The Little Voice In My Head

There’s a video I’ve wanted to share that was edited from an interview I did over a year ago.  I wasn’t sure what context to use it in, but the connection came to me in an inspired moment tonight and this blog post is the result.  (Note: if you're short on time or interest, the video is about halfway down the page!)

This evening I was tasked with wearing a costume to my trail-running group run.  To be perfectly honest, if I wasn’t writing this blog and needing mileage for my 4,000-mile challenge for Texas 4000, I can guarantee you this is a night I would have skipped – giving some lame excuse to get out of it.  But I feel accountable, so I decided to go.  Of course I got busy, waited until the last minute, and ended up digging a “doctor costume” out of the bottom of my closet.

I had to laugh when members of the group joked, “Good thing we have a medic here.  We’re all safe now with Jen the doctor in our presence.”  The “little voice in my head” had a field day.  “Doctor?  Ha!  I can barely take care of myself, let alone anyone else.  I’m about as much an athlete or a trail-runner as I am a surgeon.  At best I’m an occasional jogger.  I’ll probably trip over my scrubs and sprain my ankle.  Then they’ll all see me as I really am.”  We passed a rock-climbing wall I’ve recently climbed and I thought, “That’s where I pretend to be a climber, kind of like how I’m pretending to be a trail-runner and a doctor right now.”

Somehow I ended up in the middle of the group, spaced out enough at one point to where I was running alone with time to think.  My mind wandered to other times when that little voice gained volume and power in the past.  Throughout various stages of my time with Ruben I heard, “I’ll make a terrible girlfriend/wife/partner/caregiver.  I’m not equipped to handle our circumstances.  I’m not qualified.  There’s no way he can really love me as much as he says and seems to.  I don’t deserve to be this happy.  I can’t take care of him.  I won’t survive the loss.  I will never get out of bed again.”

This video, a relatively raw and honest account, was filmed about a year ago after I spoke at a Seton AYA Survivorship event.  When I was approached about speaking, the little voice said, “They’re only asking me because their first five choices were probably busy.  After they hear me, they will regret ever asking me.”   Here it is – basically some reflections on being a “caregiver”…

Watching this a year later, I’m able to call bullshit on the little voice.  Participating in that day was really powerful for me, and also for those who attended.  I received great feedback. 

I’m reminded as I listen to my own words that I was wonderful at every role I played in Ruben’s life, regardless of whether or not I knew what I was doing.  You don’t have to be qualified or flawless to love or be loved unconditionally.  You don’t have to be a medical professional in order to provide exceptional care for someone who is sick.  You don’t have to allow the loss to drown you forever.  You just need to face what’s immediately ahead of you and put one foot in front of the other.  Over, and over, and over again.

Somehow I ended up leading a portion of the group during tonight’s run.  It was dark out and only my second time running at night.  The trail was rocky, muddy, slippery, and occasionally steep.  The little voice piped up, “Why on earth would anyone want me in front and pacing them?  Is my headlamp even working?  I can’t see an inch in front of me.  Which path should I take?  Am I about to run blindly into poison ivy, a snake, or a wild dog?  I’m tired, I’m sweaty, I’m lost.  I need a break.”

But that’s life, right?  The path isn’t always illuminated for us.  We don’t know what we’re walking into or if we’re going in the right direction.  Do we freeze?  Stop moving forward?  Regret our choices?  I prefer to approach life the way I approached Ruben and his illness (most days).  Without fear.  With blind faith.  With a willingness to leap every now and then.  With trust that I will be okay no matter what.  With permission to fail.  With permission to slow down if necessary to regain my footing. 

I needed to be reminded of these things right now.  That nagging little voice has been creeping up from time to time to say, “What if I’m not on the right path?  I’ll probably never have a family.  There’s no way I can hit 4,000 miles.  I’m getting too old.  I’m not good enough at my job.  Am I really helping anyone?  Nobody even wants to read this.”  Tonight I’m calling bullshit on the little voice.  I’m putting one foot in front of the other, with faith and hope and trust.  I’m choosing to believe that I will be okay.  That I’m making a difference.  That we will all be okay.

Learn more about my journey to 4,000 miles and how to support my efforts.

Guest Blog: ACL Weekend Run by Sarah Townsend

A quick intro from me (Jen)... Sarah Townsend is my "sister from another mother." Our mom's were best friends before we were born, so we've been bonded for decades.  Shortly after I moved to Austin in 2009, we instituted a tradition where Sarah and my sister, Jessica, would fly in for Austin City Limits.  We all love live music and miss the weekend trips of our childhood spent together with our families, so we decided to bring them back in our adulthood, at least for the three of us. That first ACL came a few months after Ruben and I met and I will never forget Sarah turning to me at one point to say, "Jenny*, I think you're in love.  I think he's the one!"  *Side note: there are 3 people in this world who can call me Jenny, so don't get any ideas! ;)

Sarah and Ruben connected on a deep level almost instantly and in a way that is hard to put into words. They just "got" each other. Another declaration of Sarah's that is etched in my mind - when she told me she started every morning by reading an email from Ruben which he entitled "Ever Present" - something he wrote shortly after accepting that he was finally out of options. Sarah is one of many who consider his sentiments to be words to live by. Our last ACL together with all four of us was in 2011 when Ruben was in hospice care, yet still made his way out there and even got on stage. But there is no question he was with us in 2012 as well as just two weekends ago, jamming to Wilco and many more - taking it all in! 

And an excerpt from Ruben's Email:  You are all someone to me. I did my best to be someone for you. My currency was time, understanding, and presence. When the day comes, I miss now that I won’t be there with my time. When the time comes, my understanding will lay ever available in your memory of me. But the day will not come when my presence will be subtracted from your life going on. It will change, but not be lost. The physical will become intangible, spiritual, faithful. Do your best to become childlike in these moments. It will be real. You will mourn away the physical and embrace the change, the presence will not fail you. Know this in your head and your heart, be faithful to this truth.

There is time left. I am alive. Others call it dying; I’ve only ever known to call it living. If you see me, see me, the life. Our time under the sun should not want an umbrella, but instead let’s look up, get dizzy, go blind with life. Our time under the rain should not want an umbrella, but instead let’s look up, get soaked, and drink up life.

ACL Through the Years:

And finally, Sarah's Guest Blog Post:

What typically happens when the alarm clock sounds and my brain and eyes are awoken is an immediate press on the snooze button.  Never have I been a morning person or found pleasure in the early wake-up call when I am training for an event or race.  However, when the purpose is more than just getting a workout or instilling discipline but something more like raising funds for awareness of a truly great cause such as cancer, or participating in an event which honors loved ones…the motivation becomes easy, clear and inspiring.  Four years ago I trained and participated in my first triathlon with Team in Training.  Meeting multiple cancer survivors and recently diagnosed cancer patients throughout my training, it was an experience that no longer was about breaking a sweat or crossing a finish line, but one of true dedication to help in any way possible those dealing with and battling life-threatening diseases.  On the day of my race I tattooed in marker the name of my dear “pseudo-brother” and friend, Mr. Ruben Garza.

Ruben will always be close to my heart and in my thoughts for he was the most thoughtful and courageous man I have ever met.  Today his memory lives on through his family, friends and especially his wife, Jen Garza, who honors his memory in countless, beautiful ways.  Her most recent quest, Jen’s 4,000 Mile Journey, is without a doubt her most challenging endeavor - but I know she will achieve and surpass her goals.  Ruben would be so proud.

Only a few days into Jen’s training, I was fortunate enough to be visiting for Austin City Limits weekend.  In honor of Ruben and to help support my girl Jen, we went for a run.  Now this wasn’t a crazy long run by any means since I no longer am in triathlon shape, but it didn’t matter the length or distance.  I felt blessed to be next to Jen during even just a few miles of her 4,000 Journey, a journey which will raise funds and awareness to help so many battling cancer.  And most importantly, I got up that morning without hesitation or an alarm clock to run for my friend Ruben.  Ruben is missed every day and even more so on a day when the crowd gets quiet, the guitar is first strummed, and the music plays.  I will never forget that run for Ruben and so many others on ACL weekend with Jen!

Good luck on this journey, Jenny…you are a constant inspiration to us all!!

Love,

Sarah


Learn more about Jen's journey to 4,000 miles and how you can support her efforts.

You Get What You Need

I wondered at first how to describe what a 4,000-mile fitness challenge has to do with memories of Ruben and with moving on from such a devastating loss. I've noticed that in the brief time that's passed since I came up with the idea, moments and connections seem to appear where they were previously absent. Maybe it's a combination of spending more time outside, communing with friends who work out by my side, feeling healthy, having time to think, being more present. Whatever it is, I'm thankful for the inspiration and hopeful for the year that lies ahead because of it. 

This is an anniversary week -- Saturday marks two years since Ruben left this world. Anniversaries are tough and there is really no way to avoid the heightened emotions and the flashbacks that accompany them - some vivid, some foggy, some haunting, many joyous.  I'm doing my best to breathe, lean in, and hang on. I feel surrounded by love and support and am particularly thankful for those rare moments of complete serenity like I felt Tuesday night.

Tuesday's moment came as a result of a last-minute decision to take a yoga class. The morning began with a root canal (awesome, right?) which left me wondering if I would be up for my trail running class a few hours later. I got a text from a friend telling me to check out this yoga event, then an email from another friend who said he couldn't use his ticket to that same event and wanted me to have it. So I skipped my run, swallowed back some tooth pain, and ended up on the Long Center circle at sunset with 500 others gathered to practice yoga to live music. 

Of course the band included Justin Vernon, lead singer of Bon Iver. Ruben introduced me to his music and we saw him together at my first ACL in 2009. His albums were the soundtracks to our mornings, our dinners, and our at-home massage visits during hospice. The 2011 Bon Iver show was the last concert we were able to attend together.  Some of his songs were on my favorite yoga teacher's playlists and often brought me to tears in the middle of class shortly after Ruben died. This music continues to bring me peace, even when wrought with sadness. And here Justin Vernon was, standing in front of me. 

The venue itself had meaning, too.  Ruben took me to my first opera, La Boheme, on a beautiful Austin night at the Long Center. We got dressed up for this special date night (we took turns each week surprising each other with new date night ideas) and decided to walk out onto the circle during intermission. The city looked as magical as the evening felt.  It's also where we saw Bon Iver for that final concert a month before cancer took its final toll. 

The clouds on Tuesday made for a majestic sunset. In one backbend I glanced toward the sky just in time to see a flock of birds fly overhead. On more than one occasion the teachers instructed us to embrace the people on either side of us for support so we could lean back in challenging poses as one, chins tilting to the sky while balancing carefully, arm in arm. Symbolic of the support I often feel.

After the final rest (shavasana), we all sat to face the musicians with the city as their backdrop. I held Ruben's wedding band (worn around my neck on a chain) between my thumb and forefinger as tears streamed down my face - his presence was overwhelming.

I actually thought at more than one point earlier that day about how yoga "won't count" toward my mileage and so maybe I don't have time for it. I had only logged 27 miles the week before and am already feeling the need to step it up. But deep down I know it's all part of the journey, and that the universe served up this opportunity on a platter. When I'm open and willing to go where I'm led, I always get what I need.

Moment after moment of what fills me up and carries me through the darker days -- that's what I needed most -- and that's exactly what I received.

Learn more about my journey to 4,000 miles.

October

Today marks the first day of October and Day 1 of my journey to 4000 miles.  Every year on this day, Ruben’s ritual was to listen to U2’s October album in its entirety.  His appreciation for music was a beautiful thing.  Watching him with his eyes closed, head tilted back, breathing it in with every fiber of his being… it was such a gift to those who had the pleasure of witnessing. 

Ruben was an observer.  He noticed everything around him and often found meaning and depth in details that would be easily overlooked by most.  One example in particular comes to mind - one that I also associate with the beginning of fall.  For as much as he loved driving, there was at least one circumstance that I’m aware of when he enjoyed being the passenger even more than being the one behind the wheel. 

“Wait, can you slow down as we drive through this section of the road?” he once asked.  I did as he requested and looked over to see him with his eyes closed, seat tilted back, a smile of content from ear to ear.  Of course I was wondering why on earth he would want to me to slow down if he wasn’t even looking out the window.  He explained before I could ask, “when a street is lined with trees on both sides like this and the sun is shining down… I love the way the sunlight flickers through the leaves and branches.  You have to close your eyes to really experience it fully.  It’s more about sensing it than actually seeing it as the light dances on your eyelids, you know?  You can actually feel it.”

As with so many similar occasions, I might have thought he was a little crazy at the time.  But the next time I was in the passenger seat on a similar road (and every time since) I tried to experience it the way Ruben would have.  And I got it.  I saw the beauty.  The simple pleasure.  I attempted to let it in, even if only for a moment.

Tonight I embarked on my first four miles of 4,000 – a tough trail run as rocky as it is hilly.  How fitting that it was on a tree-lined trail on the Greenbelt as the sun was setting on a gorgeous Austin day?

Lyrics from Rejoice on the October album that spoke to me tonight:

     I can’t change the world,

                   But I can change the world in me

                      If I rejoice

Today I can be the person who tunes in, who notices and appreciates those special moments.  The world around me is likely the same, but I can choose to view it through a different lens.  If I rejoice.  Rejoice in the beauty all around me.  Rejoice in gifts like this, given to me by Ruben while he was here, but that will be with me always.

As always, you can learn more about my 4,000 mile journey to fight cancer here.