Green is the color of awkward

Out of the mouths of babes.

Abby, who is very pleased with her new stuffed Christmas turtle, was explaining how much she loved the color awkward. I so enjoyed the thought of a color "awkward" that I refrained from correcting her with the more precise "aqua" and decided that she, in her infinite 5-year-old wisdom, hit the nail on the head.

Green isn't just the color of Christmas turtles. Green is the color of money, of greed, of envy. Green is in the eye of the monster that overrides reason and calm and disregards kindness for revenge and personal gain. The adjective green is used as an excuse for people who are too novice to know better. Green is the color of the grass on the other side.

If there were ever a color that drove some awkward behavior, this would be it.

A dear friend did that great thing that dear friends do so deftly: after a night of w(h)ine where I lamented my stress, my confusion, my frustration, my loss of spirit, she turned the tables right back at me. Yes, it's hard and stressful and frustrating, but really, staying in that spot is a choice, and -- you know this is coming -- a bit of a cop out. If I'm in it for the money, to prove myself, to put some stake in the ego-sodden ground around me, all of which I so vociferously deny, well, then, stop bitching (okay, she's too kind to go that far, but she inferred it.). If I'm not, and it's not working, well, then, make a change. The problem is: I don't know on which side of the fence I fall.

It's not easy being green.

It's not like I've not been here before; please reference just how not very far I've come. I know I've missed the point completely. The good news is that I've decided I was designed to be in my 40s. I think that's why I've always aligned my running goals with being 45; I just felt in my gut that's where I needed to be to get my shit together. It's not together at all mind you, in fact, it smells worse than ever. I'm home on vacation from work while the world's greatest nanny takes an extended break in the snowfield that was Maine. Day by day, it degenerates, but for one small glimmer of hope -- the utter disappointment that is a dry, brown Christmas in Colorado has made way to playing outside with the girls every day while my son works through a post-Christmas Nintendo marathon and my husband hides from his psychotic wife. What seems like simple fun has been plyometrics on the playground.

It seems the only way not to strangle myself trying to pull myself up by my boot straps is to not focus on the job as the root of all stress and to live the life that I need to live to breathe and be happy. The rest has a way of shaking itself out. Perhaps it's time to find some green running clothes.