Everybody lies and everybody dies. Those are two of the only things you can be certain of in an uncertain world. The half dark is my happy place. That thin sliver of time that separates night from day, and day from night. Twilight. Sunset. Nightfall. If we give things a different name, it’s easier to pretend they aren’t the same. Like love and heartbreak. No joy lasts forever. No sorrow lasts forever either, and time is too precious to be wasted. So, even though it is getting late, and the sky is already dressing itself for dusk, I head out into the night and I run.

The cool evening air slaps my face and stings my skin and I see clouds of my own breath in front of me, but I like the cold almost as much as I like the dark. The smell of the sea floods my senses, and I can hear relentless waves crashing in the distance, getting louder as I run closer. The next sixty minutes are mine. For the next hour I am not just the wife, or a mother, or a woman trying to find her way in an increasingly lost world. For the next hour I am just me. I leave my worries behind, along with my phone, knowing that my problems will all still be waiting for me when I get home.

I jog down the hill toward the village, my long blond ponytail swinging from side to side as my trainers pound the pavement. I live for these moments of feeling young and free again. Thirtysomething isn’t old, but the milestone of a big birthday motivated me to make a few changes. Running was just one of them. I’m so grateful for everything that I have—my husband, our home, my health, our freedom—but sometimes I can’t help wondering how things might have turned out if I had made different choices when I was younger. Life is filled with sliding doors and dead ends, and I’m sure everyone wonders what if from time to time. I run a little faster, as though I can escape the thoughts if I put enough distance between me and them. I’m good at running away from the world when real life gets too loud.