The negotiation of will

As I continue my 1/2 marathon training I've noticed a clear distinction between two voices in my head. Sort of the angel on one shoulder and devil on the other. One is the voice of boundless possibilities. The other is the voice of restraint. Depending on the moment, however, the voice of boundless possibilities can be the voice of recklessness and temptation; the voice of cautious restraint can inhibit necessary discomfort that promotes strengthening. Increasingly, I'm finding that when I'm running, or even working myself up for a run, the battle of wills ensues. One urges me to go further, harder, faster, the other, assures me that unbridled training will result in preventable injury. Both are right, of course. It's always a matter of deciding which one is more right at any particular moment. Decisions, decisions.

These are not new voices. I sometimes wonder if they haunt perfectionists more than other people. It seems that each day, each activity, is negotiated between these two poles of completely rational thought. It's exhausting actually. No, I don't wonder if I'm schizoid. However, I do worry about those who don't argue with themselves; those who have no inner conflict about how much is too much, and what is not enough, when its time to go, time to stay, time to talk, time to be quiet, time to get up, time to go to sleep, what is helpful and what is hurtful.

On a larger scale, this bouncing back and forth, speaks to the ease of my life. I mean, I have choices. I have the luxury of deciding how far I'll run on any given day, at any given moment once on the road - after all, I'm not in Darfur running for my life. I can decide when I go to bed, how much sleep will be enough, when and what I eat. And the necessary decision is when to stop eating. The stand off is between that old tape of my mother's voice reminding me of the starving children in the world as I dutifully clean my plate, and the instructional voice of discipline which weighs more heavily on leaving a portion on the plate to keep from eating to discomfort.  By far, most of the world does not harbor such debate.  In light of this alternative reality, it seems shamefully trivial to speak of it. 

I do not know why I was born into a life marked far more by abundance then scarcity. I only know that I this is where I find myself.  The boundaries of my entire world are determined by inner conflicts of no worldly consequence.  The management of abundance is choice.  This is not to say that choice in the context of abundance is irrelevant.  Its just that, in contrast, when you live with few choices, each decision bears substantial more weight; to chose not to eat this day may be a lifesaving decision in a week's time.  To pretend to understand such choices would be a profound act of disrespect.  

So I will stick to pondering my own trivial negotiations of will; how many hours to work in a given day or week, what to cook for dinner, the daily management of those things for which I am responsible, what time to turn in at night and when to rise in the morning, and the ongoing discernment of wise acts from certain foolishness.  And I'm holding out in hope that these seemingly immaterial decisions, even in their minuteness, do, at the end of the day, contribute to a better whole. That a life truly well-lived does not, because it cannot, take abundance for granted. That choice might be a powerful and constructive presence in a world deconstructed by avarice and apathy.  That I might live faithfully under the assumption that each choice matters.