By The Handful

"Don't sit and wait, just stare at the door
Take the risk, it's worth getting caught
One day I'll hear the final call, but that won't shake me
I'm going out standing tall, won't let them break me

Moments of sheer delight
Looking back at the times we were fearless"
- Fall, by Seafret

From last summer:

I changed into workout clothes, shoving my dress and flats into the duffle I'd tucked under my desk that morning, clipping my badge to it and nodding to the security guard just in time to walk out the door without being stopped. It was a hot day; heat rose from the asphalt as I walked across the parking lot, my back to the six-story building where I worked. In my car, I cranked up the AC and the music for the slow drive through downtown, eventually arriving outside the Long Center, the performing arts center overlooking Lake Austin. There, I put in my headphones and went for a run along the water. It was hot and hard and I loved it, I loved the sweat appearing on my skin and the ache in my legs and the prickle of the grass when I sat down to rest.

As I hiked towards the Long Center, the music had started. It was the reason I had come that night; live music from a local band, followed by a movie played on the lawn. A huge inflatable screen had been set up, and the lawn was covered in chairs and blankets as everyone vied for a prime spot. The movie was one of the Harry Potter ones, in honor of it being the fictional character's birthday. To coincide with the theme, a local ice cream parlor had sent a truck over with the featured flavor of butterbeer. I purchased a cup of it and sat on the grass, listening to the band.

I sat and thought about why I was there. Not just for the event, but because, I realized, I didn't want to miss out. Ever since I had returned to the states, I had filled my time with every wild and wonderful thing I could. Outings with friends and siblings, old favorite things I'd missed - such as going for runs near bodies of water and seeking out live music - and trying new ones, like the movie event. I'd asked a few people if they wanted to go. When they declined, or couldn't go, I of course thought about not going. It wasn't a big deal either way. Yet something tugged at me; it was a new event and I wanted to try it out, just as I wanted everything. I'd been grabbing life with both hands, and as I sat on the grass I tried to examine why, and if it was too much. Was I too busy? I thought about it, yet the feeling radiating from me in that moment was simply this: peace. I was at peace and thankful and happy. Life was full by my choosing, and it was so, so good.

Present:

For weeks, I've been working from home every day but one a week. Covid-19 shut down so much. No longer could I look forward to concerts and events, or even plan a relaxed Saturday morning to visit a coffee shop (new or favorite). Grocery shopping became stressful. The one thing I still had, and have, is running. I still have a trail to pound, and now, I live just a little two miles from the big Long Center lawn. From my door I can run down along Town Lake, and though there are people wearing masks, and signs warning of "One way! Maintain social distancing!", still it is freedom, still it is air in my lungs and glorious sweat and pain and exhilaration.

In most aspects, life is much less busy, yet somehow, I think I'm still trying to grab it with both hands. It scares me sometimes. The more I have, the more I stand to lose. Yet can one lose what is given away? Rather than holding myself back, afraid I'll be hurt by my own ferocity for life, isn't it better to give in and give all? There is time-honored wisdom in all of it, yet I find that when I am too cautious it is often when I am too fearful. So I run, I try and love and give, and to grasp at the fullness of life with both open hands.