Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-Seven
Why can I never sleep in?
Hot, hot shower. Just give me a hot decaf.
It was enough.
Women in all black digging in the desert dirt with their bare hands. A little girl building a circle with rocks, digging into the dirt with her hands. She lays some sticks inside the wall of rocks. The women keep digging. She’s building a pyre. In the distance, a large group of men dressed in black march across the sand. And then you see it. A body wrapped in white, carried by some of them. A ring of fire encircles them. Life and death. I think of what is happening in the Middle East — all over, really. Can’t you feel it? The deep sadness of a mother having to dig her child’s grave? The fear of a child knowing that they will dig the grave of another?
On the way out, I read the plaque: “Passage by Shirin Neshat… inspired by the Palestine-Israeli conflict… a poetic image of loss, grief, renewal, and hope…” “That’s what I thought,” I say out loud after I read it. The women and I step away at the same time. “That was intense,” she says. “It was.”
Texture and color and light and sound. I had forgotten how much I love to be in a museum.
A book about wabi-sabi and another book about dreaming.
On the other side of the Golden Gate is real life.
I have misjudged my time, and I will pay for it.
She wants them to bring their jerseys so that they can take a picture in them. I can’t wait for her to get to high school.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-Six
4:30 a.m. Up early because I fell asleep so early. I flip over my phone and see that another one can’t make it.
Waiting until 5:00 a.m. to send a text because that seems more reasonable than 4:37 a.m.
I step outside with my small cup of decaf and listen. All I hear is the song of a bird or two. Above the treetops, the sky is blue. To my right, where the sun is rising, a hazy glow from the fog. Like magical mist.
“I just don’t ever need to do this again.”
Platinum blonde? I don’t think so.
The longer I live up valley, the less I want to leave it.
That looks like a St. Helena Little League hat, so chances are it’s him.
Go Cubs, go!
Bouche. Didier Charton-Vachet, Montagny 1er cru Les Jardins d'Ysabeau 2022. Soft, glowy lights. Hand-painted mural. Small tables and an Algerian named Ramses.
Is this what it might feel like when they all leave the nest?
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-Five
The a/c in the office is off. On Friday mode, maybe? It’s 85 degrees in here.
A little bit of perspiration forming as I roll the solly stacked with wine down the hill.
Maybe we just aren’t dreaming big enough.
Not again.
The house will be clean and stay clean for at least another week, though.
The bar is just not for me. We take a corner table outside.
Brown butter-aged beef with spinach and potato gratin.
I’m getting nervous. One more down.
A table of four sits beside us. This is the second year in a row they’ve come to the restaurant. This time, they are celebrating a birthday. He says something about tourists. I tell him that I try to remind myself of how lucky we are to live in a place where people come to take a vacation. We get to live here.
We should do this more often.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-Four
This is a first. 73 degrees at 6 a.m.?
Certain pockets of the neighborhood carry a breeze, and it feels like stumbling upon gold when you find it.
Craving a chopped salad from Station.
Okay. Well. I have the umbrellas, but it’s too hot to carry the umbrellas up the hill. And it’s too hot to eat lunch outside anyway, so I guess I’ll just leave them there.
I run outside to meet the DoorDash-er and realize, once I’m walking through clusters of guests, that I’m still wearing pink Crocs.
He asked me if I heard those voices. I tell him it’s the ghosts.
But is it what I want?
We walk out into the 100-something-degree heat. I tell her how I told him that I’m just grateful that I really like the people I see when I do have to be here. And if I didn’t have them, it would be so much harder.
I’m going to need to get some tutoring.
“Given that, this is our humble invitation to set a magical moment of time aside for yourself next Spring, to come lay your blessings and burdens down on the altar of our Collective.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-Three
Snooze.
The way the sun weaves its way between the trees.
Hello, fox friend. Every year, at this time of year, I find a fox friend.
I can feel it in my spirit.
She tells me I just need to make that vision board, write it all down, and ease the overwhelm.
The man from Canada tells me I’m brave for not using a pour spout. What’s really brave is that I’m pouring red wine while wearing a white dress.
I think I’m right, but this is not the time and the place to prove it.
Oh, no. I’m going to be trapped here.
Keeping my shoes off today.
“Known as the strategists of the animal kingdom, foxes represent problem-solving, quiet observation, and calculated risk-taking.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-Two
No bird song just yet.
Later and later and later.
I could write a list of everything I’m thinking of, but seeing it all on paper wouldn’t keep the overwhelm at bay.
Blue sky. Sunshine. An open road.
“I like fresh air. It’s the only air I breathe.”
She asks us how we like the new office. I let my silence be the answer.
Questions about belly buttons.
The Role of Emotional Intelligence in Coaching.
I missed it.
And then you wonder, what is it all really for?
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-One
Better sleep.
Moving way too slowly.
There seems to be no end to the yawning.
She asks me if I can go back to writing more. Maybe. Change just feels hard at the moment.
What are we going to do about this umbrella situation?
Presence.
Don’t just go through the motions.
Why? Why? Why?
The Role of Emotional Intelligence in Coaching.
This happened the night before as well: I’m drifting between consciousness and sleep and can’t tell if I’m dreaming or awake. And that’s how I know I better get myself to bed.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty
Still can’t sleep.
I see two circles in Terminal 2 and 1 circle still near the airport entrance.
Ur funny
Too anxious to lie in bed, so I get ready for the day.
It’s quiet. So quiet. So, so quiet. I should have taken another day off.
“Your hesitation isn’t wisdom — it’s fear wearing a thinking cap.”
“Chew the meat, spit out the bone.”
Did I really just spend four hours reading next week’s chapters instead of this week?
I won’t make it if I don’t take a shower to wake me up.
Ice cream for the reward.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Fifty-Nine
When will I sleep again?
Yes, I know it takes me longer to get ready these days.
She asks me if I have my Juneteenth ties and wares. I think she’s confused me for someone else. But now I have a Juneteenth tie.
Black cod and vegetables at a BBQ joint
Oh captain, my captain.
All I can think about is the stack of statistics homework waiting for me on Sunday.
I wonder what it must feel like to be a normal person who doesn’t think about their car flipping into the water every time they go over a bridge.
The water of the bay is choppy. Murky waters cresting and crashing. Dangerous waters.
I just need a morning off.
Whatever is happening in the backseat is making me laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
Still can’t sleep.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Fifty-Eight
These birds.
A detour onto the trail because the sunrise is so good.
Quietly filling balloons with helium from the tank. Sunlight coming through the window. Counting down.
The six of us at the community table. Coffees and lemonades. She gets an order of French toast with a side of sweet potato fries. A Belgian waffle with strawberries and extra whipped cream. Waiting for everyone to wake up.
She sets the receipt and card back onto the table and whispers, “Sir, you have a beautiful family.”
I should really take a nap. I really need to take a nap.
Fanning myself with the program to keep the sweat at bay.
There are so many more words I wanted to write, but in this moment, this is all I’ve got.
It’s not the end, but everything will change.
They say that they don’t think there’s a better place we could’ve raised our kids. I’d have to agree.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Fifty-Seven
Last day of the work week.
A quick set for the arms and core.
I tell her that it’s the environment. Sensory overload almost every day. Trapped.
More questions than answers.
Everyone keeps asking me how I feel. How am I supposed to feel? My answer doesn’t seem to be what everyone imagines it should be.
Impossible to focus.
We decide that it’s better to roast a bit in the sun than to sit inside.
I tell her that I wasn’t trying to be a hammer today; I wanted to be more like a high five.
She realizes that we will not get a break from basketball.
He’s wearing cowboy boots with his scrubs.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Fifty-Six
Who needs an alarm when the squawking jays and turkeys go wild at 5:30 a.m.?
Fogged in. I wanted a light-filled start to the day.
Now that I have it, I wonder how long it’ll take before I actually write in it.
Finding the beauty anyway.
Today is a sitting day. I think I need to take a break from standing.
The same commercials on repeat.
The best compliment.
The cards told me to pay attention to the signs. This is one of them.
Wait. Where did broken umbrellas go? Where is Phil? How are we going to eat outside now without a fan of shade? I really need to buy an umbrella tonight.
It shouldn’t be this hard.
Ten.Two Thousad, Six Hundred & Fifty-Five
Bright sun. A good sign on shoot day.
I misjudged the morning temperatures and am sweaty before 9 a.m.
My legs. I want to lie on the floor and not move. We must demand access to a golf cart.
Who ate my lunch?
Three down, which means there should be at least four, but we only have two.
He says that he’s into astrology and Rococo; he is warm and innocent and open and deep. I dig.
It’s an odd assortment of folks.
Listening to the way she speaks about this, you remember that we could have done so much more.
Car metaphors while drinking wine on a low-slung couch. The kind of Napa Valley scene outsiders think you live on the regular.
No more words. Peopled out.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Fifty-Four
Gratitude for this morning light.
What the cards say: don’t be afraid of your power; use your power; trust your intuition.
Tiny ripples across the water.
All I can think about is that there’s still more statistics homework to do.
I’d rather be outside.
Digging, digging, digging. I find everything but the one thing I really want.
I open up the slats of the blinds. It’s a desperate attempt to hold onto time. Can I sneak in a few more minutes of light? A few more minutes of life?
“Harsh self-criticism activates the sympathetic nervous system (fight/flight) and elevates stress hormones. Self-compassion, on the other hand, triggers the mammalian caregiving system and hormones of affiliation and love such as oxytocin.”
― Marc Brackett, Permission to Feel: The Power of Emotional Intelligence to Achieve Well-Being and SuccessThe last bit of ice cream.
The end is coming.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Fifty-Three
When sleeping in is waking up at 6 a.m.
Tahitian Vanilla.
Yes. I want to romanticize my life.
He reminds me that there are many different paths. A bite of wisdom I didn’t realize I was hungry for.
I look down at the time and realize that more than two hours have passed. That’s a good thing.
She says she wants to romanticize her life.
The colors in this one.
Schramsberg and fried chicken tenders.
Sidewalk. Sunshine. Summer breeze.
Fever Dreams.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Fifty-Two
Slow pace, deep breaths.
You should have your beliefs and thoughts challenged; otherwise, there is no growth.
They must live their life in a perpetual state of panic.
Sunlight through the window.
Fried chicken and Brut Rosé. Key Lime pie and decaf. Conversation and laughter.
Trying to envision that little slice of pie that will remain after this is all done. Almost there. We’re almost there.
I wish there could be more joy in these moments.
Hot honey pepperoni.
Do we think big enough?
Yes, more of this please.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Fifty-One
4:30 a.m. Rain.
5:19 a.m. I already know what her message says. I lay in bed a little longer, listening to the rain taptaptap on the roof.
A mixture of release and more stress.
I owe her a phone call, but I can’t seem to squeeze in the minutes.
Just me, myself, and I.
Is it weird that I want to study my next chapter of statistics?
Every minute after 3 p.m. here is torture.
She says she has an eye twitch. I was there not too long ago.
What am I thinking about? Everything.
Realness.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Fifty
Cool, cool morning.
Stretches of bumpy pink clouds hover over the ridge.
I stand in the middle of the parking lot and watch a red-tailed hawk fly from tree to tree. But he didn’t drop a feather for me.
Hot tea.
Not the sandwich boards again.
We’re all on the Titanic. We know the water is coming in, but we still have a little more time.
At least we can eat in the sunshine today.
The sound of rain crushing the rooftop.
I forgot my speaker.
Je te lasserai des mots = I will leave you words
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Forty-Eight
1:11 a.m.
I add 40 more minutes to the alarm.
Loud turkey calls.
Now, I want to each a slice of porchetta.
I say I’m going to eat all of the Reese’s, but instead I eat all of the jellybeans.
What do we do now?
No homework due today, but a quiz in two days time.
Maybe tomorrow is the day.
This drive at golden hour is always breathtaking. The colors of the sky and the shades of green and gray of the mountains.
Timing.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Forty-Seven
Setting a second alarm.
Really gotta give this leg some more attention.
Probability.
Conformity, compliance, obedience.
I think my jeans might melt onto my legs.
“If you are still in one place, then you never move.” / “It’s not success if it’s not shareable.” / “I’m living in a body that tells me two things at once.” - José Andrés
“They didn’t see it for me, but I see it for me.”
Ham, mashed potatoes, glazed carrots, asparagus. Spring.
Can’t control Mother Nature.
Anthony Bourdain’s “Les Halles Cookbook”