I jump out of bed in the morning, throw on my sneakers, eat half a banana, and before I know it I’m jogging around the seawall. A fluid stream of people crowd my regular route. It’s not raining, so other runners pass me without a smile or look of recognition. It’s beautiful out. Who wouldn’t want to be out running on a day like today?

When it’s raining, it’s different. Water seeps into the crevices of my new sneakers and my socks soak up cold Vancouver rain. My hands get tucked in the sleeves of my burgundy sweater, now four years old, and my ipod gets tucked in my shirt to get caked in sweat, which I think is better than water because it’s thicker… I recognize that my reasoning is faulty.

On this day, it is beautiful out. I’m still wearing the burgundy sweater, but I keep the zipper unzipped and my hands uncovered as I quickly find a solid pace. A podcast about abundance, or creativity, or living life to the fullest pounds itself into my ears. I always run the same route. Always starting at the sculpture that resembles ribs, of all things, and usually ending a little bit passed the gate. Today, there’s a race in progress. I can’t go the way that I had planned. I wait for a lull, and run in between the spectators. I continue my run into the woods. Away from the busy seawall.

Suddenly, where before I would have been running on even ground, I find myself running up a hill. Cars pass me, and I can still see the runners below me through the trees. I think they’re going faster than I am, but I can’t tell. Maybe it’s in my imagination, but then maybe it’s not. Suddenly my run feels uncertain. I’m on unfamiliar terrain. I don’t know what’s coming up, and I don’t know how much further I have to go. I feel disoriented, but the new route is also exciting.

In a race toward success, I wonder about routes that are different from the one that I’ve ground my heels into. Maybe there’s another way. Maybe there are hundreds of alternate ways. Maybe thousands. I want to start shaking it up a little bit more. I don’t want my life to pass in a blur of repeated actions. My consciousness catching up with my body once the hard part is over.

In running, if you focus on the distance you’ll become exhausted quickly. But, if you focus only on the next step, maybe you’ll actually remember every step. I don’t want life to pass in a blur of repeated actions. Repeated because they got me to the end of the day, yesterday, and the day before that. That’s how you get stuck. Because, when you’re aware of every step, there’s more room for the unexpected. Grounded in the present, you can make every day different. You can take different routes, and you start to recognize the impact that every little action can have. You can’t laugh in the past. You can’t celebrate in the future.

When you remember every step,  and commit to running not only in the sun, but also in the rain. Not only the path you planned, but also on the path that you didn’t. If you focus on enjoying every step, and appreciating every misstep… maybe something unexpected could happen.  Maybe each day doesn’t have to blend into the other. Maybe life could be a little bit more spontaneous and a little bit more abundant.

* Photo by Steve Garner under Creative Commons license.