When life gets busy without me, I pray for patience. Those are the days that don’t seem to include you in its’ grand plan, everyone and thing hustling around, chasing after the time that never seems to catch up. I get anxious, worrisome about the details of who I am and if this world would miss me. So patience, the capacity to tolerate hardship, or suffering. It’s the emotional level that satisfies the longing and restless mind.
As I run, feet pounding on the paved trail, or ankles straining over the rocky gravel, I imagine that mindset as my endgame. The finish line. Run, and keep running until that solitude overwhelms my body. It’s inevitable, every time, that as I try to catch my breath and slow my heart rate, I feel it, I’m there.
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