Anchor, Man!

As we hit the month in which we declare our gratitude, I can't help but think back over my 2014.

It's been what I would call a series of...shifts.

A couple were good, like hitting Nevada Fitness Club and sticking with it, or starting to take fish oil when I realized my cholesterol rivaled that of a chronic smoker twice my size.

A couple were bad, and made a mockery of who I thought I was. My identity, or what I had considered it to be, took two major hits, pop pop!, one after the other. When I regained figurative consciousness, I realized that I was suddenly, to put it in terms a Cubs fan might understand, in a rebuilding period. Everything I thought I was, everything I planned to do, all of it was...just gone.

It was weird as hell.

Over the weekend, I finally picked up a book that my friend Johanna loaned me roughly two months ago and started reading. It's called "It's Kind of a Funny Story" by Ned Vizzini, and is about a 15-year-old kid who spends five days in a psychiatric facility. I'm drawn to these types of stories, because I spent seven days in a similar facility when I was a teenager, and for the same reason as the protagonist...depression.

This book was pretty true to my own experience. These places are made up of an interesting collection of personalities, and the real lessons aren't always learned in therapy.

About two-thirds through the book, the main character, Craig, is talking to his therapist, Dr. Minerva. She asks him what his anchors are, what calms him when things around him are anything but. He muses out loud that maybe his friends, or this girl he just met. She stops him, and reminds him that people, and their personalities, are fluid. They're ever-changing. People cannot be anchors, Craig. What else?, she asked him.

I've been thinking about Dr. Minerva's words a lot, because I have been guilty of considering people my anchors. And I have lost those anchors. I know music is one. I know writing is one. But when I returned to Fit Club tonight after a week-long absence, I realized that I felt like I was back home. Better yet, we were doing my FAVORITE workout, Combat. If you have any kind of personal El Guapo in your life, do a Combat workout.

Punching the crap out of your invisible enemy is very therapeutic.

But the best part, the most amazing part, of the workout tonight was that when I walked in, my dad was there waiting for me.

I have a really great dad, and I had a really great childhood. Part of my kid identity was following my dad around softball parks and basketball courts until I was old enough to play. He, and my other dad, Leon, were my coaches, and I was secure in the knowledge that I could count on them for anything.

Practice really kind of sucked.

Running really, REALLY sucked.

Don't even get me started on line drills.

But I was secure in who I was on the court or on the field. I had a role. I knew what I had to do.

Sports, and exercise, were my anchors.

To walk in tonight and see my dad meant everything. Suddenly it was 1992 again, and we were in that same gym, doing aerobics with Sherry Bickel to stay in cardio-shape in between weight workouts.

And I realized that I'm starting to get my identity back. I have my anchors again.

What are your anchors? What are the things that calm you, the things that focus you, the things that bring you back to that happy place in your soul? What makes you feel like you felt when you were a child and everything was an adventure?

Find it. Find it, and get back to it.