Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Thirty-Three
How many hours? Not enough. Closer to “hour” than “hours.”
The older you get, the more your lack of sleep makes you feel like you're hungover.
Still sick? Still sick. I make him take a COVID test even though I don’t know how much it really matters anymore.
“Action breeds clarity.”
Rain and more rain.
But I really wanted to bowl.
All the lights and sounds, a cacophonous cave. Reminds me of a casino.
Not a repeat.
I think about what he needs and how it’s too hard for me to give it if I’m not here.
Pitchforks.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Thirty-Two
Accidental alarm.
51% certainty. Right. Imperfect action > no action at all. And there is no such thing as being 100% certain.
I keep falling asleep in Savasana.
He talks about trying to cross a river by walking over a log and sliding down hills and grabbing onto rocks and it sounds like a proper boy adventure.
Back under the down.
“Know what to say, when to say it, and to whom…”
One of my favorite hours of the week.
He brings soy sauce and gets dinner, too.
Tomorrow.
“Considered 'Pink Noise,' the calming sound of rain is like nature's massage for the brain. It is predictable and non-threatening at a biochemical level. It helps the body calm down by blocking environmental noise and other large spectrum frequencies audible to the human ear.” - 99Sounds
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Thirty-One
Rain.
I make myself some tea and head into the office, close the door. I think I need to make a decision about my spaces soon.
Maybe I am tired because I’m not drinking coffee. Maybe my body is just resetting.
What does “success” look like in this situation?
What are the conditions required in order for me to be successful?
Late afternoon nap under the down.
Dates filled with tahini and topped with flaky sea salt.
Sometimes, the hole feels too big to climb out of.
“I like me.”
Grateful for another day.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Thirty
Friday. Finally Friday.
Burning the insides of my lips with this tea. I could wait, I suppose.
The quiet.
If only she would make these plans with more notice.
Had forgotten about this article.
The game has already started by the time we get there. But I can see it on their faces. It looks like nerves or lack of confidence. Or fear.
I’m going to miss having her around next year.
Maybe I’ll get my voice back now.
“Ability allows athletes to achieve. Durability allows them to continue achieving. And pliability training makes both possible.” - TB12 Method
What’s next?
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-Nine
It feels like Friday, but it is only…Thursday?
Where’s my light?
The benefit of no school is the slower pace of the morning—the time to actually drink my hot tea in a chair and not behind the wheel.
Most of the time it’s not personal, but sometimes it is.
This is gonna happen. Dream big. Keep the dreams big. And don’t listen to anyone who wants to shrink them. Because why not? And why not you?
At least I still have them. At least I still have them.
I feel a headache coming.
I walk through the building and see that their office is dark. A twinge of sadness.
Twenty minutes and learned something new. A sense of accomplishment. If only I could feel this more.
“What if, instead of accepting injury as inevitable and a part of what it means to play sports, trainers and coaches began incorporating pliability training into the traditional strength and conditioning system, educating bodies to absorb and disperse the forces placed upon them?” - The TB12 Method
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-Eight
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Before I roll out of bed, I try to make a very long list of gratitudes.
I shuffle around in the dark. The light is taking a little longer to poke through. The wifi isn’t working. Neither is the cellular service.
Ah. Here comes the rain. She doesn’t seem to care about her hair getting wet. My insides are screaming.
He asks me for my “why.”
Still nothing.
Too much.
I try to do as much as I can while I have the signal and immediately regret it.
He’s trying to get more female coaches, he says.
I wish today was my Friday, too.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-Seven
Tuesday.
Sunnier than I thought it would be. This gives me joy. A little bit of peace.
Second breakfast: a bowl of grapefruit and slices of avocado drizzled with olive oil and flaky salt. Decaf coffee and a pressed juice.
No. It’s not for me.
Packed.
I need to do some more research.
Over-promising and under-delivering.
Control what you can control.
Sometimes, when he moves, it's like he is moving in slow motion. It's not slow. It's grace.
We’ll do it, too, one of these days.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-Six
Up before the alarm. A good trend.
Day four.
I light a fire in the dark, in the silence.
This situation suits me best.
I see her text. I guess I don’t need to hesitate to pick up the phone anymore. We can keep that part of the routine.
Am I in the post-season depression stage of the year?
Why am I even on this call?
I should say “no,” but I’m going to talk with him about it anyway. Because besides feeling like I don’t have enough time, I feel unqualified, and I should question that feeling.
The chicken has no flavor.
Just take a shower.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-Five
5 a.m.
Two days. I think that’s why I’m sleeping better.
The morning light. The cobwebs in the corner. The windows need to be cleaned.
Everything is tight, but the stretch still feels good.
I hate being late.
This is not something you ever see in a place like this.
Trying to slow down the passage of time.
Pre-work for a not-real class, but it’s good prep for what’s to come.
I worry that I might be too tired to do it, to do anything.
“We never stopped believing.”
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-Four
Slow Saturday. Sunshiny Saturday.
Everything is clear and bright, just as it should be after the rain.
Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. No energy for navigating that crowd.
Maybe you’ll brush your teeth now?
I think it was still cheaper than her gift card idea.
I slowly scan the shelves, see a copy of The Coasts of California, and grab it. It’s still wrapped in a kraft brown sleeve as if it’s never been read. The librarian says they’ve gotten a lot of donations recently - really nice ones.
He says something about me being in a good mood. Consecutive days of sunshine, I say. Not going into the office yesterday, I say. A clean home, I say.
They set records.
Gringo tacos.
He comes into the bathroom to tell me that the Firewood Fairy stopped by.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-Four
Three more minutes. Two-day streak.
The last of the almond milk. The last of the coffee?
Finally Friday.
Sage smoke.
I step outside and lift my arms toward the sun. Ready for summer.
Wine delivery. Some more to add to the fridge.
Almost there. Almost there.
But do you really want to eat chicken teriyaki again? I don’t think so.
I draw the Mountain Lion. The first responsibility of leadership is to tell the truth.
2021 Lingua Franca Avni Pinot Noir.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-Three
Five feels too long. Maybe we start with 3.
Sunshine.
My voice is back but so is the headache.
Sometimes the best response is no response.
More waiting.
A sunny spot against the window. Evan. Cassy. I will try to remember their names next time.
2019 POE Pinot Munier.
You don’t get your time back.
I say to myself that it is nice to be able to relax and watch. But I’m not really relaxed. And I’m analyzing more than watching. Thinking about what I can do differently next season. Dreaming about what it would be like to replicate the same kind of intensity, tension, rawness.
“Experience reveals little about your potential.” - Hidden Potential
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-Two
Hard to believe it is actually the end.
Cold and damp seeping in through my slippers. This coffee cup doesn’t quite fit in the cup holder like I thought it would. Quiet ride this morning.
Short day.
What even is the point?
You can hear the fatigue in our voices.
The strange feeling of space re-entering the schedule. A void to either be filled - hopefully with something meaningful - or left empty and appreciated.
I will never understand.
Tillamook Marionberry Pie.
When you listen with intention, you can stitch together enough of what is and isn’t said to draw a snapshot of the heart and mind.
On a scale of 1-5, how engaged were you today?
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty-One
I still don’t know what today is.
Down to six.
I always get what I want; I just do my best to do it the right way.
Tuesday morning rides.
Why am I here?
Hanger steak. Potatoes. Flatbread. Salad. Clif Lede. Rutherford. Roundabout Midnight Rock Block. Poetry. Walking by the Dark Side of the Moon.
Did he really ask me if I could roll over and let them have two free points? And is he asking me if I’m actually going to do it?
And now it’s over.
The tears are because you care.
We are doing something right.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Twenty
Forgot there was no more wood.
Same outfit, three days in a row. It is still raining.
Indeed, I am halfway there.
Morning pages in my fire seat, but there is no fire. I pretend that it is ablaze, roaring, making my feet sweat.
The road is littered with bits of dead limbs and pine cones, bright green leaves and runaway mulch.
Home is where I belong.
Focus.
Well, there goes dodgeball and donuts.
“So I remember when we were drivin', drivin' in your car / Speed so fast, I felt like I was drunk / City lights lay out before us / And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder / And I had a feeling that I belonged / I had a feelin' I could be someone / Be someone, be someone…”
I should have gone.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Nineteen
Out of firewood.
The extra sleep. I needed the extra sleep.
Rain, rain, and more rain. Today is the right day for it.
I think I know what to do.
He asks me how long I think he will be in a wheelchair.
“I’m getting a degree in you,” I say. He smiles.
I think about what the options could be. He needs more time. I need more time. I need more time with him. We need more time together.
Popcorn and a nap.
Dragging pieces of pork tenderloin through the honey-garlic sauce.
“My standard is my standard.” - Deion Sanders
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighteen
Friday.
This was the right idea.
Even though she’s gone, she’s not really gone, and that makes me happy.
Hail?
Chicken tikka mild. I drink half of his Taj Mahal and some water. The sky has cleared.
“It’s a great day to ruin someone’s senior night.”
“They’re crying right now, so it’s a good time to punch them in the face.”
I’m not convinced this wasn’t rigged. Note to self.
But really, we have come a long way. We’ve come a long way.
We stand outside under the stars and talk about emo bands and silent basketballs and a-ha moments. I hug her before she leaves. We don’t have any more of these left. One more practice. One more game.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventeen
What day is today?
This morning, I ride along for school drop-off. Heated seat. Coffee in hand. Thick skies. The sounds of their forks clattering against their plates as they eat another breakfast on the go.
Always carrying too many things.
I am the luckiest.
“Just remember, brothers and sisters, this too shall pass.”
The office is dark and quiet and I miss sitting in this place.
Is it silly to have hope still? No.
She asks him how he’s feeling about the upcoming surgery. He says he’s been in pain for a long time, so he’s looking forward to not being in pain anymore. And for the opportunity to actually have a vacation this summer because he won’t be able to do football. I chuckle. I also worry.
Two more games. Two more opportunities. It feels like the momentum is back in our favor. What are all the ways in which it can go right?
Meaningful rest.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Sixteen
Uncomfortable.
We both look toward the sky. “About two hours until it begins,” he says.
Two eggs, avocado, fruit, coffee. Conversation. I wish I had more time.
I sit in front of the fireplace and start to ask myself all of the questions that I haven’t stopped to ask myself.
If I don’t eat now, I won’t eat at all. I eat the whole plate of pasta, some vegetables, and the whole dessert.
Effort. Focus. Power.
I tell her that tonight is the night to beat them; that the last three games are the best games we’ve had in the new year.
He stops and tells them that they kicked his team’s butt. That the outcome didn’t reflect what they did on the floor.
She asks me if I’m okay. I tell her that I’m just tired.
Just need to sleep.
Ten.One Thousand, Two Hundred & Fifteen
Twenty minutes later.
Red blazer. I say something about it being against the dress code. I throw on something black over it to hide it.
Not long enough of a commute to finish the song.
Something about this year feels different for me. Too distracted? Too disconnected? Too, too, too.
I'm just trying to be solution-oriented.
Almost $1000 in basketballs in one season gone.
If nothing else, I have these people.
Bittersweet.
“I see it, I like it, I want it, I got it.”
A little light.