In Search of Magic

or just a soft place to land.

Yesterday I ran the New York City marathon.

Now I can close all the browser tabs related to “running NYC marathon undertrained” and commence moving through the world like this:

It was a good reminder that there are good days, there are bad days, and there are meh days — the result of external factors, mindset, and sometimes, if we’re open to it, a hint of magic.

In the days and hours beforehand, I wasn’t feeling this race. I’d abandoned my training plan during the critical peak weeks due to our move. I barely slept the night before. My wrist troll running watch informed me that my “body battery” was a 33 out of 100, my performance well below baseline. Confident I was not.

But I reminded myself that it’s a privilege to run, and to have a precious entry on a perfect fall day. Plus, the Verrazano Bridge, where the race begins, is visible from our apartment and I knew the image would haunt me if I didn’t show. Sometimes, FOMO hurts more than whatever a course can throw at you. So, I went.

Thirty minutes before the start cannon, runners file into corrals according to their projected pace. As I elbowed my way into the crowd, the guy next to me started singing “Sweet Caroline” at the top of his lungs, to no one in particular. He attempted to make a pun — corral-line — which amused him to no end. “Sweeeeet Corral-line," he sang and sang, until everyone around him was visibly asking, “What is this person’s deal?”

Then it hit me. My mother.

The moment I thought it, he stopped singing.

For years, my mom had “Sweet Caroline” set as her ringtone whenever I called. She sang it by way of greeting. This was pretty much a lifetime ordeal, a tradition established long before the song became the anthem of dive bars and sporting events.

This serenade six inches away from my ear felt like as clear of a message as I’ve ever heard. Call it love or magical thinking or sheer coincidence, it carried me the whole way.

Another motivation was the simple fact that running 26.2 miles across five bridges and as many boroughs was a remarkably effective distraction from the current election cycle. At least, while it lasted.

Which brings me to this moment.

How are you feeling?

One friend reports she is wearing exclusively soft and comfy clothing for the next two or three days, drinking lots of tea and eating baked goods. “My preferred coping mechanisms.” Another is baking anything and everything, “the more complicated, the better.”

I’m about to dive into Traveling Mercies, which I somehow haven’t read until now. I’m sporting my overwhelmed necklace. I’ll be voting bright and early tomorrow, book in hand, where I’ll wait as long as I have to.

Earlier today, in a moment of heightened anxiety, we succumbed to watching videos of otters eating salmon, with the rapt attention worthy of a cinematic masterpiece. It was oddly soothing (despite their sounds). The dog enjoyed it, too.

I appreciated Chris Guillebeau’s two-part strategy for moving forward when you aren’t sure what to do. And while I’ve been doing my best to avoid doom scrolling, this podcast was an enlightening listen about why we (still) have the electoral college.

Throughout the marathon, but also throughout this season, I’ve landed many times on the beloved mantra, “I love you, keep going.” When we lack clarity, when the outcome is maddeningly beyond our control, when we struggle to press onward, when no words will do: I love you, keep going.

In light of the current climate, I’ll be sending the weekly reading as a separate post for paid subscribers later this week.

In the meantime, if you’re in the mood for a pep talk, may these words meet you where you are:

As always, thank you for reading. x