…when I found my writing in a bookstore.

Even better, a used bookstore.

Signpost? Omen? Relic? Whichever, it was pretty cool. Nice to have the kids see it too.

It has been some time since I updated anything, so I figured that it was time to say something, if only to prove I’m still breathing…ish.

And so, a story.

Upon reaching middle age, I took it upon myself to try to get in shape, recognizing that if it hadn’t happened by now, when exactly would it? I have never been a runner, still don’t like running, but with some support and commitment made it through a 5K last December.

So impressed with myself was I that I decided to become a triathlete. I bought a bike, and started swimming again (including briefly in Lake Ontario). I did an indoor triathlon in the winter, and then two sprint-distances (750m/30+km/5+km) this summer. Was I good? Nope, still a terrible runner! But I survived. And in surviving, I had the refreshing realization that competition, something generally absent in day-to-day adult life, is fun.

As a newly-minted competitive athlete, none were more impressed my prowess than my daughters who, for Father’s Day, took me to a local climbing gym that advertised a Ninja Warrior-style course. The hallmark being, to any Ninja Warrior fan out there, the dreaded Warped Wall.

I did the ten-foot version with ease. Then, one step into the twelve-footer, I completely ruptured my right Achilles’ tendon. Based on the response I get daily, this is the middle-aged man’s equivalent of giving birth. Everyone grimaces, then asks me just how painful it was. My answer is that shock goes a long way for dealing with pain, as I proceeded to drive myself with an impotent foot the twenty minutes to the nearest hospital. Not good judgment, don’t recommend.

The Canadian approach is generally non-operative and based on the notion that if you don’t move your foot for a few months, the tendon will reattach. I am currently on week ten and can only hope that my body is complying. Time will tell.

Along the way, the experience has sucked in ways I couldn’t have imagined beforehand. Crutches wreak havoc on one’s back, but so do fancy scooters, and one-legged showers. In cast or boot, I haven’t slept decently in months, and developed an aspirin sensitivity making my skin peel off.

And to kick me while down on the floor (I’ve developed an aversion to stairs), my laptop decided to implode and I lost a good six months of writing and revision.

I am prone to belief in silver-linings, the value of trials, or karma, but this has been a lesson nonetheless. When taken as a year, I have had the most difficult physical challenges of my life–some voluntarily and some involuntarily. And if something that has come from this, I hope it’s this:

Life is not relaxing. Life has no status quo. It is not a plateau that is reached and maintained. Life is growing or it is dying, but it is not respite in between.

There are days I long for routine again, but there’s danger there. Routine is the assumption that each day progresses like the day before. That is both incredibly fortunate and quite boring.

Once I’m done healing, I hope to be back to growing, improving, creating. And driving. Oh, how I miss driving.

I am approaching a major birthday. I wish I could say that it had me celebrating with glee, but as I have come to understand, there is a sadistic glee savored only by loved ones as they  repeatedly ask: “How does it feel to turn XXX?”

This, you understand, is bait. Bait for you to deny having any feelings (to which the appropriate response is: “REALLY? But your twenties are gone!!!!”), or alternatively, to confess the internal struggle (to which the appropriate response is: “but you’re not a complete failure, you once…<insert accomplishment here>).

And in reflection, (excuse an old man’s senescence as he waxes philosophical-like about this life-journey thing) this has taught me a lot about three things: distance, velocity, acceleration.

Distance. The amount accomplished. The time passed. The change in position from start to current time. When we reflect on distance, we think back to those meaningful pitstops or accomplishments along the way. We also meet people whose self-esteem and sense of fulfillment are linked to distance. They talk about their promotion, the day their grandchild was born, the time they made the catch. Accomplishment holds the answer.

Velocity. The rate of change of accomplishment. This is the present-known. This is an intellectual appreciation that things are changing and that if they continue on their current course they will lead to more good things. For those attached to velocity, life is but a single frame in a motion picture, a note in a larger piece. These people have patience, vision, trust. They see tomorrow. They have internalized the lesson that the sun also rises, and one day at a time.

Acceleration. The rate of change of the rate of change. This is the present-felt. Anyone on an airplane or a train or moving car will remember that we don’t feel distance, we don’t feel velocity, we feel acceleration. For the person whose self-esteem is attached to acceleration, they need to have deltas of deltas. And if there is no change in the rate of accomplishment (i.e., my children are developing, my mortgage is being paid down, I am getting more experience) then there is no feeling, no satisfaction. For this group, the only pleasure is in the upswing, unsustainable as it may be. And hence, they’re mostly miserable.

And so, with any discussion of life, one will inevitably hear a game of verbal three-card monty.

The person that says she’s done nothing with her life will be told “but look ahead, things are changing!”

The person who says that things aren’t happening fast enough, will be told “but look how far they’ve come!”

And the person who has faith in velocity will smirk at them both.

I joined The Listserve in April 2012, just about the time the project began. The premise, for those unfamiliar is a daily email from one of the 23,000 list subscribers chosen at random.

So, for the last 1100 or so days I’ve read through the emails I’ve received, and of course wondering what I would share when the day came. There was a time a few years ago I would have written something deeply insightful about depression and hopelessness. There was a time I would have written gracefully and gratefully about the people who have helped me get where I am. Or about being a dad. Or self-helpy shrink advice. Or promote myself.

Well, I was chosen on Friday and instead of any of those I submitted a fictional piece that only works if you believe that Satan subscribes to the list. MLM Hell, so to speak.

And so, in case you receive the email and happen to go searching for whoever blew their chance to *really* introduce himself. Ya found me!

UPDATE: The Listserve archives all submissions, so mine can be found Listserve Archived post.