Laurie: A Letter to Her 40-year old self.

About six weeks ago, I started running.

Running for, running from, running toward. I never thought I’d be a runner, but here I am. Laced-up, wore-out, and pushing further than I’ve ever pushed before.

I’m not doing it for you, though you’ll likely thank me later. I’m doing it for me. But there’s a lot I’ve learned from running and most of it has nothing to do with arch support or hip flexors and everything to do with life. It’s things I hope you’ll remember, Forty-Something Self, when the undertoe of eggshell walls and lethargy is stronger than it’s ever been.

Form matters.

When I first started running, I approached it like a beaten dog, submissive and half-sprawled on the floor. I’d start the race with clean lines, strong arms, abs tucked in, but by the end, I was dragging myself like a sack of potatoes with a hole in the side.

It’s too hard, I thought. I can’t be expected to have good form when I’m tired.

But what I learned is that when I’m tired? Is exactly when form matters most. Good form makes it easier, not harder, and it makes me feel better, too. Now I run the last half-mile the fastest: clean lines, strong arms, abs tucked in.

I’ve found this in life, too. I start projects with boundless energy, but half-way through, I lose steam and collapse. I’m learning to keep my form. In running, in work, in relationships. Form matters.

Surprise yourself.

In running, I surprise myself at least once a block. I tell myself: You can make it to the next tree. Just to the next tree and you can collapse. I think I will die before I reach it. But when I reach that tree, I keep going. And keep going past the one after that. Every time, I’m surprised.

I’ve surprised myself a lot in my 28 years. I was surprised to find myself in law school. I was surprised to find myself in New York. I was surprised to find myself making music, running, and traveling alone.

At forty, I hope there’s still room for surprises.

Waste your time.

Everyone told me to stretch. I said: Yes, yes, of course. But I didn’t stretch. Stretching felt like a waste of time, and we all know I hate to waste time. Well, before I knew it I was lurching through the streets like Quasimodo, favoring a sprained ankle.

I should have wasted the time.

Most of the best things in my life came from wasting time. Dawdling emails to a boy I’d never met led to the greatest love of my life. Tinkering on a Casio led to a love for music I didn’t know I had. A shot-in-the-dark, massively-long job application led to a life in Wisconsin that has brought me immeasurable joy.

Waste your time. Trust your gut. Follow where the path leads, even when you don’t know where it’s going. Yes, even when you’re forty.

I worry you’ll be disappointed in me, Forty-Something Self: for not writing enough, not saving enough, for eating too many cupcakes. And I worry I’ll be disappointed in you: for settling, for giving up, for resigning yourself to eggshell walls.

But I’m learning to trust that the woman who’s taken me this far will take me the rest of the way, and that my form can only improve from here.

Love,
Your Twenty-Something Self

p.s. Don’t be mad about the cupcakes.