Every once in a while, life takes me out of myself.
After a certain amount of time and speed and space and pressure, I start to lose touch with my identity. I get stuck in a system of other people’s expectations and agendas that puts me at odds with myself. And all of the sudden I realize, oh crap, if I don’t find a way to get back to normal, to exist in a manner that makes sense to me, I’m going to freak out.
And it’s not just me, either.
I once read an interview about Jerry Seinfeld’s writing process. He said that if he can’t tinker, he grows anxious. That if he can’t create and arrange his ideas around the world’s messy confusions and trivial irritants, life isn’t fun for him.
Maybe this experience of existential distress touches us all. Maybe these mini identity crises are more common than we realize. Maybe we all have those boundary moments when our motivation for doing something is, quite simply, just to feel normal again. Even if only for a short while.
And if that means going for a run at dawn when it’s dark and there’s nobody in the world but you and the stars, so be it.
It’s a recalibration of the soul.
A portable, purposeful and private sanctuary to reconnect with the self, the body, the spirit and the heart. A sacred space that holds a sense of predictability and routine and control and brings some measure of coherence back to your life. A highly human experience, free of the existential torrents of life, free of the crazy demands of others, that gives us cognitive richness and psychic nourishment.
Whatever it takes to carve a path back to yourself.