Dear Mom,

Scotland had her second dive meet over the weekend. After so many setbacks with mistakes from the dive program. So many cancelled practices after the pool had to shut down due to little kids pooping in the water. So many moments of bad coaching. Scotland got up on that diving board and gave it her all and took second place. At her first meet she was 6^thplace. Last place.

Now, you may remember, it was only weeks ago when I wrote to you about it being OK that Scotland quit diving. She made that decision to not continue. We stood by it. But we wanted to give her one more chance. Only to see if she could still find joy in the sport. She tried again, found her joy, and decided to continue her lessons to at the very least get through the dive meets. The first one was a total disaster after her team got the wrong list of dives to learn and her coach failed to input their additional dives into the system. But, still, she did enjoy her experience. She did have fun. She did want to try again. And during the couple of weeks between the meets, she practiced. She listened. She improved. But more than all of that, she lowered her expectations and truly didn’t care about where she finished in the order and whether or not she’d nail the dives. She was just going to go out there and have fun. There was little pressure. Little push from us. Zero push from her coach. Seems like the method worked for her. 

It got me thinking about how much room we have to improve when we’re simply doing it for the joy. When we take away the pressure and allow ourselves to leap off a diving board because it’s fun and not for the accolades.

Jeremy reminded me the other day about all the years when we didn’t have a car. All those years commuting through Los Angeles on bikes. At first, I was able to leave my bike at home and take the bus or the train to work, but later that wasn’t really an option. Our work was in too inconvenient of a location to take a bus to, and we often didn’t have a choice.

It can get annoying really fast when your only choice is to bike ten miles one way to work. It certainly got under Jeremy’s skin when he needed to hop on his bike at 3:30am to ride from Pico Union to the furthest point of West Hollywood to open a coffee shop and then spend the day at the Pilates studio (while he was working on his certification) and then ride the ten miles back to our neighborhood in the evening only to do it all again the next day. It most definitely got deep into my skin when I had to wake up at 3:45am so I had time to pump breastmilk for my three-month-old Idris before hopping on my bike to ride from Koreatown to Century City where I’d take a few clients at Equinox and then ride the eight miles home to spend the rest of the day and evening with my toddler and baby while Jeremy worked. After a day like that it’s very easy to look at a bicycle with total resentment. 

Throughout the five years of living in Los Angeles without a car, there were also many days when we were happy on our bikes. When we’d come home at the end of the day feeling great. The ride would allow us to decompress after work and we’d feel somewhat energized. I even remember when we’d choose to ride our bikes on our days off. But I also can’t forget the days that were agonizing. The days when we wished we had the money for a car. When we dreamt of at least having money for an Uber, or taxi since Uber didn’t exist in those early years.  

But now it’s different. Jeremy currently rides his bike to work every day. And it no longer gets under his skin. What changed? Besides the fact that the commute is only four miles compared to the ten of the past? 

He doesn’t have to. We have a car. And if I need the car and he doesn’t feel like riding his bike, he could take an Uber. That is an option now. Maybe not every day, but he could if he needed to, and he knows that. There is no longer any pressure. He doesn’t have to ride his bike to work. But… he wants to. And having the ability to ride his bike out of pleasure instead of necessity has completely changed his outlook. He now finds joy in the ride. 

I look at Scotland having fun with her diving and also finding joy in her soccer despite it maybe not being the best experience for either sport. I look at Jeremy finding joy in his bike riding again. I even look at Idris, a kid who he has always been able to bypass whatever pressure exists to beeline it to the having fun part, as he finds joy in believing in himself while learning to read. 

Where is my joy? What have I fallen out of love with because it got too monotonous and wasn’t fun anymore? It’s not writing. That I for sure overcame the hatred for but that was years ago when I made the switch from the strict rules of screenwriting to the freedom of novel writing. 

For me, it’s all about running.

Running has been a big part of my life since I moved to Los Angeles after school. It has been a big source of joy as I set goals for myself throughout the years. I signed up for marathons and half-marathons and all the 5Ks and 10Ks in between. I trained for these races. I joined running groups. I bought all the shoes and the gear and the goos and the gels. And then I saw a pelvic floor physical therapist who told me I couldn’t run on concrete anymore. I could only run on trails. So, I did that. I began driving the twenty or thirty minutes to the trail two or three days a week and I trained for trail races. But as time went by it became increasingly more difficult to get to the trails. It came in between me and my goals as a mom and my goals as a writer. Too much time was being spent away. So, I stopped. I stopped signing up for races. I stopped driving to the trails. I stopped running.

Occasionally, I’d go on a short run around the block. Couldn’t be too bad to jog a slow mile on the concrete. Right? And, then I’d yearn to go another mile. And I started to realize that running, even a short, slow distance, brings me an enormous amount of joy. I am happier. More productive. Stronger mentally when I am running consistently. When running is part of my usual routine. So, I started to wonder where the joy comes in. Was it running races and getting to the finish line that brought me joy? Was it the camaraderie of being in the running community that brought me joy? Or was it the improving and progressing and getting faster that brought me joy?

Honestly, it’s none of the above. What brings me joy when running is the ability to move through space in nature while clearing my head. I enjoy the act of running because it allows me to decompress and get out my stress and breathe in the fresh air and see the beautiful scenery of my neighborhood and be completely alone. I have never found joy in going further or getting faster. Not enough to keep me from quitting. What I am learning is that I need to disconnect with the pressures to run often and improve my skill. I need to forget about the races and disregard my desire to prove something to someone out there. I don’t need any of that. I want to run for fun. I want to run when I feel like it for as long as I feel like it with no pressure to follow a plan or a protocol or a schedule. Running to me, is freedom. And freedom doesn’t feel right when it’s structured and formatted and planned. 

What I’ve had to do is switch my mindset around running. I don’t need to train for races like I used to. I don’t need to run faster or further or for longer. I do need to run though. I know that about myself. So, what I really need is to find the joy in running again. To run for want and not out of need.

I went for a run yesterday that checked all the boxes. I told myself I was going to take it slow and just see what happened. I was going to put one foot in front of the other and enjoy my experience. I walked for five minutes. Jogged very slowly for twenty. And walked for another five. When my running portion was nearing that twenty-minute mark I felt good enough to keep running but I didn’t. I stopped myself because I didn’t want to get to the point where it hurt. I didn’t want to regret it later. I only wanted to enjoy it. And I did. It was absolutely lovely. There was no pressure to perform a certain way. No ticking clock or person behind me or hundred-dollar race registration fee. There was nothing that said I had to run. With the knowledge that I could slow down or quit early and walk, I was able to actually have the freedom to have fun. 

And I am aware of my pelvic floor issues. I am aware that I need to be careful not to injure myself. Even more reason to take it slow. To give myself permission to walk. To allow myself to not run if my body is telling me to take a day off. Ultimately, I stopped enjoying running when it became a standard part of my routine. When it was every other day. When it was rain or shine. When it was a chore. An obligation. A must. There was too much pressure, and I most certainly caved. I gave up because I didn’t find it to be worth it to set aside my other goals and put my body through stress. I didn’t see the fun through the pressure. But I do now. I now can see how crucial it is to find joy in what I do. To find the pleasure in the running. To hit the pavement nice and slow and to allow myself to be flexible and lower my own expectations. 

I now see that my room for improvement has nothing to do with the physical. I don’t need my body to go faster or further. I don’t need my running to get stronger. I need to remind myself why I fell in love in the first place. Why my feet hitting the ground brings me joy. Why my entire life is better when I run. And I now see that it all comes back to having fun. To floating down the street and experiencing life through movement. I don’t need to run. I want to. And running because I want to, gives me all the joy I need.

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel