I run not to get away, but to get through.
I run not to become out of breath, but to gain breath.
I run to be social and I run for solitude.
I run to connect and I run to disconnect.
I run not to avoid work, but to inspire work.
I run to feel empowered and I run to remind myself that I am still weak.
I run to meditate and I run to ruminate.
I run not to lose weight, but to gain balance.
I run because it is what I do.
Because I run, I can be who I am.
And that is why I run.
Money can help buy happiness, but not in the way you may think. Permanent happiness comes from transitive experiences while permanent goods only lead to temporary pleasure. Seems a bit counter-intuitive, doesn’t it?
When you purchase material goods, you may feel better in the moment as your body sends a surge of pleasure hormones through your body. That feeling is only temporary, even though the goods may persist. That new TV only brings intense positive feelings for a very short period before it simply blends in with the background, becoming one more thing to dust.
In contrast, investing money in experiences (ideally shared with others), leads to fun and pleasure in the moment and contributes to memories that persist well beyond. Experiences also help promote bonding, and having meaningful relationships has been shown to be a key contributor to happiness.
Since my divorce, I have been trying to make this happen in my life. I didn’t used to spend money on much of anything, but now I will allocate it towards experiences that I believe will make me happy. I purchased a membership at the botanical gardens and I frequently get to enjoy a garden I didn’t labor to create. I have run many races, both solo and with my boyfriend. I don’t hesitate to spend money to go to a concert or comedy show. These experiences (and their accompanying photos), have brought me endless smiles.
Besides, I’d rather go see Korn in concert or go camping in the mountains than have a new pair of shoes any day:)
I am sorry to be such a coward leaving you this way but I am leaving you and I am leaving the state.
That is the text I received on the above phone in July of 2009. Until today, it has remained my phone. Every time I’ve used it, the feeling of its curved case in my hands is a visceral reminder of the several days I spent grasping its cold body after receiving the text. That phone, the deliverer of the death sentence of my marriage, was the only possible connection I had to my former life. It was my executioner and my security blanket in one. It has overstayed its welcome in my life. As of today, it is retired from its duties.
I was nervous about the process of opening a new account; I still never know what will come up from my past. It was comforting to have a gentle salesperson who had also dealt with an ex’s financial betrayal. The look on her face told me she didn’t judge me and she understood.
My new phone is so much more than a phone. It already contains an image of my current beau and I after we completed a tough race (Tough Mudder, to be exact). It symbolizes freedom and connection with new technology (you can see that my old phone wasn’t exactly cutting edge!). It will allow me to more effciently pursue some of my projects and dreams. Most importantly, at least to me, is the fact that it stores no memories, its shape is virgin to my hand.
Today I have severed an important connection to my past. The phone that signaled the end of one life has been replaced by one that symbolizes the start of a new.
Lessons From the End of a Marriage 
