Paella.
I was afraid to order Paella in Barcelona this summer. So instead I just intrusively and forwardly picked off of my coworkers plate, ignoring my offensively slimy fish that I opted to select over what turned out to be a mixture of deliciousness. order envy. Too often the story of my life. *important note, this Paella had no snails. Claire Wood does not eat snails.
I’ve titled this blog Paella because I guess it will be a mixture of things. As evident by my blog entries, I “got my feet wet” so to speak, and then ran away from the shore, staying on the thick sand until now. It’s not that I’ve not had plenty to say, I guess I’ve just been a little overwhelmed with work+life and I think we can all agree work+ life are really big things. Truth is I’m also on the fence about my blog. I want pictures, I need a better layout, I need this little page-of-CW to look way better than it does right now, and I need to figure out how to get a non-boring font…. but whatever, I’m gonna go with it for now friends…
So this past Wednesday I had a really long day. It was one of those days that started crazy early and ends late, and where you just need to take a deep breath but never, ever get to. Anyway. I got home late. Had something important to drop off to someone that was part of the overwhelming-ness, and I went for a run. It was one of those runs where you’re not really not stressed until a mile or so later, and you just realize to be calm within your footsteps, because this is where you get to take a deep breath. If you know me well, you know I’m dealing with yet again some mysterious stupid left leg injury stemming from some discs in my back. I’m on some medicine and doing PT, and I’m supposed to still be running, as my supposed “muscle type and structure” causes my tendons…and… ligaments… and muscles (oh my!) to shorten quickly, so some easy jogging isn’t bad to keep the bod working a little bit. Anyway, I head down the Charles River, which I am so thankful to live fairly close to, and pretty much fell in love with Boston during these slow 6 miles. Fell. In. Love. The sky was pink and orange, the crisp fall feeling of September was in the air, and on my ipod was a stellar playlist including Rachel Yamagata, Amber Rubarth, and some of my go-to staples from The Shins and The National.
As I got toward the BU bridge I noticed people stopped along the river path, and as it turned out the Boston Landmark Orchestra was playing a free concert on the lawn. There was a gigantic crowd; families, couples, students, and my favorites, the runners and the bikers like me who had stopped their footsteps and pedaling, their ipods, and their watches, to just listen. The classical symphony, (forgive me for my cheesiness) under the pink Boston sky and the breeze blowing, couldn’t have been more magical. It really got me when I looked over and there was a homeless man, maybe four feet from me, standing and listening to the orchestra too. We made eye contact, he nodded, I smiled. Our lives probably couldn’t be more different….. but in that moment, couldn’t have been more the same. I guess I hold onto snippets of life like that.
I finished my run with a little extra calmness and knew I’d be continuing into this overwhelmingly busy work week that even managed to become a little more overwhelming in the life sense too. And here I am, on September 12th, the morning after the day that eight years ago none of us will ever, ever, forget … and as yesterday led into today, i find myself just thinking about it.
I was in a sophomore college at JMU, in a Gsci class when someone ran in and announced the news. Class was eventually released and I was passing by Dhall when straight out of a movie, a student climbed onto a statue and yelled at the top of his lungs, “terrorists are attacking The World Trade Center and Washington DC.” Like all of us, my heart was in my throat, my adrenaline rushing, and my cell phone only getting busy signals throughout the entire Northern Virginia/DC Metro area. A few hours later I finally got a hold of my family, I confirmed that the owner of the Running Store I’d worked at for 7 years wasn’t on that flight as often scheduled to be since changing careers and working for American, but 5 of his dear, dear friends were. My parents had friends crawl out of the pentagon, my best friend watched the smoke from her dorm in Staten Island, and I became glued to the television.
We had cross country practice that day. Rinker took us to masanetta for mile repeats that turned into an 8-10 mile maintenance run for most of us who simply and understandably couldn’t keep our composure. Class curriculums were tabled to talk about what had happened, the mile repeats were moved to a few days later in place of easy running, and life went on. But it didn’t. I suppose we all got the same wake-up feeling, the same realization that this is the world we live in, and now our world, not just a far away country we hear about on the news. I had a hard time being in college when this happened, as it seemed too easy for students to stay in their bubble, to just go on with ease. Years and years later, I get the same feeling of shock and sadness when I truly think about how all of this actually happened. I think about September 11th in July, in December, when I hear of senseless bombings in countries so foreign to me, or when I’m running in central park. I’m not nearly as “close” to it as some people I know, who lost loved ones in the WTC, and whose lives were truly turned upside down. I didn’t experience that tragic day first hand I suppose, but I love America and am blessed the stars were aligned that I was born here and live the life I do.
One day on business a few years later in NYC I went for a run in central park, and a very fit, older man who was running a loop about the same pace as me, ran up to me after a mile or so to ask if he could join. He was not at all threatening, there were a ton of runners out there, and he had the kindest eyes about him, and was wearing a FDNY tshirt. His name was John Gleason. He was a retired Fire Chief from the Central Park Fire Dept. We talked about a remembrance run he was gearing up for, and we talked about September 11th. He talked a lot about lost friends, and I listened. We ran almost 12 miles together, and maybe he forgot me but I didn’t forget him.
Anyway. I’ve rambled, as expected. But I guess September 11th is a day for me to remember, to never forget, to thank our troops for their service and their bravery, to value this country that protects us, to pay respects to everyone we lost that day, but to also pay our respects to each other, as people, who get to live here and enjoy America for all this country allows us to be. Yeah, life can be heavy. Even the not-so-heavy-in-the-big-scheme-of-life stuff can be heavy. Bad days are bad days, tears are tears….we’re allowed to have them. My past few weeks seem to just have been mired by reminders of how precious life is I guess, most especially through the spunk and spirit of a seven year old who I’ll always have in my heart, I’m reminded how precious life is.
But in all this I guess I’m saying I’m realizing its okay to have overwhelming work days and life days that don’t have to have something so terrible to be overwhelming. I guess all we can do is do our best. As Randy Pausch said in his Last Lecture, "It's not about how to achieve your dreams, it's about how to lead your life, ... If you lead your life the right way, the karma will take care of itself, the dreams will come to you."
Hope you enjoyed my Paella. The original recipe called for only a smidge of sentimentality, but I accidentally threw in a few cups.
XO,
Claire
