I have learned a lot since I went away.

And isn't that what it's about?

I ran 13 miles on Sunday. This meant I woke up at 4:30 to take care of necessities, then went back to sleep and woke up in time to run before it got too hot to move outside. It was perhaps the most pleasant long run I've ever had. I started strong, ran strong, ended strong; saw a family of deer, nearly stepped on a toad, and came close to kicking a chipmunk (by accident, of course).

I haven't run since. I'll pick up again tonight. Scheduling all the miles this week is a bit odd because I have a challenging, yet short race on Sunday: an 8K on the Lake Michigan shoreline and through crazy sand dunes and the hills of Michigan City, Indiana. I'm not sure when to get in my long run. Maybe Friday.

I have come to some interesting conclusions. I made a conscious decision to be an observer for the ex's visit, rather than my usual instigator. I decided to just see what would happen, rather than make things happen.

Here's what I observed:

He loves me. I wasn't convinced of this before. He loves me in the limited way he allows himself to love.

I love him. But I chose not to love him in the expansive, all-encompassing, all-consuming way of loving that I do. I chose to care for him, but not take care of him. This lesson is not to be underestimated.

I am capable of being myself, of choosing to be present in all situations, of being true to who I am, despite any shitstorm that blows into town. And sometimes the shitstorm ain't all bad. If it's the right kind of shit, it might just fertilize your garden.

Sunday marked 6 years since the day we met and 1 year since the day we broke up.

After breakfast together, he headed back to Boston and I headed north to Cadillac for my dear friend's beach wedding. Perfectly glorious. It was a small affair of mostly family and a handful of friends with a lovely reception at a grill overlooking a golf course. What came out of it for me was a rare insight into how other people see me. "Elegant" "sophisticated" "sexy" and "sultry" are the words people used to describe me that stand out in my mind. For as long as I remember I've aspired to those things, but I hadn't really realized I'd achieved them, at least in others' eyes. It was a nice awakening and reminder that I live in a social world--learning so often comes from interaction with others.

The only other dateless person at the wedding was a lesbian who shamelessly flirted with me for most of the evening. I wasn't interested in her advances, but I didn't mind the attention, either. Interesting how much less threatening uninvited sexual attention can be from a woman. Of course, she was a cute, young woman, and not one of those big, scary lesbians who can be so threatening. It makes a difference. Why is there always an undercurrent, a threat of violence in sexual encounters, potential or real? I'm sure there are theses written on the subject. . . .

Anywho, after the wedding, I made my way north, took a wrong turn at Traverse City and drove to the tip of a peninsula east of my original destination. I drove through 20 miles of vineyards and fruit orchards until the road ended and I realized I was off my intended path. Beautiful country. Like heaven on earth.

I drove the same road south, got back on track and ended at the tip of the Leelanau Peninsula, where my friend Marie lives. I met Marie on assignment--I was asked to write a profile of this woman who self-published a book of poems about her journey with her husband's Alzheimer's. This 85 year old and I hit it off instantly through our interviews, and she invited me up to the summer cottage her husband built in the 60s on Lake Michigan. It was very cool to more deeply enter the story I though I had begun and finished in April.

The cottage sits atop a sand dune overlooking the lake, with a long, wooden staircase down to the beach. On a clear day you can see Door County, Wisconsin 75 miles west. We swam and chatted as blue herons and monarch butterflies flew overhead. Then we ate a crisp summer meal of fresh bread, corn and salad fixins picked up at the ubiquitous roadside stands, drank chardonnay and watched the purple orange sun set over the blue green lake as ships carrying iron ore sailed across the horizon. Then the stars began to pop out one by one until we could reach out and touch them. I don't know that I've ever had a more delicious summer afternoon and evening.

I headed back south yesterday afternoon after a long walk along the beach, a simple breakfast, and more conversation with Marie. It was difficult to part company. But I made the most of the journey home, stopping for smoked fish in Leland and peaches in Grand Haven. I took the shore road home, first winding through glens and around lakes, then with the big lake on my right the rest of the way. This is glorious, mystical country. Sometimes you just have to be open for what is right in front of you.

Now I feel as if my summer retreat is drawing to a close. I need to quickly get to work on my many preparations for the start of fall and the courses I'll teach and take. Returning to school should be a well-rehearsed event, but it always feels like the first time all over again. I'm anxious yet eager for the challenge, feelings I've had since preschool.

After my short escape, I have renewed purpose and a different focused perspective on myself. I've come to the conclusion that I need to spend less time on becoming and more time on being. This means continuing to train as hard and smart for the marathon, but no more dieting. My aim is to delve deeper into mindfulness, listening to my body. There is deep wisdom here, and I can tap into it if I allow myself to connect. I will eat and drink to fuel my body, my self; and to enjoy the experience--including the people I'm with. This means: eating whole foods that aren't processed or preserved, that are local and organic when possible, eating them only when I'm hungry and only until I'm full; and spending time in people's company that feeds me.

It's all about that being present. And don't you know it was Walt Whitman who said, "We convince with our presence."

Sometimes it's ourselves who need convincing.