Sunday, March 20, 2011

One More Thing

It's 6:49 AM, Sunday March 20, 2011 and it's a good day.

The sun is rising on China town and the sounds climbing the walls of the buildings lining Grand Street have shifted from the drunken english of 3:00AM to the industrious Chinese of dawn.

It's funny how you adjust to your surroundings. Living in Cambridge, I had got to the point where I'd reply "What train?" to questions from guests regarding the roaring waves of sound that washed over our condo every twenty minutes or so. As a result of now living in the country, I was able to hear everything happening in SOHO last night, incorporating pretty much all of it into my dreams.

This morning was one of those rare ones where I didn't need to slip out of bed so as not to awaken Iris. Instead, I was escorted into consciousness by the sounds of water splashing on tile and an angelic voice singing Son of a Preacher Man. Iris was up, feeling good and ready to run.

Yesterday, we walked from SOHO up to 48th Street to visit music row and then back downtown for dinner and a visit to the 14th Street Apple Store. As Iris and I walked past Bryant Park, I told her that I was really happy she'd decided to become a runner. She looked at me and asked why and I responded, "Well, if you hadn't decided to become a runner, I'd probably not have started running again."

She nodded and smiled, adding, "You're probably right!"

On Friday, I finished my third week of running clocking in 31 miles at an average speed of nine and a half minutes per mile. Running has become part of me again and I'm delighting in it.

As we continued onto Broadway, my phone announced a text. Iris, not waiting for my ritualistic search for glasses, grabbed it and read aloud a message from Eila's boyfriend asking for the make and model of our juicer. The day before, I'd received an email from Kathy with a similar request. Over the past couple of weeks, five or six folks have told me that they're starting to juice as well.

Clay shot a question through the wireless spectrum, his deep voice made tinny by digitization, compression, and reconstitution, "So man, exactly how many hours do you sleep a night anyway?"

I responded, "Let's see. I usually go to bed around midnight, and I get up between five and six."

"And you're like this all the time. I mean, like all that energy and everything?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"And it's all because of juicing?"

Back to China Town...

So as I type this morning, I realize there's one more important factor to making all this work: more than important, mission critical. Something without which nothing else really matters.

You gotta love it.

It can be made manifest in many ways, but the it is your life.

It's a bit of chicken and egg. I'm not sure that the sequence matters. Sometimes you start something and learn to love it. Sometimes you love it and then start doing. However, there's a feedback loop between loving and doing that is either growing or diminishing.

Sure, taking in all the nutrients I need in a package containing fewer calories than Mark K might consume in a snack is a huge benefit. However, if it weren't for the fact that each night when I go to bed, I'm so excited about all I want to accomplish the next day that I can hardly wait for the sun to rise, it's unlikely that effect of those nutrients would be as apparent.

It would be like maintaining a car and keeping the tank full when you've got nowhere to go. Sure, if you've got somewhere to go, having a car that will always get you there is great. However, if you're not exactly thrilled about where you're going, then even a meticulously maintained luxury sedan won't make the experience that much better.

It all starts by striking the match of intention, kindling the flicker into something you desire, and then fanning the flames of desire into roaring passion, so much passion that you can't wait to get up in the morning.

That, and juice.

Happy Sunday!

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