but in a month or two we’ll talk more . . . “

I knew she’d need to know more. “What?” she says. “Well, I think we should start training together – when you’re ready of course.” “Training like how?” she asks. “You mean like a mile a day?” “Yeah,” I affirm, “maybe we’ll start with a mile a day and then move to two miles a day in the second week, three miles a day in the third week . . . until . . . we’re ready for a marathon. I think we should run a marathon together.” I put it out there, let it hang for a second and sink in.

“Marathon? Are you kidding? How long is a marathon? When is this marathon?” she asks. I’m feeling lucky – she sounds intrigued . . . “Well, we could do the Country Music Marathon in Nashville in April – it’s 26.2 miles . . ." She says, “You mean we’d run 13.1 each?” And like that, I see our plan taking shape.

“Yes, that’s perfect! We could do the half-marathon in April. And then, if we feel good and up to it, we could do the full marathon in Chicago in October. What do you think?” I ask hopefully. And she says slowly, “I don’t know . . . “

But I think I’ve got her. And I think she needs this. I know I do. I need the connection with her. I need her to motivate me. She needs something life-affirming. The running will be good for her and give her something beyond her losses to think about and work toward. Not to mention as we head into our fortieth year – together – that it will be good for our bodies, as well as our heads and hearts.

So there we have it – a commitment taking shape. My favorite poet Rumi has a line in one of his poems that I love: “Start a huge, foolish, project, like Noah.” Because you just never know what good lies on the other side of your commitments. Here’s to huge, foolish projects – those we dream and those we live. And especially those we commit to. It’s easy really: commit to something, anything. Simply commit. And then put one foot in front of the other and walk (or run) into your dream.