Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Seventy-Five
Work.
Bright sunshine and warm air on this Wednesday morning. Realizing that fires are more significant than I thought.
There are so many piles of clothes on the sofa.
I decide to stay in my jeans anyway because, well, I’m just more comfortable this way.
Processes.
Are three beverages too much for a 2-hour meeting? I don’t think so.
She asks me how I do it. I tell her I make it a priority; it’s just for a short time, really. And thankfully, people seem to be supportive of letting me continue with it.
Antelope = Action.
I walk in and see not just one, but three of them working. This is good. This is very good.
I hope they will get it. I hope they will understand that this is something different but just as important. Intangibles that create tangible results.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Seventy-Four
Still adjusting to being beholden to the alarm clock again.
Game day.
I burn the remaining wishes and pull cards until there is just one more wish left. I unfold the slim piece of paper to read it and laugh to myself because it is one of my biggest wishes. But it’s not impossible.
We talk about going back. Could we go back now that this one thing has changed? So many things would have to change, wouldn’t they? But we just miss the people.
Well. That was weird.
Disappointed but not surprised.
Grocery store hugs.
She asks me about my day at work. I tell her that two people have quit and another is about to go on leave, so it’s just an interesting time. It’s an interesting time.
All of a sudden, nerves. Like it’s my very first game. What an odd feeling.
One of the more significant deficits of the season. But the gap didn’t seem that wide. But also, it was big.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Seventy-Three
Monday.
Decaf in my new little ceramic tumbler that I bought from the odd little gallery and shop on the wharf. Reminds me of my dream of living on the coast making pottery. And based on all of the ceramics I saw, that is not an uncommon dream.
I rinse the grapes and pull them off the stem, one by one. I know what it is: I like being home. I like making breakfast. I like getting my laundry done. I like looking through the window at the trees. I like having my own bathroom.
Par for the course.
These tight quads will be the death of me.
Eight-word mantra.
You can let it be easy.
Is that really 70 degrees I see in the forecast?
He asks me how practice was. “Fun,” I say. Fun for me, not sure how much fun it was for them. “But they felt present.” Being present is good.
Those glances.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Seventy-Two
Awakening to the sounds of someone rustling around in my bedroom.
Too early to be this upset about things like this.
Doing the things you don’t want to do, like cleaning the toilets.
The use of the word “tired” to cover a wide range of feelings like anger, annoyance, frustration, anxiety, depression, confusion.
I blame this stomachache on the cup of bisque and the three large scoops of ice cream.
I do not know the source of all this soreness, but I’ll blame the hotel bed and the hours spent sitting on wooden bleachers.
He can tell through the camera that the Christmas tree has not been watered in quite some time.
The little things become the big things.
Thumbs up on the chilaquiles.
Lead with joy. Take bold action. Embrace softness.
Ten.Two Thousand, Three Hundred & Seventy-One
A rumbling stomach upon awakening.
A thin sliver of pale gold light. I suggest the donut shop for a pastry and a coffee.
Everything is glistening in the morning sun.
Maple. Mexican Hot Chocolate. Choco Coffee. Cinnamon Sugar Apple Cake. A large decaf Americano.
We make our way down the path toward the water. Out the corner of my eye are three children in bathing suits who clearly intend to get into the frigid water. Why not?
Thunderous waves. The red-brown of the rock. Trees shaped by coastal winds. Tiny waterfalls. Here, the dirt is full of crushed oyster shells. Over there, hard chunks of white rock.
As we walk, he entertains my daydreams of running a bed and breakfast. “I’ve had this dream since high school,” I say. “No joke.”
I walk over and see an almost intact abalone shell and an oyster shell larger than my hand.
Ahi poke bowl, oysters, a cup of crab bisque, and a few glasses of Husch Sauvignon Blanc.
Actually. Yes. I could live here.
The loudest we’ve been. The hardest my hands have hurt. Is there such a thing as a thrilling loss? As an adult with perspective, you understand that it’s not the end of things, but as the one who thinks they failed their team, it is indeed the end of things. As an adult, you understand that growth only happens from failure. New visions, new beliefs, new actions = new you.