We all turn to things when life swirls. When the act of living kicks up dust it can be hard to see and remember truth, and during those times sometimes simply breathing is incredibly difficult. We all run to something to prevent insanity. Some people turn to music, they ask their questions and pour their pain out though notes by letting their fingers run up and down a keyboard or plucking the strings of a guitar. Others use art, painting, sketching - placing a pencil on paper and letting the questions find their way out though lines that twist, curl, and at times run straight. Still others actually run, letting their feet hit the asphalt like a steady metronome, beating their demons by pounding them into the pavement.

As for myself, I run to words. I turn to beautiful lyrics, books, and the words that fall out of my heart and soul leaking their way out through my finger tips into the world; for although I am not a musician, artist, and most of my running turns into long meandering walks - I can play with words. I can string them together in a weak attempt to capture the things that I think, feel and see. How do I fight my demons that haunt me? I find ways to name them.

Friday a chaplain laid her hand on my shoulder and asked how I was going to take care of myself and how I deal with stress...at that moment I wanted to name a completely dysfunctional coping strategy, however, instead I looked up at her and with sheepish smile I answered, "I'll probably go home to read and write."