take two

the woman sits in a chair, her back towards me. the cafe is small and the furniture crammed, so even if she is a table and a chair away from me i could still almost reach out and touch her dark brown hair if i wanted to; and for a short second i play with the idea of doing so. i wonder what would happen should i do it and picture a few different possible scenarios in my head, take a few steps down on the imaginary lanes. not that i would ever actually do it, of course not; i have never been the type of person to act out the scenarios in my head, never ever; even when i was a small child i always thought before acting. 

this, i sometimes feel, is my biggest drawback.

the man - i'm assuming he is a husband but these days you never know, it is not so obvious any more to do things in the traditional order - marriage, then kids  - pulls out the chair next to the woman and places his coat on the back rest for her to support herself. she glances at him with an expression that says 'thank you' and pulls out her breast, offering it to the baby that rests in her arms. i don't actually see the baby or her breast for that matter, but it is obvious that that is what is happening. as the baby drinks the mother's milk i drink my wine, with a speed i would not succumb to if in a company of someone; but these days i drink alone more often than not and i think about the embarrassing pace much less than i used to.

the man hovers around the mother and the child like you wouldn't expect a man to do, wanting to help, to participate somehow, but the moment and the bond is only between the two, and he is not really allowed in. later on in the child's life the role of the father might turn out to be more prevalent but right now he has no part, no significance almost; and i think i can see this acknowledgement on the man's face. it is a strange mixture of resignation and acceptance, and the reason i can recognize it is because i just might have the same expression on my own features.

there was a time when i could have had a part in play very similar to the one presented in front of me; a time when the role of a mother and a wife, maybe in not that order or maybe exactly in that order, could have been mine. there was a time when i was amazing and adored,  loved and precious; but now i tend to think that all these things and more - because there was more, a lot more - were just a question of circumstances, of being in a certain place in a certain time. as the situation changed together with the time that passed, these attributes attached to me somehow ceased to exist, one by one, fell off like feathers fall off from a diseased bird. and as a result i am none of those things any more, i am bare, and somebody else is cast in the role i thought to be playing.

it doesn't necessarily make me sad, it's just -- you know, it's like when you believe in something, really believe, and then you get undeniable evidence that things aren't as you thought or rather knew them to be -- it does kind of make you think, shakes you up a bit - that maybe this isn't the only thing you were wrong about?

because i did believe i was amazing, and adored, and everything else -- i bought it all, wholeheartedly. then suddenly i wasn't any more, but still was the exact same person who had been -- it did make me feel a bit unsure of myself. when the stars and the moon weren't there to be collected for me any more, but meant for someone else; i mean really, what happened there? it made me confused, and quite frankly it made me a little bit angry. i felt i had been tricked, because i had not changed; but still i was no longer what i had been before. how is one supposed to deal with that?

the baby has finished eating and i have finished my glass of wine. the small family gets up and starts to gather their things in the process of leaving; finally the father has something to do as well, he can prove to be useful, and the vacant expression of being lost has left his face. i also stand up but not to go; and i am not lost either, not any more. the attributes that are now attached to me need to be reinforced so as not to be taken from me; so i take my coat, and my bag, and walk to the door before the army of three behind me has finished their packing. the night is still young and even if i am not as young as i used to be, i can still keep up with it.

born in the usa (not)

with less than a week left in florida out of the eight in total i find myself once again puzzled over how fast time goes. it literally does not feel like i would have been here for almost two months; but unless there is a glitch in the matrix it would appear i have.

it has been a great trip, a much needed holiday and a total break from, well, pretty much everything. i have learnt a bit of golf, and i have been able to run and practice ashtanga to my heart's content; this has been fantastic. another much valued aspect is the amount of rest i have been getting - generally speaking i have slept well, and a lot, and have achieved a state where being tired is not a constant. 

and as for the place itself? i have been staying in a somewhat particular environment - a retirement community -  that doesn't exactly give an accurate image of the country or even of this state, but still a few things in the north american way of being has caught my attention. there are the obvious big differences to europe, of course  - the whole society is based on entirely different things - and then there are the small things; the way people behave on a general level (it has not, for example, ceased to confuse me being asked how i'm doing all the time, everywhere), the things on TV (it is absolutely horrid), the way cities are built, based on private cars, the amount of restaurants (they are literally everywhere) to name but a few.

but as a whole, it has most certainly been interesting to get a glimpse of the mighty us of a. would i want to live in the states? absolutely not. i have found myself to be very much european (well, finnish) in nature and i doubt i could live here for a long period of time and keep the remains of my sanity intact. but to see more, and perhaps some day travel across it to see it properly and get to experience all the different sides of it - that i wouldn't say no to.

free fall

S went to paris in her twenties; on the verge of real life but not quite there yet. a year off from university, one last free fall of freedom before the final stretch leading to a graduation and then a job, something steady but not too stressful, and maybe she would marry within a few years too. and it was all right, really, because she was almost a grown-up now, an adult; and even if the word tasted foreign in her mouth and made her feel slightly unsure, it still appeared to be the route things were taking and surely she would get used to it. that's what everybody else seemed to be doing at least, or wanted to - not all of her girlfriends were fortunate enough to have a proper suitor in their sights, and they were often sure to remind S how well she had it.

"you should marry while time hasn't touched you yet, when you still have your youth and your face is fresh; it won't last forever, you know."

that's what they said, most of them at least, and of course she knew this as well; and probably it was a good idea. she knew V wanted to marry her, and the only reason he hadn't asked her yet was because she had wanted to finish university first. and why wouldn't she marry him? he was a good, solid man, and if he sometimes was a bit too stern or slightly insensitive, did it really matter so much? if he sometimes raised his voice because S did something he didn't agree with, or expected things from her she wasn't entirely sure she even wanted to deliver, wasn't that what relationships were about? he was a trustworthy man, and S knew he cared for her deeply, and would keep her safe; so in an overall scale of things what they were was a good thing. win some, lose some; relationship was always a compromise.

and yet she felt she had wanted to take this one last year, twelve months on her own before life would be cast into the mold it would finally settle. an exchange student year, she had argued, will be good for my resume, and it will teach me a foreign language which will surely be appreciated by a future employer. partly to her surprise V had agreed with the condition that she would stay in the student dormitory, and that she would never ever walk the streets alone at night. S had readily agreed and it was a lucky coincidence that V hadn't caught her rolling her eyes.

but she had been free to go, and out of all the cities available she chose paris. of course - wasn't paris the city of art, of passion and excitement? wasn't paris where the young and the brave pilgrimaged to, where souls tormented by their yet unformed art came to find their release? S had never been there but she had a strong idea what it would be like, and even if she on some level was aware of the fact that it wouldn't be like she had seen on TV all the time it would still be paris, and it would be magical. she wanted to climb the eiffel tower and sit on the stairs of sacre coeur at sunset, walk the streets of montmartre and gaze into the eyes of mona lisa in the high halls of the louvre. she would get drunk on cheap wine and visit the grave of jim morrison even if she had never listened to the doors, and she would be happy and intoxicated with life. 

because that is what you do when you are young, isn't it, get reckless and not worry about the consequences. and in the midst of it all, while being young and silly and care-fee, maybe something happens, something you didn't expect at all, something negative even - maybe you get your bag stolen, or perhaps there will be riots in the suburbs and it's not safe to go there - but nothing truly bad. it's not like you're going to get hit by a car and be paralyzed from waist down, or choke on your own vomit because you did the wrong types of drugs. that doesn't happen to you because it just doesn't, sometimes you read about stuff like that from the papers but it always happens to someone else, someone you don't know and whose faith moves you only as long as it takes you to read the words describing it. when you're young absolutely nothing touches you, and maybe that is the reason why you are still young; because when something finally does touch you it forces you to realize that there is no such thing as being invincible, and only then you truly understand what it means to age.

but S, she was still young, and paris was waiting for her. and if she secretly hoped that something would take place during her year away, something that would force her to re-evaluate her life, none of the possible scenarios running through her head came even close to what would eventually end up happening. that K would enter her life like she was about to, take apart everything S had thought she knew about anything at all without really even trying, and then leave her so suddenly to try to sort it out somehow. that it would be even possible for S to fall for someone as she would fall for K, her raspy laughter and bony shoulders, and all the things that would follow from that infatuation - none of these things S was able to even begin to imagine.

but it would all happen, everything was already on its was, and by the end of it S would not be so young any more. and maybe it wasn't the way she would have preferred it to happen, but we all must grow up some day, and K was what growing up would come to mean for S.

three weeks

i did my last proper long run today in preparation for the marathon in three weeks' time. i ran 35 kilometres and it felt easy, as in that i could have continued running; therefore i deduce that i am in a relatively good place concerning the marathon itself.

being here in florida has allowed me more time to run and do yoga as well; as a result the amount of both has gone slightly up, and it feels pretty good. in terms of running the training (i hesitate to call my running training because that implies i have goals, which i do not - i just want to run) i have done for this marathon is exceeding the seven marathon preparations i have gone through before. i have run several runs around 30 kilometres and a few longer ones to that - before i recall building the distance up so that the longest one i have done three weeks prior the marathon has been around 30.

now, does this mean that i am somehow more confident and expect better results? absolutely not. the thing with long distance running, and everybody who has done it knows this, is that you can never be sure. sure you can and must train, and get your feet and legs and body and above all, mind, accustomed to running for hours; this is the effort you can do. but there are still million things that can go wrong, and if we take out of the equation the problems one can encounter during the marathon itself (a long list in its own), there is still this critical three last weeks left.

read any running book or an article or talk to a runner and you will soon learn that during these three last weeks you can't do much about your physical condition any more - the work you ought to have put in is done now, at least the vast majority of it, and you can't really expect to be able to do much that would improve your result on the big day. there is, however, a very real possibility of stampeding all over your training and basically, if not ruining, at least seriously damaging your efforts so far - and that is not allowing enough rest. 

it is a hard balance to find, at least for me. of course one doesn't just stop running now, but you are supposed to take the amount down a bit, gradually increasing the amount of rest as the marathon day approaches; and every time i have done this i have found it equally difficult to cut down the kilometres. i do understand the benefits and the sheer necessity of it, but it doesn't mean that i have to like it; in fact, if i'm being completely honest, this last part of the process that is running a marathon is the one i hate to bits. i mean when you think about it - you are in a great condition, running feels amazing and all you really want to do is run - and then you are expected not to? it's horrible, absolutely horrible; especially the last week. i dread it already, partly because if i don't run it affects strongly my mood and general well-being, and i know already that i will feel less than great during those final days. 

but what can you do. just have to deal with it; luckily this time around i have yoga to distract me, and even if i don't think it will be very wise to do a full practice on the days just before the run, at least i will have something to focus on. wish me luck.

but

it was hard to say exactly when things stopped making sense. probably because no such point in time existed; it wasn't so that one moment everything was fine and the next not. instead things just slid into obscurity, slowly turned into something intolerable, and when you're being drip fed in such a manner it is very difficult, if not impossible, to say when you've had enough.

but if J would have had to name a single thing that he pinned it down to, the one symptom that told him that things had became terminally ill, it was the introduction of but.

that's great, but i don't want to go there.

of course i would do it, but i'm busy.

i love you, but you are just so annoying sometimes.

i love you, but.

but.

there didn't use to be a but; there was no need for it. until there suddenly was, and slowly it was everywhere; little by little everything had a but attached to it. J hadn't thought it to be possible to hate a word as much as he hated but, that a simple combination of letters could raise such anger in him until it did; and even if he knew that it was not the word itself that brought the emotion as much as the meaning it carried, he could not help himself from detesting it from the bottom of his heart.

and in the end it was difficult to tell whether the final reason was the but and what it meant or the very word itself; or perhaps they were the one and the same thing. in the end it made no difference as the result was the same; one way or another, it was the but that killed everything.

any other day

in theory it was a day like any other, there was nothing particular in it. a day in the endless string of days, one of those you can't tell a difference between afterwards; a day in the vast mass of anonymous, faceless days. the only thing different in this day, and to be fair it was kind of a remarkable thing and certainly enough to differentiate it from the day the preceded as well as from the day that followed (as was observed later on), was that the sun didn't come up that day.

the night that had prevailed before the said day had been cold, not unusually so  - considering the time of the year when fast changes in the temperature were to be expected - but still well below average. the sky was clear, punctured by the bright dots of stars that seemed to accentuate the chilliness as well as the darkness; it was as if those far-away sparks would have sucked all the available light and warmth inside themselves. 

but what usually happens as the world turns, the gradual fading of the stars as the sky fills with light and turns from black to blue, did not happen that day. the stars just hung there, motionless and shining their ageless light that had travelled a long time to reach the eyes of the spectators, now increasing in number and bewildered by the seemingly never-ending night. the stars stayed and the darkness stayed, it filled each and every gap that had ever existed like a thin liquid that is poured on grains of sand. it wasn't a menacing darkness, or oppressing; instead it was the kind of darkness that just is and it cannot be questioned; and when it leaves it is not because it was driven away but because it chose to.

and on that day, for reasons nobody was able to provide, it chose not to leave.

naturally the failure of the daylight to step in caused a lot of confusion among people. it didn't take long for the newsrooms to start their reporting; however, they soon realized that there was surprisingly little to talk about. the live coverage of the issue very quickly turned into somewhat bizarre cavalcade of specialists of different fields trying to explain the phenomenon, all failing quite miserably; and live footage of the darkness offered nothing that one wasn't able to observe from their own window. different kind of religious groups were having a field day, and churches hadn't been that full since the medieval ages as some people, confused by the turn of events, revived their shelved spirituality in need of something to turn to.

but as the day - or lack thereof - proceeded, nothing happened. there was no end of the world; the horizon did not turn blood red from the flames of the doomsday. it was just dark, and quiet, and the air was cool and fresh; but that was it. towards the evening hours the reporters gave up, closed their mics and went home with a strange feeling of disappointment; such a news day, and yet - devoid of any events, real or made up. 

there was no change in the darkness as the day that never was turned into a night again; the lack of light merely continued seamlessly into the hours of sleep, uneventfully and calm, and people went to bed like they would have had after any other day, unsure what the following day would or wouldn't bring; but also understanding the fact that there was absolutely nothing they could do about the matter.

in this shared feeling of helplessness, even bigger was their relief when the following day dawned as they had got used to it doing; when the darkness stepped aside and gave way to the rays of sun. people greeted the day with a profound joy and swore to be more grateful of the new day, each and every day from now on; promised not to take things for granted as they had so far. 

there never was any explanation as of why the darkness had stayed that day, and maybe it was because of this the churches slowly quieted down again, and the newsrooms found other things to talk about; and people brought up the incident in their daily conversations less and less. and eventually it was so that the memory of that day was like a memory of any other day; it was just the day that the sun hadn't come up, and really, what is the big deal in that.

treading

treading carefully, all the time; treading treading treading like on an ice too thin to be completely relied on. treading with a tension in her muscles and with a shallow, fast breathing; like every second the next one could be the last one, but maybe if she was light enough, careful enough, maybe then the second after the next one would come as well. maybe, if she just placed her foot in a right way and kept herself composed and would be in the way she thought she ought to be, maybe then she would succeed; maybe then the ice would be thicker and she would no longer have to be afraid of it giving in.

and yet the ice never got thicker and she continued to tread with caution, never knowing entirely how to be, how to place the next step; there was always something that went awry. the endless uncertainty and giving up the concept of self for the sake of something she no longer had a clear vision of; but by now it was too late to start looking for it, and instead she continued to the direction she thought that something once had been in, slowly and awkwardly and excruciatingly careful. because what else was there, now that she had came this far on an ice this thin? even if she were to turn around the way back was lost.

so the only way was forward then, and the only way of being was the way that had been already decided.

being normal

like mentioned before, i went away for a few days to celebrate my birthday. how going away usually works out for me is that i keep up with my running; if the trip lasts longer than around four days or the circumstances it otherwise enable in a hassle-free manner, i do my yoga practice as well. this is because   fitting an ashtanga practice in requires a bit of planning (as i usually don't do it in the mornings because of running) as well as privacy, both of which can sometimes clash with the hectic and spontaneous holiday schedule.

this trip was no exception to this. i went running as usual, but yoga was something i did not even try to push into the days, partly because i didn't want to stress about timing it and partly because i was just proper lazy. i figured since i have only three days to spend in one of the more interesting cities of the US of A, i maybe wouldn't want to spend my time planning the visit around my yoga schedule - even i am not that obsessive about my routines. so i consciously made the decision not to practice in four days and was aware that i would feel the consequences - and boy oh boy did i indeed.

now, i don't know if it was the two 12-hr bus drives or the 17-hr sleep i had on monday thanks to the intense nausea i was experiencing during the latter one, but yesterday when i got back into yoga it felt as if i had never done it in my life. i was so stiff and it was so uncomfortable, especially in the beginning, that i considered just dropping it for a few times during the first five to ten asanas; but then i decided to just get through the primary series and do it as light and carefully as my poor stick stiff limbs and back required. so i didn't push it, didn't even try to get deep into the asanas; instead i focused on the bandhas and breathing and towards the end felt much better, but still felt a bit off overall.

this morning i still felt really stiff, to the extent that my lower back and the back of my thighs were aching; i guess the joint effect of being still for too long during the previous days and then getting back  into the practice, even if lightly. but then i did my practice and it was great, everything felt so much more loose and open as the day before; and towards the end of it i felt normal again. 

but what is actually interesting, and sort of the point of this whole rambling, is that afterwards it occurred to me that what i now consider normal is actually feeling pretty good; definitely above average. it is as if practicing ashtanga has raised the bar of how i am used to feeling; i have to feel good to feel normal. and this, i think, is absolutely fantastic, because i don't want to feel like anything else. during the past two years or so when i have practiced yoga regularly three to five times a week (before that it was a bit more sporadic) i have increasingly noticed the positive effect it has on me on both physical and mental level; and i can only imagine that the longer i practice, the more significant this impact will grow to be. needless to say, i don't have anything against this.

and i have to say, as much as i love running and could absolutely not do without it - the next time i'm going away, yoga should be fitted into the schedule as well. just because it is part of what is good.

happy birthday to me

i'm now back in florida after taking a three-day trip to new orleans to celebrate the inevitable 30th birthday. there are two main things i learnt from this trip -  first, i must say that if one has to turn 30, nola is a good place to do it; second, i will never take an overnight greyhound bus again, as interesting as it as an experience might be.

the two night buses, three days in new orleans and the food-related stomach sickness i suffered on the way back as well as yesterday left me a bit knackered. being back in florida luckily enables a lot of sleep, so after taking a five-hour nap i slept solid eleven hours, and now i feel much more normal - minus the stiffness that follows from the said amount of rest paired with a 12-hr bus ride preceding it.

but in the end, small price to pay for the best birthday so far.