It’s all about the socks

 I grew up poor in Mexico and then came over in the same financial state to the United States at 8 years of age. Christmas memories vary for us all but for me I genuinely don’t have the memory of getting super materialistic happiness on December 25th. Most of my clothes were hand me downs or garage sale shopping (we didn’t have a Goodwill in the town I was in and now I work for them!). 

The present I remember most often is socks. I’ve always enjoyed athletic endeavors and whether that be running or team sports, my huge toes lead to worn out socks. So very often I would unwrap something under the tree that was a nice package of sacks likely from the dollar store. I remember always being greatful, though perhaps not excited. The one time I received a just for fun gift that I remember was a Heman tiger that I accidentally dropped into the neighbors friend and whose dog quickly destroyed it. Even fake cats were the enemy… 

I’m 42 years old now and I realize just how much those socks meant. I’m a runner still and on Christmas Eve it was the first time in my life that the year, the temperature and the mileage all matched-22. I was pretty consistent and just faded a little in the last couple of miles which made it the longest I’ve ran in over a year and in the entirety of the year. The wool socks mattered. 

But as I sat and thought of this, I realize that well I’ve gotten socks from lots of people including raffles (hey modern running socks individually are more expensive than the packs I got as a kid). But it takes me a moment to realize, without exception, everyone I’ve ever purchased and given socks to is someone that I love. It’s family and friends that could call at 2:00 in the morning and I’d be there in a heartbeat. 

I have socks from Kiana about how cold of a dad I am, I have gag ones that are bright colors that I rarely wear but don’t dare to discard. I also have some race ones and some recovery ones that are solid memories of events. Kiana for a long time was horrible about putting socks away and would just throw them in a drawer and then rather than looking for a match one day, decided to just grab two different ones whether or not they matched in color or length. I loved the non conformity and creativity of it. 

I hope whoever or however you’re spending this holiday season or the upcoming New Year, you reach out to those who lovingly provided you socks or have provided them for. The only person who I’ve never shared a home or a bed with that I’ve gotten socks to is my friend Chris, who is by far the person I’ve ran with the most and somehow will run with holes in his socks. My to go gifts for him are vodka and socks; I should combine those two someday. And believe it or not, it’s not a bad time to still get socks from someone. (If you’re thinking about me, somehow I’ve never gotten socks with an 8 or a lion!).

I am at the house I would always visit when I would come to west Texas. It’s a home my parents have been buying but my grandparents have been living in. Since my grandmother passed away last summer, my parents have been living here with my grandfather. I’ve struggled with the signs referencing that it’s grandpa and grandma’s house. It’s the first time I’ve ever visited and somewhere between the turkey or the tamales or the Mexican hot chocolate, I still feel like she’s just around the corner. I’m dreaming of a fully brown Christmas because there’s less of us now who don’t speak some if not fluent English but with her we had to talk in Spanish or be quiet. I’ve cried a bit but mostly I have tried to focus on the pictures of her smiling with different people at different stages. She was one of those people who gave me socks. 

So, let me emphasize again, that I hope you use and I certainly intend to, call, text, dm, shout at someone and thank them if they took  care of you from head to toe, those bare necessities whether or not they provided you the luxuries of life. Tell them you love them and appreciate the way they took care of you or the privilege you have in taking care of them. Maybe if you’re lucky, it’ll knock their socks off. 

Carma running over Dogma

 This thing is called picking up a hitchhiker because I’ve picked up every hitchhiker I’ve ever passed by and then needed rides for 3 years. But my carma has caught up in a different way in the last few weeks, I have been driving in 2 different cars that have been totaled in the last few weeks. I’ve also had my car on my ‘new’ 2007 Prius broken by someone who was breaking mirrors and biting people and then after that got repaired, the hybrid battery ran out. Somehow all the car bills from 3 years of not driving almost a decade ago got caught up and then some in 3 months. It’s a good thing the world is so car bill and purchase friendly right now… oh wait. 

I would like to apologize to whoever I pissed off because after a few runs of the best years in my life from like 2016 to 2018, I have been on a downhill trend since 2019 in so many ways with 2022 being the worst year of my life in about every way possible. Still, my email signature reads “ I am and always will be the optimist, the hoper of far flung hopes and the dreamer of improbable dreams.” Some people have interpreted that to mean the simple colloquial meaning of an optimism of seeing the glass half full rather than half empty. I’ve never quite understood that allegory since it’s an even split. When it’s not, are we supposed to say 1/10th full rather than mostly empty. Optimism for me is to stand in the pouring rain and believe the sun will shine again. 

I crashed into someone at a race recently, one of only two ‘good’ races I have had in over a year and like the days of old, one I signed up for the day before. They said my social media posts and this blog is not quite as positive as they remember it. I didn’t know what to say to that. There is some acknowledgement in that; I know that I’m worse for the wear, more than I’ve been in anytime I remember but hey I have a damaged memory. That’s a great irony because people still say I have more energy than anyone I’ve met but one of the women from the past recently said that my vitality in life was one of the attractive features of mine.  Only so much credence you should give to your exes (and I have enough in Texas to where I may have to retire in Tennessee) since it didn’t work out but it definitely made me wonder. 

I’m thankful to be alive each and every moment of every day. There are moments of those who are supposed to be the keepers of the flame that feel more abusive, more chokeholds or slaps in the face of those who are supposed to be caretakers. The medical bill for some bloodwork that was quoted to me for $50 came in at almost $4000. Several phone calls etc end with ‘there’s nothing else we can do for you” but they didn’t do anything for me to begin with. As I write this, I think I’m done with anything new in the medical world. I know I’m only 42 years old and this and that but I made peace with dying a long time ago and I’ll do the upkeep that I’m supposed to on what we know but I am exhausted. I’m not quitting; I don’t quit (trust me I did a half marathon yesterday in the slowest time I’ve ever done that course in a lot of pain in the humidity yesterday and there was not a moment of walking despite all the pain). But there is acceptance and not signing up to tilt at certain windmills anymore. 

I know no one fully gets it; I still have people who know that I walk into the room and am happy to be there and to see everyone because I genuinely am still happy in the freedom I take. But again “oh freedom, that’s just some people talking when my prison is walking in this world all alone.” I don’t think I’m getting bailed out of that prison ever cause a poor boy from an immigrant family in Mexico and small town West Texas to college in Napa Valley has lots of friends but such an odd story that relatability is both legion and hard. As a college professor once shared, “you are unique just like everyone else.” I have turned town book deals though it was offered at two different points in my life. (In case you’re wondering, I would call it “The Thrill of Hope, a Soundtrack of Quiet Desperation” with each chapter named after a song.) I am tempted to write it more and more these days but I don’t think I could with the honesty and rawness that I’d want because while I see and would project most of what’s gone wrong on to myself, sharing the details of other people’s lives who matter to me, well oddly enough too many of those people read this blog and appreciate but are very private. Most of them realize that it’s just hiding in public which is actually far more freeing than just hiding or hiding in therapy or telling almost enough to your friends to where you feel honest. But while some people live life to add this time or that one to the memoir, I think all/almost the things I’ve ever read that were based on true stories it was people living with intent to live more than intent to remember that made interesting. 

So I’m ready for this year to end. I’ve kind of given up all old traditions about Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s that I once had in this rough era thinking maybe it was time to let the old ways die. I’m hoping the carma days run over my dogmas and I just hope for a really really boring year in 2023. I am going to run the Austin marathon in February which is the furthest I can dream ahead. It’s odd, in July it was the first time my oncologist stated/believe I wouldn’t die of cancer according to the stats but my father’s death in 2021, my grandmother’s in 2022 and invariably the number of cancer friends that continue to give me survivors guilt make me have a harder time envisioning too far down the road. Right now I’m tired enough to where I’m not even thinking to my next MRI which was my previous method of keeping time. But for today and at least tomorrow, I still want to live like Don Quixote but not die like him. I want to die an unreasonable man, tilting at windmills till the end. I want to love though I gotta get better at that pure and chaste from afar if Dulcinea even exists anywhere except in my projections.  And when I walked away from totaling car accident number 2, I ran the fastest race I have in about a year and a half, the only good one since June of 2021 (a friend joked I should have more car accidents). But with simple materialistic or any other sorrow, even if I can’t go as far, I still want to run where the brave dare not go. And well if I can do that, I think my heart will be peaceful and calm when I’m laid to my rest.