Imaginary Me

My children haven’t had well-visit doctor appointments since 2014, late 2014, which isn’t really the same at all as January 2014, but which my pediatrician suggested I remedy the last time I was at their office. I mean, we’ve been there for other things. That time when the stick-on craft jewels ended up in an ear. That little case of idiopathic dermatitis. Stomach issues. It’s not like we’ve been strangers.

But fine. I acknowledged the kindly judgement as our doctor flipped through their charts for “the last well-visit.” I scheduled appointments. I confirmed them. A quick click of an email link. And then I promptly forgot about them. 8:20 rolled by this morning. 8:40 rolled by. The times meant nothing to me. About 12:30, I thought, “Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot!” And… we’re rescheduled for a month from now. Not early morning, anymore, but the smack dab late-middle of the day reserved for those who can’t adequately plan ahead. It was just as well. Had I been wearing my good mother hat, I would have tipped from moderately late on several work projects to really late. Although, as we all know, you can’t be a little bit pregnant or a little bit late. Yes, yes. I know, I know! Let me just lay my head down for a minute and contemplate that wisdom. Or cry. Whichever.

I’m currently in the midst of establishing a running routine. Again. Every route is all uphill. I’m at that return-to-fitness point where every time I run, I contemplate every other form of exercise I can think of. I’ve never tried that circus acrobatics aerial silks trapeze thing. I might love that. I might be great at that. Or hiking. I like hiking. In theory. It’s just the getting there, and the crowded trailhead parking lots and the high possibility of thunderstorms on mountain tops by mid-day. Running you can do anywhere. You start as soon as you leave your front door, and it’s over as soon as you get back to your front door. It’s attractive that way. Full circle. Efficient. But what about Pilates? You don’t even have to leave the house for that… or maybe I should just start vacuuming more often.

While I’m running, I’m dividing my neighborhood into halves, and then quarters and then blocks, making deals with myself from stop sign to stop sign and wondering how Pandora’s music algorithm suddenly puts Journey’s Open Arms in the middle of a curated 130 beats-per-minute playlist. The running app voice feedback always sounds like she’s bored with me. I don’t blame her. She’s had to hang out for 11 minutes just waiting to give me my mile split times. Honestly, in all that internal rationalization and plaintive whining, I find a lot of comfort in my shadow. While I’m wheezing, she’s running smoothly. While my feet are on fire and my throat dry, she just keeps going. She’s steady.

Symbolically, shadows get a bad rap. Duality and darkness. But shadow me? I like the silent, supportive, ambiguity of that chick. She sticks with me. Shadow me, the one who scales hills without wheezing, isn’t a hypochondriac and doesn’t snap at her husband and children. She’s perpetually 26, the me before I was tired all the time, and knows how to pronounce French entrées and calls her mother and her best friend regularly and remembers to send Father’s Day cards, even when it’s busy at work. She actually actively listens as her child reads 20 minutes a day, and she doesn’t forget key talking points, or even basic words, just as they are needed. She’s great. Instead of my imaginary friend, she’s my imaginary me.

I’d like to think that I am capable of being all those things. Perhaps not at the same time. Maybe not even all in the same week. But as much as I am the woman who forgets doctor’s appointments and stress eats Almond Joys from the work vending machine, I also sometimes get it right. My celebratory pancake game is strong, and I filed our annual Girl Scout troop report on time. I sometimes remember to stick notes in my childrens’ lunches and I’ve run a 10k (that one time).

Sometimes I get it wrong. Sometimes I get it right. Sometimes I only just show up, dry shampoo and flip flops, and call it a win. As long as I keep chasing my shadow, I figure I’m in motion. Occasionally, even forward motion. If nothing else, it helps burn off the Almond Joys.