Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety-Seven
Just can't do it.
Another hour slips by.
A innocent mistake..
What are these cars in the parking lot? Why are the lights on? What day is today?
I finish the rest of my call with her outside. “Tell old girl I said ‘hello’” she says from across the sidewalk. I chuckle.
Run. Down.
Craving time with pen and paper and nothing else.
Not enough dreaming time.
We’re all a little less cranky today.
This quiet. This clear blue sky. This evening breeze and golden light. The rolling hills. Dried grass blowing in the wind. All you can do is stare at the horizon in awe.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety-Six
Tom the turkey is so loud. So, so loud.
I startle him, and he startles me as I walk around the curve. The turkey trots away into the front yard.
The art of impossible.
Maybe it’s the coffee.
Was hoping for a morning glory muffin, but will settle for the morning bun.
Nothing feels true because there is no trust.
I think these parents are taking it way more seriously than I am.
A good preview of what’s to come.
A box full of vegetables and flowers.
“The limits of my language are the limits of my world.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety-Five
Eleven hours of sleep and I still don’t want to get out of bed.
Loud turkey. Fresh, cool air.
Enjoying the quiet while it lasts.
Meetings and meetings and meetings and meetings.
Why is it that the default response is to blame a character flaw in the other person? An unwillingness to look at the root cause.
That text is a bright spot in the day. This is what matters to me more.
The things people say.
A windows-down kind of evening. Though the one thing I miss about humidity is how much softer it makes your skin feel.
She wants to drive everywhere now.
Still no groceries. Tomorrow. There’s always tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety-Four
Should have put my contacts in.
Humidity = extra sweaty.
The breeze blowing through the trees.
There are things you only see in the south.
So, what’s happened in the last 30 years?
She asks me how I could have children that old. I remind her that we are indeed just old now.
Strike.
Give me all the mozzarella sticks.
Did he say “snake?”
Trying to find yourself in words and pictures from a distant past.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety-Three
Proceed as normal.
Tom the Turkey is hanging out by the car. He scurries away as he hears my footsteps.
Almost cold.
Pre-flight anxieties.
Should not have had all those liquids before the 2-hour drive to the airport.
Middle seat on the longest leg. The woman to my right is working in Figma. The woman on my left is watching “Vampire Diaries.” I’m trying to take notes about burnout.
Airplane coffee and Biscoff cookies.
He says something about my two phones. But my weekends are much more peaceful.
I tell her it’s been about four months since I’ve seen rain.
Humidity and cigarette smoke. Two things I don’t really ever feel or smell much these days.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety-Three
2:45 a.m.
I stand on my tiptoes to watch them snake through the line. That’s it. They’re on their way now.
I could go back to sleep, or I could just go on about the day as normal. I change my clothes and put on my hiking shoes and head out.
Fox. Turkey. Three crows.
Non-time.
“Gratitude, mindfulness, exercise, and sleep are non-negotiables for peak performance.” - The Art of Impossible
I still have a hard time picturing him as a high schooler. He’s a high schooler now.
Maybe I’ll come back today.
365 days of closed rings.
Control what you can control.
I think I should stay away.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety-Two
Tuesday.
The fog is low and thick, and the air is cold. I crack the window to cool the room down just enough to tempt the goosebumps.
Turkey.
I look at the clock and estimate how much time I have left before everyone else begins to arrive. I have at least 38-43 minutes. That’s enough to drink a cup of coffee and make my list, and maybe send an email or two in the dark quiet.
Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting. Do I want to be in this meeting? No. Please, no. Meeting.
I bring my notebook with me because I want to write my down my thoughts—to go from gap to gain.
Glass of Schramsberg Brut Rosé. Fritto misto.
Fourth Quarter Mind.
The weather is so perfect. So perfect that you can’t help but feel grateful. So perfect that you just want to close your eyes, tilt your head up toward the sun, and spread your arms wide as the breeze silks its way across your skin.
Tomorrow, they leave. And then the day after, I leave.
Egregious.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety-One
A good and deep stretch is exactly what I needed.
Trip prep.
I check my phone. Nothing from him. That’s a good thing. Hopefully, it means that he actually rested.
How many books can I fit in my bag? Should I pack any at all? Just a notebook? My journal?
Three carnitas in the shade.
I sit along the edge of the pool and drink a little bit of the pink elephant as I tilt my face towards the sun.
She says the word firecracker and I chuckle.
The smell of hair day.
Am I ready? Yes, and no.
31 days.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Ninety
The glory of no alarm.
Another day, another gym.
The vulnerability of the ask.
One of the boxes in AAU Bingo: Refs shooting 3’s at timeouts.
But the drive is scenic along this part of the highway. All you see around you is rolling green hills covered in vines and a blue sky—a real life painting.
We find the right channel to watch the Ole Miss/Arizona softball game while waiting for more results.
Slow and long and yet, still.
We’ve somehow lost the connection between hard work and the reward.
The eggs are gone. All of them. I look around my feet for broken eggshells or some other evidence of their removal. But there is nothing. Just an empty nest.
Unprepared?
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Nine
Foggy morning.
Peony petals littering the dining room table.
The school is tucked inside a neighborhood at the base of a big green hill. The campus is so big that they have a map on display. I think about how all of my schools were single-building institutions. They don’t know how lucky they are to have fresh air.
New gym. Half a hot dog, raisins, empty cans of yerba mate, candy.
Knowing when to stop.
Capitalize on the energy.
I buy the marshmallows and crispy rice cereal so they can make themselves a treat, but really, I want a Rice Krispies treat for myself.
I tell him that I’m not trying to compare, but these are the things I’ve done today, and all I’m asking is for the dishes to be done.
80. What?
Live into it.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Eight
Late start, but I can still see the moon.
Feather finder.
This is out last session. She asks me what insights I have gained through this process. I tell her it felt good to say, “I no longer want this.” Now, I have given myself permission to move on.
Always dodging the sunlight when on these Zoom calls.
Everyone has their own path.
I'm missing the depth.
2022 Bodega Chacra 'Barda' Pinot Noir. The fries are still good, but the burgers are not the same. “A square cut of cake?” I say. “She would never.”
Really, truly out of office.
No. I really don't want to go.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Seven
Breakfast club.
There’s always this stretch of morning—right around the time when the day begins to break—when the birdsong is so loud I can barely hear my audiobook.
Swath of golden light on the peonies and the painting. Stops my breath.
Waiting and waiting and waiting.
Remember that you can just take a walk.
Kids PB & J and a container of fruit. A little heavy on the J today.
The echo of the ball in an empty gym. This hour is my own. Thinking while also trying not to think.
Of course, I feel compelled to clean and reorganize the fridge instead of reading two chapters for Psych, writing that email, and sending that letter.
Leftovers.
She asks if I’m ready for Yosemite. Ready? No. Excited? Yes. But, definitely not ready.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Six
Trying to find the moon.
The petals are still on the peonies.
A hummingbird greets me at the window. I smile back.
I am always eating in meetings. But if they would just not schedule meetings during lunch, I wouldn’t have to snack on Popcorners while talking about rules of engagement.
Its visit is generally seen as a positive sign, bringing the potential for recovery, often both physical and mental.
I make my way toward the sidewalk and feel the heat. I feel exposed walking on Main Street. Like everyone can see me. What an odd feeling.
When the wheels fall off, they roll down the hill really fast.
It is oddly clean.
Starting at the sunset in the side mirror.
How is it only Wednesday?
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Five
A little stumble over the speed bump. A little blood on my hand. Why is there even a speedbump here?
Breakfast club.
Zone of Excellence or Zone of Genius?
Frequent glances at the inside of my wrist. Ready for another one.
I look at her, smile, and quietly whisper, “I can’t do this right now.”
A lot of laughter in here today. That’s a good thing.
Dry turkey burgers.
Birkenstocks slapping against the asphalt. The smell of jasmine wafting through the air. Confused by all of the mulch they’re spreading. This house and its white cars.
This time of year, during these games, brings out familiar faces.
38
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Four
So breezy at the very top of the knoll. So worried about what might be in the tall grasses that blow from side to side.
Half a moon?
I don’t have my contacts in, but from here, it looks like a fox.
Analytical intelligence, power of deduction, observation.
I keep looking out toward the sky, but there’s no time for a walk today. There is only enough time to dry my eyes outs due to staring at the screen.
Keeping track of time.
I should have started using a whistle a long time ago.
It’s slipping away.
Warm enough to wear shorts in the stands as the sun sets. It’s that time of year again.
39.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Three
Bright burst of sun through the wooden blinds.
Cool morning breeze.
Counting the eggs again. Five pale blue with brown speckles.
I really hope I never get tired of this—of any of this. The colors in the sky, the humped hills and craggy mountains, the bent trees, the spotty cellular service.
7 years. Lucky number 7?
Now he gets to put faces to the names.
But I don’t eat them. I really don’t. Only when they come off the grill with a good char, dipped in mustard and ketchup. Very elementary.
Am I doing too much for this? Maybe. But maybe not.
“In a culture of overconsumption, I’m simply choosing to do less of everything. Or rather, I’m choosing what matters. Am I becoming one of them? No. I’m just becoming more me.”
2021 Pax Magik Vineyard Sonoma Coast Syrah.
40.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Two
Breezy sunny morning.
Making meal plans and grocery lists in the car.
It feels like the game is moving so slowly. Maybe it’s the constant gust of wind blowing dust against
I veto Chipotle and offer Foodshed instead. Italian lemon soda + four-cheese and caramelized onion pizza.
Perfect, perfect weather.
Gathering self and ideas and dreams. Trying to make all the pieces make sense.
A glass of Bollinger.
He starts to set down the petit filet in front of me. No sir. I’m the one with the 14-ounce ribeye, thank you very much.
Late to the party, but better late than never.
Sunset in the valley. Hugged by the silhouetted mountains.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-Two
Ombre sky.
My pace is much quicker today. Maybe I’m just happy it’s Friday.
Ironic that in an eye doctor’s office, all of the pictures would be crooked.
Thirty minutes over time. Landscapers blowing leaves from the deck. He hope he doesn’t accidentally disturb the nest.
Per my last email.
Oysters and deviled eggs and mini ham sandwiches. I have him add the bourbon caramel sauce alongside the olive oil and sea salt on my buffalo milk soft serve.
There is still my cleaning to do.
Laugh out loud.
What did I expect?
On the way home, I think of the Christopher John Rodgers pieces that I have now held in my hands, seen in the flesh for the first time. I think of the high-waisted Dries Van Noten denim wide-leg jeans and the jacket. I think of the woman who wears these clothes, and how, in some ways, I see me. And I remember the importance of fashion in its ability to communicate externally who we are internally. Everything is communication.
On the way home, on Yountville Cross Road, the sun is doing its thing, casting its golden light onto everything, making you feel like you are floating in a fantasy.
Remember when you once dreamed of this?
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty-One
TGI-Thursday.
The grasses are getting taller and taller. The poppies still closed. The moon is still big and bright and floating over the Mayacamas.
I check to see how the eggs are arranged today.
The color of the morning light reflecting off the painted pavement. Remember when it was supposed to be temporary?
How I miss our daily chats in his office.
Craving a walk outside in the sun, but not enough time.
No one actually feels like they are winning here, and that’s evident. I ask a maybe too obvious question: “Why exactly are we doing this?”
I hear a thud and see the little finch lying on the ground, stunned, shuddering.
Wine delivery.
Leftovers.
Ten.Two Thousand, Four Hundred & Eighty
Slow.
I see the silhouette of Mama Bird sitting on the nest.
The more and more I learn, the more and more I feel affirmed—clear—that the next right thing will be something that is not this.
Considerate.
The irony of being late after talking about how much you hate being late.
I notice her looking me up and down twice. It’s the socks and the clogs. It’s that she just saw me in work clothes. It’s my work-from-home day. Birks always.
Five more days until school begins again. Yikes.
What do I need more of? What do I need less of?
Last choir concert of the year. Last choir concert for him ever?
Considerate - 2. Spirited - 1. Direct - 2.
“It’s cliche, but the saying is, ‘the truth will set you free.’”