Lately I, like every other Tom, Pedro and Keisha, have been watching the Olympics as if someone has put crack in my tv. Well, it’s possibly given the amount of television I do watch (I’m not like most people who seem to say they barely watch television - I’ve said in this blog time and time again that TV was my nanny and I have a hard time leaving Nana when there’s always a rerun for “Different World”, a shark documentary, a behind the scenes of jail special or Bravo marathon to soak in). But this time I had a small revelation of sorts:

People need to push rocks uphill in order to feel as if they are doing something.

It’s not a very revolutionary or original revelation. The Goo Goo Dolls said it best when they sang, “You bleed just to know you’re alive.” I have this idea that people tend to create their own obstacles just feel as if they are moving. For example, Lolo Jones, my new friend in my head. Had she flown past all the hurdles and won her Gold, would she have been able to reach down in the depths of her soul (she is very religious, I’ve read) to find that other level of strength or faith that comes with disappointment or failure? You can literally see her infrastructure as she pounds her thighs when she realizes she’s not won after hitting that ninth hurdle and loses her momentum. It is heartbreaking. Or is it necessary? Or both.

These games seem to be a symbol of attempting to overcome the impossible for some necessary reason in our lives. Like the weightlifter who went so far as to lift something that literally broke his bone sideways. Did he know that it was too heavy? Did he know it was too heavy or did his body have to tell him? We push our own limits of understanding ourselves for some reason and I always wonder what that is. It happens in relationships (it can be the “drama” we always say we want to avoid, sneaking to check and see if people still think we are attractive by clicking those crazy Facebook applications, staying in touch with old flames “jut in case”, comitting to love someone who’s like no one you’ve ever loved before to see if you can be better or be your ideal, loving or liking someone to the point where you have a whole story before you even have a date). It happens in the movies we watch (pick a Hollywood blockbuster and you’ll see there are always wonderful odds we keep watching, to see if they pay out or crash and burn). It happens in the everyday (speeding past the slow poke in front of you on the street, running for the train you won’t make, saying you’ll be there at 8 when you know it will be 9, saying you’re pursuing your dream but doing something that will definitely deter you - choosing the detour).

I’m wondering if we just stop pushing the rock up the hill, will we still be okay if we are just…still. Can we be the eye of the storm instead of the storm?

I am sure I’m guilty of this too. In fact, I know I am so that’s why I have no problem wondering about this life stuff out loud (or on the screen). I’m worried that when I do it, I will appear unsatisfied or nervous about the present tense. And if I worry about being unsatisfied, will I feel guilty because I am satisified (are we always supposed to strive for more or can we relax a little and be okay with right now?) or content?

Lately I’ve been hearing one of my favorite lines from the movie “Beaches.” While there are a plethora of gems from that cryfest, one stands out particularly here:

Bette Midler as Cece, the seasoned rockstar who’s now in some kind of milestone in her life since Hilary, her best and polar opposite friend (Barbara Hershey), is on death’s doorstep and her husband divorces her after she becomes a diva pain in the ass. As she stays with Hilary, she gets interviewed by some Barbara Walters wannabe.

Reporter: Tell us something about Cece.
Cece: Cece….feels things.

That’s it. That’s the line I love. Though Bette as Cece beats herself up over this line, I think it’s really poignant. We allow ourselves to just be. To just feel things instead of act on them. To trust internal momentums sometimes and believe they will pull us through rather than grab a rock and push it uphill. There is more courage in stillness sometimes than in flurry and flux. I believe that.

T. Tara…feels things.