I took Anu for a late night walk under the full moon. Now that the leaves have fallen, I love the way the Minneapolis skyline sparkles at night from the top of our hill. Pinpricks of light cluster on the horizon and rise into a black, starless sky.
As I walked, I leaned my head back to see the heavy orb of moon obstructed only by the limbs of knarly old oak trees--thick lines running through a cracked egg. And, at that particular moment, I felt myself planted firmly in two worlds--one of the city, and one of nature. I know I've said that before, but the balance felt good and so Anu and I started running...just for the sake of running. We carried an even pace (along with a few backsteps and sidesteps for fun) down the streets of our neighborhood and I liked the way it felt so we continued further than planned. Anu trotted ahead of me holding the leash gently in her mouth as I observed how beautiful she becomes when she's happy. We ran even further because I love the way we are able to communicate happiness through such simple action.
But, having just returned, I'm left with a question: why does running feel so much better when I don't plan it? hmmm...kinda like writing. I complicate these tasks with my own head whenever I set out to do them intentionally. It is when I try to get serious about these things that everything stops.
Why does that happen? And is there really such a thing as purposeful surrender?