Under the Bridge (not Downtown)
Chad and I have lived in our house in NE Minneapolis for fifteen years, as of this May. Sadly, I totally spaced this momentous anniversary, and missed the opportunity to commemorate it with a party, or an outing, or even a toast. Oh well, maybe next year we can do something for our "Sweet Sixteen." I know fifteen years isn't necessarily that long in the grand scheme of things, or even homes, but it should be long enough to get to know a neighborhood pretty well. So I'm often surprised when I realize there are still so many things (and by things I usually mean bars) about my little corner of the world that I still don't know.
Today I made a small dent in decreasing my ignorance by doing a bit of exploring on the trails along the Mississippi about two miles from our house. I won't spend too much time trying to write about geography and location and all that jazz. Given my lack of understanding of these things, it would just be frustrating and confusing for all of us. I'll just say I think the bridge that the trails are under is known as the Camden Bridge. I think it's blue. Anyhoo, one of my standard running routes takes me from our house along the Mississippi to this bridge (and obviously, back to our house). Round-trip, it's about four miles. Today, on a whim, after I ran to the bridge, I walked across and under the bridge and along the river.
I was amazed and excited by how much beauty and coolness there was to explore so close to our house. I didn't spend all that much time poking around, but started making plans and vows to come back when I had more time (and maybe some water). I got pretty swept up in excitement. "Won't this place be just gorgeous in a week or so when the fall colors really start popping?" I thought.
Yet my excitement and (rather uncharacteristic) tree-hugging joy was tinged with a mixture of sadness and regret (sagret?). Why hadn't I explored these trails before? How much soul expanding nature communing had I missed out on? How much more centered and evolved would I be if I had experience said communing? What else was I missing out on? But at the very moment I was lamenting not having explored these trails before, part of me was busily counting off reasons why I hadn't in these last fifteen years and why I probably never would again. It was like having a little hippie on one shoulder and a little accountant on the other fighting over me. (Sorry, that was probably offensive to both hippies and accountants but hopefully you will give me poetic license and understand the image).
I have read that people often resist making changes because it makes them feel bad or wrong about their current behavior. I think this is often true for me, and could be at play in my little nature exploration dilemma. On some, perhaps many, levels I feel if I start walking or running these trails it will confirm that I was wrong not to have done so before. So it's better just to keep doing what I have always been doing. I struggle to tell myself "I'm just going to this now and it doesn't have to be a statement on the merits of life up until this point. Really Amy, it's no big whoo."
On the other hand, I can also get overly enthusiastic about things and then just as quickly tire of them. Sometimes the life cycles of my interest can be surprisingly intense and brief, going from "this is the greatest thing ever!" to "meh" in 30 seconds or less. Maybe my desire to frolic along the banks of the Mississippi isn't actually all that practical and there are good reasons I haven't indulged it, and my interest has naturally run its course.
So I don't know if I will go back and meander around this part of the Mississippi or not, or how often I will do it. But I do know for the moments I was there is was pretty awesome, and that really is more than enough. (I also know I heard the Red Hot Chili Peppers' song I reference in this post title more than enough during my college years to last a lifetime).
Today I made a small dent in decreasing my ignorance by doing a bit of exploring on the trails along the Mississippi about two miles from our house. I won't spend too much time trying to write about geography and location and all that jazz. Given my lack of understanding of these things, it would just be frustrating and confusing for all of us. I'll just say I think the bridge that the trails are under is known as the Camden Bridge. I think it's blue. Anyhoo, one of my standard running routes takes me from our house along the Mississippi to this bridge (and obviously, back to our house). Round-trip, it's about four miles. Today, on a whim, after I ran to the bridge, I walked across and under the bridge and along the river.
I was amazed and excited by how much beauty and coolness there was to explore so close to our house. I didn't spend all that much time poking around, but started making plans and vows to come back when I had more time (and maybe some water). I got pretty swept up in excitement. "Won't this place be just gorgeous in a week or so when the fall colors really start popping?" I thought.
Yet my excitement and (rather uncharacteristic) tree-hugging joy was tinged with a mixture of sadness and regret (sagret?). Why hadn't I explored these trails before? How much soul expanding nature communing had I missed out on? How much more centered and evolved would I be if I had experience said communing? What else was I missing out on? But at the very moment I was lamenting not having explored these trails before, part of me was busily counting off reasons why I hadn't in these last fifteen years and why I probably never would again. It was like having a little hippie on one shoulder and a little accountant on the other fighting over me. (Sorry, that was probably offensive to both hippies and accountants but hopefully you will give me poetic license and understand the image).
I have read that people often resist making changes because it makes them feel bad or wrong about their current behavior. I think this is often true for me, and could be at play in my little nature exploration dilemma. On some, perhaps many, levels I feel if I start walking or running these trails it will confirm that I was wrong not to have done so before. So it's better just to keep doing what I have always been doing. I struggle to tell myself "I'm just going to this now and it doesn't have to be a statement on the merits of life up until this point. Really Amy, it's no big whoo."
On the other hand, I can also get overly enthusiastic about things and then just as quickly tire of them. Sometimes the life cycles of my interest can be surprisingly intense and brief, going from "this is the greatest thing ever!" to "meh" in 30 seconds or less. Maybe my desire to frolic along the banks of the Mississippi isn't actually all that practical and there are good reasons I haven't indulged it, and my interest has naturally run its course.
So I don't know if I will go back and meander around this part of the Mississippi or not, or how often I will do it. But I do know for the moments I was there is was pretty awesome, and that really is more than enough. (I also know I heard the Red Hot Chili Peppers' song I reference in this post title more than enough during my college years to last a lifetime).
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| Beautiful day and a picturesque creek |
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