Everyone has a happy place.
But for me, it’s more like a happy activity: running. And the beauty of having a happy activity is that it can be done in many different places. While the activity brings the same joy, the different places bring different reflections.
Last weekend the place was the hills of Mount Pocono. Even though I’ve been running for over 10 years, I have very little experience running on hills. Running always brings me to a heightened awareness of my body, my surroundings and God, but this was magnified by the novelty of the hills.
In the beginning of a run, there is an increasing bodily awareness. How am I breathing? How is my pace? How do my legs feel?
Over the years, this initial period of bodily awareness quickly moves to autopilot and then my awareness is shifted to my surroundings. The grass is greener, the trees are taller, even the wind starts to sing its own melody.
After about a mile, the scenes from my surroundings drift into the background, too. My mind wanders, and whatever it ponders, it ponders with peace. That stressful situation at work, my daughter’s tough adjustment to preschool, and thoughts of family and friends coping with challenging situations can all be contemplated calmly with clarity. Ah, my happy place!
But something different happened while running the hills.
Since I usually run on mostly flat surfaces, my breathing and pace stay consistent. The name of the game is endurance. But the hills called forth more than just endurance from me. There was another level of awareness needed.
As I started making my way up the first hill, I realized that I would exhaust myself quickly if I tried to maintain my normal pace the whole way up. The hill was at about 45 degrees and the length of several football fields, of which I was less than a quarter of the way through.
As I slowed my pace, I realized that it was a different type of patience I would need during this run. It struck me that this was patience both with myself, giving myself the grace to slow down and accept my physical limitations, and my surroundings. Rather than trying to rush up the hill, why not enjoy the climb?
I also realized this would not be an autopilot run. This was something new so it called forth all of my conscious attention.
Even after making my way up the hill, the way back down came with its own set of challenges. The temptation to practically sprint down with the blessings of gravity was strong, but I realized that just because I could pick up my pace doesn’t mean I should. Going down the hill at breakneck speed may feel good at the moment, but it would set me up for serious failure during the next climb.
This made me realize that I was being humbled by the mountain. It was not just teaching me that I had more physical limitations than I previously thought, but it was teaching me that my success is dependent on the degree to which I accept these limitations.
And that’s when something hit.
Until this point, I had been trying to force this run to be the same as my other runs: holding myself to the expectation of running the same pace, my surroundings to the expectation of speaking to me the way they usually do, and God to provide the peace he usually does during this time.
But it wasn’t like those runs. It was different. And that was good.
As I started to accept this run on its own terms, it brought about a different type of peace. The peace that comes from receiving the present moment as it is and not trying to make it what I want to be.
I finished the run accepting it for what it was and grateful for this different type of peace. I sat down, staring out at the mountain, reflecting on the run. It became clear to me how many situations in my life, the types of situations I usually contemplate on my runs, can benefit from this type of acceptance.
The Ignatian tradition reminds us that God is in all things, all places. God is in each of us, too. But this radical truth can be easy to forget in our busy lives. We get stuck on autopilot and forget to open ourselves up to God’s many graces. Rather than accept God’s invitation, we focus only on what we want. We forget to look for God in all things, even in those things we might not think we want.
That run wasn’t the one I wanted. It was the run I needed. God always gives us what we need when we need it. What I needed that day was a lesson on acceptance.
Most importantly, it was a much needed reminder that God is always with me, even in my struggles. And any place with God is a happy place.
