A couple of days ago I asked whether this big year is a boon or a peril from the physical point of view. But who cares about the physical, really? Rather, does obsessing about running make a difference to a life’s meaning?
- I keep asking myself if anxious insistence on regularity does instill a habit. After all, that’s a worthwhile objective: who wouldn’t want to just be fitter and healthier as a matter of routine? Shouldn’t exercise be as easy as daily teeth brushing? Well, it’s too early to tell for sure but yes, slowly, day by day, the more I insist on regularity, the easier it is to stick with it, even in the midst of life.
- And I’m feeling a gentle surge of pride in myself. We try to reassure ourselves that we’re worthwhile because the comforts of life abound, but often, after the hard work of our 30s and 40s, we surrender the idea that we can still strive for something. In 2016 so far, I’ve worked hard and “done good” and I’m chuffed.
- Perhaps the most important insight I had last week – suddenly, while on the track – was this: running means something to me. Why? That’s not clear to me, but the insight said this: jogging is meaningful to me and I’m giving it space every day and that enriches my life. Wow!
So if there’s something you know is meaningful to you, be it large or small, are you giving it enough weight in your life? Wouldn’t a big year help?