ok

I really thought I'd got it sussed.

This whole minimalist/mindfulness/simple-living malarkey

I'd read the right books, checked out the right blogs, listened to the right podcasts on my dog walks.

I'd let go of possessions. Decluttered. Started wearing the same clothes all the bloody time.

I'd weaned myself off social media. Resisted the urge to ever buy a smart phone.

I'd developed a practice of daily meditation.

Slowed down.

Learned not to feel guilty when doing fuck-all.

And it was all a piece of piss.



Until, that is, I'd been faced with a real test.



I started running seriously in my early teens. It was something I was good at. It was something I worked very hard to be good at. It's been with me constantly. As a teenager, a young man, an adult.

My identity.

'That Chris Rainbow. He's a good runner!'

It's easy to let go of things that you don't really care about, but - come on - how do you let go of yourself?



I've recently started racing again. Not the super-long, slow slogathons I've come to specialise in, but 'proper' races - on the road - short, sharp, snappy.

And - to my disappointment - it's become apparent that something's changed. Whereas I was once front-end, I'm now mid-pack. The young guns I battled with to the finish line even 4 or 5 years ago are now out-of-sight a mile from the start line.

I'm no longer Chris Rainbow, a good runner.

I'm just - well - ok.



I know, with certainty and clarity, that this attachment to identity is an important thing to let go. But - I admit - I'm finding it difficult.


In these moments, I remind myself that perfectionism is a negative condition. That, since my school days, striving to be my best in activities that - let's face it - are relatively meaningless (exams, sport, work...) has served more often to bring me misery rather than contentment. That, as a recovering perfectionist, there are days when life isn't going to be easy.

In these moments, I breathe, I force a smile to my lips, I close my eyes. I picture the important things. The people that are closest to me. The people I love who surround me and those no longer here. And in my head, I repeat the words that my ego hates, but I know are true:

'It's ok to be ok.'