Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Seventy-Six
Going uphill in the weighted vest is no joke.
On the second loop, a large feather is in the path.
Twenty-six point five gallons of gas. There was literally no gas in the truck. Literally none. How did I even make it into town?
Half decaf and half caf. Green juice. Racing thoughts.
This is my favorite week of the summer. Always so good.
Ben & Jerry’s at the company picnic. Non-dairy ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.
I text him that it’s photoshoot day and that I miss him. I really do.
No. I can’t remember it all.
That’s a wrap. The best kind of work day, even though they are the hardest.
Will I even recall anything I read between the hours of 9 and 11 p.m?
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Seventy-Five
Gray, gray morning.
I really hope these iron gummies work.
Will this weighted vest change my life?
It’s not just them, but all the things that come along with
She asks where the snacks are. There aren’t any.
A picture in the shade of the umbrella to send to Work-Dad.
When someone keeps telling you that they are a mean person on the inside, you have to wonder: one, why the confession, and two, is this true, or is it some bad joke you keep wanting to tell?
Oh, no. I somehow ran out of the wint-o-greens and got peppermints.
A little twinge in the knee.
Almost time for shooting camp!
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Seventy-Four
3:30 a.m. Just a little bit of barking.
Cognitive reappraisal.
Their flight is landing a little bit early.
Where are you running to?
Behind us is a father, on Father’s Day, telling his young child that he's sick and tired of him, that he’s awful, that he doesn’t want to even be around him. I tell my husband that I just read about this exact situation in my emotional intelligence book… about how, because the parent can’t self-regulate, they speak in wild ways to the child, who then emulates the behavior, yet the parent doesn’t understand why the child can’t control themself. I hope, at some point, someone gives that child the right tools to break the cycle.
And so it begins.
Ants crawling around the edge of the sink. Great.
Green bean and cherry tomato salad.
Stress-eating Nutella and pretzel crisps.
Here we go again.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Seventy-Three
Constant barking throughout the night. What do they see? Is there anything even near the sheep?
Still barking.
Did I just start snoring during savasana?
Virtual mom coffee time.
Moving from shade to sun to shade to sun.
Hammock. Nap.
Cognitive reappraisal.
One last dinner without them. A shared tomahawk and a bottle of Heitz Cabernet.
Swinging in the hammock and singing “Wildflower”.
“The search for new ideas involves five steps:
Define the problem
Assemble all the information
Ideate many solutions
Incubate, rest, and relax.
Evaluate which idea is the best.” - How to be More Creative, David. D. Edwards
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Seventy-Two
Reminding myself that I can give myself permission to rest.
A flurry of morning voice memos.
No. Can’t trust them.
A thirty-minute catch-up. We’re overdue for that lunch.
Happy hour snacks.
He says that I have a good little friend group. And, too bad. Not everyone gets to be in the circle.
Swinging in the hammock and staring up at the sky. I can hear the waves of wind before they crash above my head. It’s such a weird feeling to hear it and see it but not feel it.
How tall are these trees?
A list of things I want.
How to Be Creative.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Seventy-One
The birds are right on time.
This level of soreness within the body is not normal. Can’t possibly be.
So many things I intended to complete remain undone.
I tell her it’s just that I’m not ready for the stress to return, yet. Everything is going to change again.
I put up the umbrellas, and now there’s a big pool of shade. And it’s a little thing that’s really a big thing.
Our sacred circle.
Maybe a new-moon vision-board gathering is needed.
It’s not what I would normally do on a Thursday night, but the conditions are right. The conditions are rarely ever right.
Chispa. Centenario margaritas. Al pastor tacos. Nachos. Mexico vs. South Korea.
I knew I liked her for a reason.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Seventy
The gift of time.
Small cups of decaf while journaling.
“I am more me when I am creating.”
If only we could permanently get this Wednesday back, I’d be a much happier person.
One who gets me.
House of Good.
I tell him that sitting in that hammock is an automatic nap.
Reading research and outlining lecture slides. Trying to map it all out over the next several days.
The way the sun sets behind these trees, and the wiggling leaves make dancing shadows.
So many books I want to read. So little time to read them.
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-Nine
The chill in the air is back.
I feel like I keep running out of time.
The fog hasn’t yet cleared in this part of the valley. Thick clouds of mist rest on the hillsides.
Three words you want people to think of when they think of you?
There is something about her energy.
An entire container of salad dressing in the outside pocket. I pour it out. She helps to clean my special pencil sharpener. We decide to throw away the pen, pencils, and hair tie. I think I’m done with the day.
It’s all the same, but different.
Running into my heart friend.
I tell him that I’ve made a commitment to myself to enjoy my summer, which means being outside as long as possible while the sun is still up. Why would I not remember to take advantage of summer’s gifts?
“scarce material”
Ten.Two Thousand, Six Hundred & Sixty-Eight
Sweat.
The upside of the kids being gone is that I haven’t had to go grocery shopping. The downside is that I also have no lunch.
Linen on linen.
She’ll be back today!
I wash my hands and think about our futures. I think she’s not dreaming big enough. Why not do it now? What are we waiting for?
Last-minute decision to dash for a Chicken Caesar from Station.
They say they want to eat pizza in the circle. We sit around half-court and talk about summer plans, the kids in their class, and quinceañeras.
It wasn’t exactly what I wanted it to be, or what I thought it would be. But then you get a very long text from the 7th grader and you remember why you did it.
Fever dreams.
My nails are still wet, but I can’t keep my eyes open.
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.