One Hundred Seventy Days

Today is the 96th anniversary of my father’s birth. Happy birthday, Dad.

In 170 days it will be November 11, 2008—the 34th anniversary of his death, and coincidentally the first day of my bicycle trek across Israel. I do not have forty years of wandering in the desert ahead of me, but in some ways it may feel that way. Some days I will feel lost, hopeless, wanting to return to the comfort of the past. Some days I will find the sustenance unacceptable, the waters bitter, and certainly the uphill climbs strenuous and even painful. And, I pray, some days I will experience revelation, light, awe, truth. All of these, and more, will be the companions of my journey.

One hundred seventy is a big number. It represents too many days for me to hold in my awareness. I can understand today, tomorrow, this week, maybe even this month. Five months, twenty-four weeks is much too long for me to get my arms around. Although I have spent much of my career planning projects of longer duration, and creating annual plans, this is the result of applying concepts and tools that are inherently opposed to my nature. I see myself as a spontaneous, intuitive person. When Myers-Briggs inventories ask whether I like to have my Sundays planned (I transpose the question to Saturday) the answer is emphatically “No”. When Deb asks on Friday night, “Are you going to shul tomorrow?” The answer is typically, “We’ll see.” One of the reasons Deb and I have so much trouble planning and taking vacations is that the arrangements—especially using frequent flyer miles—demand that we transport ourselves too far out in the future.

And yet, God willing, in 170 days I know exactly where I will be and what I will be doing. Frightening. All the more so, because to do this thing I purport to do I must also do certain things on all or most of the days between now and then. I must ride increasing distances along increasingly challenging routes. I must experience the pain and exhilaration of climbing and descending the Santa Cruz mountains. I must continually monitor and adjust the delicate relationship between my body and the machine that transports me. I must find a pair of riding shoes or a saddle or cleat position that allows me to pedal more than an hour and a half without my pinky toes becoming numb. I must strengthen my legs and arms and torso. I must strengthen my resistance to self-medicate with food. I must reduce my body mass index—not for this ride alone, but for the forty-plus years of wandering I plan to do after the ride.

I have so much to do.

I know I can only do whatever I do in the discrete, indefinable moment of “now”. And while the self-help literature preaches the value of living in the present I still feel a need to put “now” in a context that includes November 11, 1974 and November 11, 2008. What was, what is, and what may be some day, frame a conversation of contrasts that fuel awareness and action in the present. My health is good, and I am the son of two parents who had heart disease. I am optimistic, and I must not turn a blind eye to heredity. I have had a better diet, more exercise, in a smoke free environment than did my parents, and I am obese, take cholesterol medication and have some tendencies that left unchecked could lead to diabetes.

So when I say “I am making a commitment to my own sustainability as well as the planet's,” these are powerful words. Yet there is a part of me that acts indifferent to my own declaration. I get it intellectually, that both the planet and my body are desperately seeking my attention and support. And at another level, I am acutely aware that I have done too little for either. I wonder what it will take. When will my heart and soul catch up to my mind?

One hundred seventy days is a long time, but not so long that I can fritter them away with thoughts that there are so many tomorrows that I can postpone doing today what can only be done today. Last December I spoke to the congregation about the symbolism of Chanukah and how lighting candles was a beautiful way to be mindful of the need to measure our days. Today my prayer, my charge to myself, my pledge, is to kindle a flame within that will illuminate my path and guide me to make conscious life affirming decisions today, the next 170 days, and all the days of my life.