He Who Runs

 

            It was not a question of abuse, it was not a question of neglect, and it was not about oppression. The issue in his mind was that of control or lack thereof. Arbitrary, random, foundationless, and tyrannical were the words that frequently came to his mind, and he found a sliver of escape, a tiny bit of control in his secret rebellion that would occasionally come to light, bringing with it unpleasant consequences.

              He would sit in his room and allow his mind to wander, wondering what freedom actually felt and looked like, of having the option to think and act for himself, moving in the direction and at the speed he wanted to go. Beings that he was only twelve years old and had never experienced the joy of decision making, his thoughts ran from one extreme to the next, not knowing what was realistic, what was fantasy, and what was possible.

              It was a deep-down revulsion that he felt, that filled his stomach and soul, that drove him to look elsewhere for fulfillment and happiness, ultimately distracting himself with whatever was contrary to the world in which he grew up. Little Davey could only look forward to a life of his own when he had no one to whom to answer, no one to whom to rely, but himself, finding the idea of self-created happiness absolutely thrilling.

              In what finally became the ultimate metaphor of his life, he started running both physically, emotionally, and mentally to get away from that which oppressed and controlled him. The ever elusive high from exercise always seemed just barely at his fingertips, teasing him to try for more, to reach further, and push harder and to be completely independent, to create his own reality.

              His lack of discretion and failure to cover his tracks resulted in the exposure of a theft motivated by the need for rebellion and a full week of manual labor for his, as his parent's labeled it, foolishness. He emptied the back porch, swept it, washed it down, puttied the holes, and spent far too many hours painting a room that, in his opinion, really did not need painting.  But paint he did, breathing in fumes that choked his throat and made him see crooked, vowing to exercise greater self-control and more thoughtful activity to achieve his goal of someday reforming his life.

              Thrilled at the arrival of his high school graduation, he deliberately chose a university far from home in order to enjoy the freedom that comes with adulthood, or so he thought. Landing at a religious university, he plowed forward with more of the same imposed regulations, pouring his energy and passion into education in order to procure that high paying job to give him the freedom he could almost taste. It was a Friday night, his homework was done, his roommate was absent, and he knew that plenty of his classmates were out partying, somehow managing to hide their indiscretion but here he sat, alone, listening to the same kind of music from which he was forbidden to enjoy as a child.

              Four years later he walked across the stage for his diploma and his last step off the campus felt like a leap from an airplane into a vast unknown reality of his own making. Having managed to save up enough money from his menial labor tasks throughout college, he found a small apartment and an entry level job as a data entry clerk, living from paycheck to paycheck, feeling bored and frustrated with the lack of progress his university had provided him, he decided to take it a step further and earn his Masters degree.

              The thought of going through the cycle of study, of classes, and of menial labor while studying was less than appealing but he kept his mind on what would be earned and enjoyed moving up to this next level. Pouring himself into his studies, the three-year course turned into two and a half years, leading to new employment that paid literally double his previous data entry position, allowing for a nicer apartment, a new computer, and an abundance of exercise equipment. The seemingly elusive exercise high was now firmly in his grasp, boosting his confidence, his motivation, and his short-term happiness, with a fat paycheck every two weeks and an unending supply of distraction to feed his never-ending thirst for personal responsibility and freedom.

              It was a glorious stretch of time until the girl showed up, catching his attention with smooth and beautiful words of an even better future, not of singular distraction but of personal interaction and comprehensive progress in all areas of his life. Like a fish chasing a glittery bauble, he bit and took the plunge, following her to the courthouse to sign the paperwork and make the two of them one, introducing a shift in his attention and perspective that he did not see coming.

              The glorious and beautiful path toward a wonderful future only lasted so long and he began to think that happiness would not be found in others but in money, in freedom, and in self-direction, to finally sever that which had been joined, to only then restart his journey of solitude into what seemed dark and uncertain but still appealing as it was truly freedom.

              It was then that he poured himself into running, into diet, and into overall and absolute self-directed reality, which brought about a new level of happiness that somehow always seemed decline the harder he pushed and the more he sought. The proverbial image of the donkey chasing a carrot dangled from a stick in front of it, Davey was feeling very much deceived and as he came to realize, self-deceived. The more time progressed, the more he realized that boundaries, rules, and structure truly did have value.

              After a twenty-two mile run, in the dark and alone, he sat down at his dining table and penciled out a definitive plan for himself over the next five years, a vision he considered wise, well thought out, and articulate. Diving full force into his new plan, he could feel the darkness and the emptiness closing in around him, as the plan was very specific, it was also without foundation and without any actual authority, leaving him feeling somewhat dishonest and hollow, knowing that he could choose any path he wanted but without some shape or form of authority motivating him, it was all just about him.

              Two a.m. rolled around and he finally crawled into bed to rise only five hours later to stare at a screen with too many numbers and too much responsibility. Distracted by the coming end of the day, he repeatedly thought about his next run, this one a bit longer than the last, just touching the marathon level. The clock reached five and he quickly changed, mapped out his path, and started running, bundled in enough layers to keep him warm as the winter cold was approaching, his path was somewhat dark, but he hugged the white line and reached his halfway mark.

              He stood in the absolute darkness, surrounded by nothing but empty fields and an empty road, feeling empty and pointless himself as he knew that his path was rather pointless and completely self-serving, having no real ultimate goal or long-term help to anyone besides himself. He knelt on the side of the road, pressed his forehead to the blacktop and wondered if there was another way, something better, wiser, and actually true. Breathing deeply, he rose again to his feet turned around in the absolute darkness and fixed his eyes on a singular point of light in the far distance, feeling like he now had something outside of himself upon which to focus.