At launch, I was driven. I’d made the twisty-turning, detoured road to the trail head at about 10,600 feet. I started briskly, moving with intent to make a fast outing of it. I felt good. I was mildly irritated with the many distractions that had me coming out for an afternoon interval hike and run. Time is scarce these days.
I slipped, caught myself, and hurt my foot. See my previous post for that story and what it did externally.
Afterward, I was exasperated, scorning the decisions of fate.
Then I asked myself: what am I so attached to that I am upset about this?
As I tenderly hiked and occasionally ran along another six miles, I thought about that.
Is being “driven” healthy? Slaves are driven. Oxen are driven. Unloved horses are driven.
And yet, I’d been driving myself.
The injury stopped that with punctuation.
I was attached to ownership of myself, my day, my training, my business, my goals, my aspirations, and my expectations. All mine in Me-Myself-and-I-Ville. Forget my context, my purposes, what I was doing all of this for, and what I have dedicated myself to that is beyond me.
Yes. Subtly through growing impatience with delay after delay getting out there, I became more the slave driver. The Owner of everything. The hard-to-please judge of every little thing and how it was going. I allowed frustration to turn my day into a driven drought.
Then I hurt my foot and arrived at what I needed to do.
Let go and move, hike, and run free.