It’s a marathon, not a sprint

Image from Mike Plant and Associates.

I had a nightmare the other night. I don’t remember much about it, just a feeling of falling and panic and then a sudden thrust awake, less than an hour after I got to sleep. I drifted back to sleep, but when I woke up, that kernel of anxiety was still there.

I’ve been trying to do too much lately and feeling like I’m not doing anything. It hit me the day after Memorial Day that this job-search thing is exactly what they say, a job in itself, and I have to research and reach out and simply start deciding what’s next. And me being me, I’m trying to do it all at once.

I have to remind myself: It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

Age crosses my mind. I’m not 24 and there’s so much more; I’m 51, which is weird in itself because 51 always seemed so fucking old. (I’m sure those graying-haired, gray-suited 50-ish businessmen I used to look at when I was 24 looked at me and thought, he’s so fucking young.) Yet I’ve got plenty of energy in my body and ideas in my head, and I’m nowhere near ready for taking it easy, if I ever will be.

It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

We’re told to seize the day and that today is called the present because it’s a gift and those things are true, you’ve gotta live in the moment, but there’s also something to be said for taking your time. Not procrastinating, not being dilatory, but doing some due diligence and not letting the highs and lows turn into whipsaws.

It’s a marathon, not a sprint.

(Side note: I’m trying to ignore polls and sports predictions and entertainment forecasts based on slivers of information, because pundits who traffic in these things are generally full of shit and should forfeit their salaries. But in an instant-information world when every talking head thinks he’s Nostradamus, damn, that’s hard to do.)

So: Deep breath. A break. Make a list. Don’t get too far ahead of myself. Steady.

And plenty of water. Marathoners need to stay hydrated.



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