Why Would You Do That?

And other questions I've heard this week.

I’m currently training for the New York City Marathon.

If this happens to come up in conversation, people tend to react one of two ways.

The first is to try to make a connection—to share an anecdote about their high school track days, the time they ran a corporate 5K, or the marathons they or their loved ones have completed.

The second, far more common response goes something like this:

“Ugh! Why on earth would you want to do that? I HATE running! Running is the worst. It’s miserable and painful and boring. And it’s bad for your knees! To run on purpose? For what—three, five, seven hours? Oh, I could never. NEVER. What could possibly possess you??”

I always find this curious.

I get the part where some people hate running, because not everything is for everyone.

I understand why one might question voluntarily committing to a pursuit that seems better suited to a horse.

I even accept how such an undertaking might come across as braggy or obnoxious, even if its motivations are anything but.

What fascinates me is why, when a person decides to propel their body for a certain distance — an activity that harms no one, except potentially their own self — so many are compelled to audibly communicate their horror. In a world full of practiced pleasantries, that level of honesty is almost refreshing.

We’ve all been there.

You ordered a drink, or didn’t. You ate something, or passed. You wore a mask, or not. Whatever it was, you were living your life when someone felt the need to make a comment about it. And while you get that their feedback likely says more about them than it does about you, that didn’t make it any more welcome.

We live in strange times. Our media often comes with trigger warnings. As a society, we’ve established that it’s wrong to comment on people’s bodies, appearances, or personal choices. But ironically, the worst offenders can sometimes be the people who think they know us.

These altruistic trolls just can’t help themselves. Did you know that drinking coffee can hinder mineral absorption? Is there a reason you didn’t have any bread? Did I just see you reply to a work email, because I just read something that said the number one predictor of job satisfaction is creating strong boundaries. Are you sure it’s okay to walk home in those shoes? They don’t look very supportive…

It’s human nature to assume, especially when it comes to someone else’s actions. But we can only ever see things from our limited point-of-view. Whether it’s about a major life decision or someone’s choice of accessory, often times, you just don’t know what’s behind it.

As English philosopher Bernard Williams reportedly said, “Unsolicited advice is the junk mail of life.” Including when it’s framed as a question.

At first, when people asked why on earth I would want to run a marathon, I didn’t know how to respond. For one thing, it’s not a simple answer.

Aside from elite athletes—whose motivations I couldn’t begin to encapsulate—I’m willing to bet that the real reason most people run marathons has little to do with running.

Maybe it’s been a bad year and they’re trying to end it on a high note.

Maybe they have an insatiable need to prove themselves.

Maybe running is part of a larger story—of recovery or sobriety or survival.

Maybe they grew up as the non-athletic specimen in a family of champions and have decided to claim their moment.

Maybe they’re out there to honor a loved one.

Maybe they wonder how it feels to have a parade thrown in their honor, and this is likely the closest they’ll get.

Maybe it’s all just too much right now and pouring themselves into training creates a much-needed respite.

For what it’s worth, those are all true examples. And that’s just among people I know.

The larger point is, human choices are never about what they seem. Sometimes, our motivations are a mystery, even to ourselves.

Come November, some 50,000 people will show up at the starting line, ready to create meaning from the tangled why that brought them there in the first place. But we’ve still got 91 days to go, which leaves plenty of time to encounter my favorite question.

Why would you ever want to do that?

And when I do, I’ll just shrug and offer the truest response I can muster: We all have our reasons.

As Derek Zoolander would say, “It’s like a bridge for ants.”

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Featuring the Spolia Tarot by Jen May and Jessa Crispin

When I pulled the Nine of Swords, I made an audible “ugh.”

I wanted something light, something uplifting, like The Sun or maybe The Star. Instead, I was greeted with nine sharp objects and a person in visible despair.

After gazing at it for a moment, I began to think that maybe my reaction wasn’t fair. The Nine of Swords is here to help—and its message is always timely.

In a nutshell, this card is about anxiety, that inevitable, inescapable part of being a person. (I’m sure you’re already acquainted.) Anxiety can manifest in a bevy of ways—worry, panic, insomnia, doubt, rumination, nerves, nightmares…—and the Nine of Swords speaks to all of them.

When it comes to grappling with our old pal, this card asks that we don’t go it alone. Others can help put our fears in perspective. So can our friend awareness.

You know when you’re stressed and someone says “calm down” or “don’t worry” or some other well-meaning statement that only serves to exacerbate your panic?

In such moments, it can be helpful to remember that the opposite of anxiety isn’t calm—it’s awareness.

Awareness allows us to see that we are, in fact, thinking a thought, imagining a scenario, making up a story.

Awareness grants us the space to take a breath, look around the room, and realize that the dragon whose arrival we’re anticipating may not even exist.

While traditional depictions of this card show nine swords suspended in mid-air, I love how this deck includes a cast of fantastical beasts that hold them. It speaks to the fact that so often our anxieties are just that—monstrous creations of our own devising. Exaggerated, anticipatory, imagined.

As the suit of thought and intellect, swords appear to remind us of the power of our own minds. Our brains connect dots, fill in blanks, spin stories. In most cases, this is wonderful—the stuff of fiction and poetry, invention and innovation. Our capacity for storytelling is nothing less than miraculous, except for when it comes to thought spirals. Then suddenly, we find ourselves wishing that such technicolor imaginings could be limited to positive pursuits.

In practice, I’m a big fan of Brené Brown’s advice for framing an anxiety spiral as, “The story I’m telling myself is…” This tool does wonders for communicating with a loved one. (e.g. “The story I’m telling myself is that you stopped asking how my day was because you aren’t interested anymore...” goes over way better than, “You never ask me how my day was! You don’t care about me at all!”)

But I’ve discovered it can also be a helpful method for speaking to yourself.

We can sometimes frame thoughts as absolutes. I’m such a failure. Nothing ever works out. When objectively, reality says otherwise. The story I’m telling myself is that I’m a failure. The story I’m telling myself is that nothing ever works out.

The story I’m telling myself… is only a story.

And the thing about stories is that you can edit them. You can expand them. You can create a sequel.

You can do an awful lot, but as the Nine of Swords reminds us, you must first recognize that what you have in front of you is a narrative of your own creation.

With practice (and sometimes professional guidance), we can learn to recognize our stories in all their forms, and ultimately, to work with them.

In the days ahead, the Nine of Swords asks that we remember just one thing:

Thoughts are thoughts.

Not facts. Not truths.

Stress happens. But all feelings—positive, negative, and every other label we assign—come bearing a message. Our job is not to judge, only to listen.

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