It should always be Spring. Lately, rosa multiflora and honeysuckle blooms along my running path have been fragrancing my journey so lavishly it feels like I may as well be jogging through a department store perfume bsection were it not for all of the physical beauty.hr

I keep wondering: What is it about such impressions that seem to transport almost involuntarily?

Again this week, I was surprised to be reminded of music I’ve not heard in years but that, again, had me in absolute tears when a repairman loudly blared, of all things, The Fray. While I realize many people may not consider the popular anthem How to Save a Life high art exactly, it resonated with me so deeply by almost forcing me to recall – and, yes, I will mention it again – coping with working for the Larry King Live organization, feeling requests being made of me were so immoral, and suddenly living so far away from downtown Atlanta that listening to commute music absorbed a considerable amount of each day.

Almost immediately prior to this, I remember literally just taking out the trash one day in my old, downtown neighborhood, listening to the iconic (and a little morose) introduction to The Smashing Pumpkins’ Mayonnaise familiar to probably all kids of the 90s & brought back to my awareness this week and, even though I was just doing a simple chore, recognizing how much I loved my life. I enjoyed my work, even though it was not my whole world, I loved the city and relished my independence while building friendships, and I felt good about my relationship, even though, again, I didn’t feel totally controlled by this aspect of my life or even sure, much less all that worried, about where it was meant to lead.

How, I wondered, had it been possible that, in agreeing to give up my job, accept the new role and move into this uncomfortable suburb, I’d seemed to lose not just a friend (beginning the day I relocated, the man with whom I was in relationship had begun to feel more like an enemy), but my career, my sense of connectedness to friends and community, and the general sense of home, independence, and balance that had felt so firmly – and blissfully – within my grasp just weeks before?

I knew that in taking appearances into account rather than the quiet but terrible feelings of discomfort and foreboding I sensed when recruited by the heads of Larry King Live (they’d gone as far as to stop production on the program for a day to ensure my proposal night went as smoothly as possible and acted quickly to stop me from moving to New York, where I’d recently requested and accepted a transfer after they learned there was a possibility I’d be followed there by my boyfriend), I’d erred majorly, but why did healing and restoration feel so elusive?

I mention all this – and have kept this blog – partly because I believe that lessons learned from these experiences, as they’ve been turned over to God, can still serve a higher purpose – even today.

Back then, I remember feeling deeply wrong during those commutes about so much as moving a muscle to approach CNN Center – and a company where, in previous years, I’d adored working. Why on earth, my heart would ask, am I even pushing down on my car’s accelerator on the highway? Why, every time I drove past an exit, don’t I just take it and never go back to that building ever again? Practically every time I walked into the building, I felt I was contributing to making the world worse. Of course, I’d signed a very pricey lease, and my rescue from the situation, for so long, felt imminent. It had to be. I thought of myself often as standing at a window in a burning building after calling the fire department and told myself that, surely, I would be able to return to a normal job soon, especially after what may have been the last vestiges of a reasonable HR department offered me assurance after assurance they would help me get away. At home, it felt so strange to do even basic things like making myself a bowl of oatmeal. Shouldn’t the fire department have arrived by now? I guess I’ll pretend it’s a regular day and floss. I guess I’ll go drop off my dry cleaning. At work, I would be asked to watch extremely long portions of archived court case testimony detailing almost unimaginably horrific violent sexual crime for what at least seemed to me to be a desire to find entertainment value for ratings. But, when I asked about all this, I learned there was an unspoken rule that the purpose underlying editorial decisions was not to be vocalized. Look, why don’t you just go ahead and carefully watch the kinds of decisions I make, look for patterns, and then go ahead and do what I do, I’d be answered, in effect. Got it?

When I’m reminded so specifically of those drives, and of that time in general, I still feel responsible for trying to find someone to listen. CNN does not just affect me but is watched by literally millions of people, after all.

At the same time, I’m enjoying pondering how even the lyrics of songs like this offer a reminder of how important it is to look for the good God always places in our lives and how, at that very time, the sweetest friends entered my life. One neighbor – we can call him drop-dead gorgeous professional athlete angel dude – who always seemed to come up with an excuse to take me on an adventure or make me delicious omelettes or Swedish ginger snaps if I seemed down. My beautiful friend who was usually upbeat and up for anything but who could hardly keep it together for days when he felt the Humane Society had fallen down in making a national policy decision too easy on kill shelters. It is still touching to me to think of how much time and resources he would invest into transporting adoptable pets out of the south and nearer their forever homes or the time he blew off a big business trip after seeing a chicken fall off of some awful truck on the highway in order to make sure they received good veterinary care.

It was also at this time I discovered distance running, which was practically a lifeline in what felt like an almost impossibly heavy – and long – storm in my own heart. (I think this is perhaps one reason I’ve felt compassion for whomever litters my walk to the trails practically every day with miniature bottles of “Fireball” cinnamon whiskey as, even though alcohol and a good run are different in many ways, I can still think … I get it.) Today, I can (and do) run for fun, but I was reminded of just how heavily I’ve leaned on this activity in the past just to stay afloat when, this past winter, so many days of ice and snow were forecast in a row that I thought I may need to take up to a week off and actually felt worried.

I was fortunate to have prayer and a church community in my life during that period, too, but I still felt like I needed a practical lifeline. Now, I’m grateful to feel more confident relying more wholeheartedly on God even though I have a lot of progress to make. Yesterday, when listening to James Stewart’s reading of A Course in Miracles, the reassuring counsel to leave one’s needs to Him resonated so deeply, I’ve felt comforted since. And the idea that “He has no investment in the things that He supplies, except to make certain that you will not use them on behalf of lingering in time” resonated in a new way.

I’ve been reminded that, at one of my darkest times, my friend (who I do not think was aware of the heaviness of responsibility that goes with having a front row seat to the self-destruction of a whole industry) assured me, with regard to loss in general at least, that I would heal and should expect restoration in my life. You’ll just probably never be able to listen to certain music ever again, he told me.

I do believe my friend was right, but, perhaps because this experience involved more than one relationship, and I still do not feel like I’ve ever found anyone to really listen, in a way, I still feel like I’m in that storm sometimes and like I need to find ways of coping.

It’s been raining here for much of the day, in any case, but that’s alright. I prefer when it rains outside anyway. And, thankfully, it turns out I enjoy running in the rain.