The Wanderer

Most of the stories my mother tells about me growing up have a common theme - my wandering ways. I have no recollection of it, but she says as soon as I started crawling, she'd turn around to find me gone. A quick search would find me at the bookcase devouring my older sister's storybooks. Once I was older and walking, my wandering off became riskier and more terrifying for my parents. Taking me shopping must have been a nightmare for them because if something caught my eye, I was gone always knowing where I was but failing to inform the worried parent that I was just browsing and not accepting a candy offer from a creepy stranger with a van. The exasperated looks I received when I was located are too numerous to count.  Pretty sure my parents thought their shy daughter would be too timid and frightened to ever leave their side, but I proved early on the only thing I was shy about was telling them where I was going. Once I was found, I'd show them the 'neat' thing that had lured me away and then reluctantly follow behind them like a dutiful daughter. 

I've never stopped wandering. The intrigue of new places, new things and new experiences are still catching my eye and leading me away from the presumed 'normal' path. Seven years ago, I decided to wander off to New York City. I grew up seeing it in the movies and on TV; I'd taken a few trips and seen firsthand how fascinating and special it was. There was so much to see and do and try, and I've seen and done and tried a lot of it. I'm sure I could've wandered here forever with its constant changing and surplus of shiny, new things. When I was a child and I'd wander off, my family would always draw me back. Things are a little different this time, my parents aren't the exasperated ones, two little boys are. Those nephews of mine have dulled the allure of the new for me. Suddenly, seeing a new exhibit pales in comparison to their first day of school. No date has been finalized, but I've already started warning those little cuties that their aunt is coming home for good and they'll soon be sick of her.

Growing Up on the Finish Line

My dad helping me get ready for one of my first races.

I cannot accurately remember my childhood without thinking about the countless races I attended with my family. My dad began running before I was born, and I joined my mom and sister as one of the little cheerleaders at his races from infancy. Weekends were rarely just about toys and cartoons; they were about waking up early and driving to a nearby town for their annual 5k, 10k or marathon race. My sister and I would wait patiently (and sometimes impatiently!) for the runners to make their way through the course, and then we would take our place at the finish line to wait for that familiar face to cross the line. Watching all the reports coming out of Boston in the past day, it's been hard not to think about my own time lingering around a finish line waiting, watching with nothing to fear. 

Finish lines mean different things to different people. There is the sense of accomplishment and the pride that comes with it. There is relief for those who regret signing up for such a strenuous activity. There is joy that comes with being reunited with those that helped you make it to this point. There should never be terror, fear or sadness. Yesterday, tragedy struck the final stretch of the famous Boston Marathon. On a day and moment that should be marked with celebration, someone chose to overshadow that with evil. Once again, this country mourns the loss of human life at the hands of a coward. I struggle to understand this world that I live in where a non-threatening event like a marathon is now a place to be feared.

With any tragedy whether natural or man-made, the outpouring of love, support and help is overwhelming. When faced with the unthinkable evil of a terrorist attack, people don't resort to more evil, instead they exhibit every form of love and compassion. Sadly, hate and the heinous acts it brings about will forever be a part of this world, but my hope is that we as Americans and humans will always have the same benevolent reaction to it.