after

You might want to read the post "Before" first. What? There isn't one called "Before"? Right, that's because I never wrote it.

I've given up running. I'm not sure I even liked running in the first place. Totally boring and painful, right? After years of Mom preaching at me that it was going to ruin my knees, my back, and my ability to spend less than $60 on shoes, I am on a running hiatus.

The deck is stacked against me: My running friend moved two time zones away. My new scenery doesn't include 15th century churchyards or cobblestone lanes. Dan hates it. And it's going to get boiling hot in a few months.

But what comes "after?"

My dad tells me that I'll figure it out. "Keep moving forward. Just put one foot in front of the other." (P.S. Dad, Mom might not like that piece of advice, it's sort of undermining her parenting here. You should really be on the same page.)

I just don't have the desire to do anything right now. I keep thinking of a movie scene, maybe one in my head. I see a creaky old ship or a leaky raft, and it's stuck in the doldrums...The place with no wind, no current, a hot sun. Going nowhere fast.

It sounds so depressing.

I could play tennis, but then I would have to pay someone to teach me. I could go swimming, but I tend to sink and get earaches (yes, at the same time). Work out at home? Lonely. Work out at the gym? Opposite of lonely. Ride my bike? Get run off the road because the locals might think I'm a gay dude from the city or, worse, a tree-hugging Oregon liberal.

I am plain stuck. Life just happens that way sometimes. Or so they say. I'm sure the wind will pick up soon.

Until then, I am going to wonder why this song makes me sad: