Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighty-Seven
Fruit day.
I arrive a little early, but they’ve already begun. Stack of half-ton bins filled with Merlot. It is still foggy and cool. I look at each station. I can do that and that and that. Could there ever be a time when I can do any of it again?
Eating tacos with her inher office. A familiar space. It feels good to be back in here again.
I tell her that I just don’t have the same sense of urgency as everyone else. That could be a good or a bad thing.
Everything is a choice.
I can feel the difference.
Maple walnut fudge.
It is only natural to think back and wonder what could have been done differently. But then, you wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t done what you had done. And a new you would require new choices, new ways of being and doing.
The time passes anyway.
Stacking the week with friend dates was a great idea.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighty-Six
Consistency.
But stronger than last time.
Another foggy morning. Another French press of decaf. Another pan of bacon.
Familiar faces. It’s getting real now.
Salad and sunlight. A quiet spot in the back.
A new favorite hangout.
November 1? November 1.
It is always so cold in this grocery store.
Hammock time.
I can almost see it.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighty-Five
Morning fog.
Clarity.
“You see with your mind.”
This is an example of the hard things.
One more homework assignment.
One more grocery list without a meal plan.
Two pieces of burnt pizza. A corner of sun on the deck. Two more burnt pieces and a nap in the hammock.
Fifty days.
Fifteen.
What died in here? Probably a snake.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighty-Four
When no sleep feels like being hungover.
I start to think I should have picked a different weekend but there is no better weekend. Every weekend is the same. Every weekend will feel like we’re just trying to cram it all in. There is no perfect moment.
Cheetos.
I can’t wait to take a nap.
Gratitudes for the space and the ability to make this happen. And there’s not too much screaming. 15 seems so old.
Two-bite cupcakes.
No more snake sightings as of yet.
The older they get, the shorter the years. You just become so much more aware of the passing of time. How much little of it there is. I am afraid of losing it, of wasting it, of there not being enough.
I tell them that for the first time, it’s actually starting to feel like too much.
I will regret this bowl of ice cream in the morning but for now…
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighty-Three
Can’t stop thinking about snakes.
Validation.
Where is my cookie?
This is not going to work out as well as I thought it would, but I’ll figure it out?
We talk about the difference between freelancing and a “real job” and the beauty and ugliness of both. The grass is never greener.
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting something different.
A smile on the face.
One minute late.
Extensions?
Very much not prepared for this birthday party that’s happening tomorrow.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighty-Two
Thursday, which means it’s almost Friday.
Decaf in the French press is the new favorite.
I look down and see a small coil of brown. A snake. A snake. A snake. He gets a dust pan and broom and sweeps it out onto the deck and beneath the railing to the hill below. I ask him if it’s the same one he saw last night. He says he doesn’t think so.
I show the big kid the picture of the snake and ask him if it’s the same one he saw last night. No. He doesn’t think so.
Forgot.
Out of breath, but that’s not a surprise.
Never not taking pictures of grape clusters.
No snacks, no lunch, no purse.
This one-on-one time is sometimes better—definitely needed.
Exhausted joy.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighty-One
Slow flow.
The peace of the quiet and the trees.
A cup of Naysayer’s Dad Joke Decaf.
I tell him that I miss the days when I was more in the wine than I am now.
“Most people are not going after what they want. Even some of the most serious goal seekers and goal setters, they're going after what they think they can get.”
Still the best food in town.
Choice.
My third and last time through.
Did you just say you saw a snake go under the fridge?
But he’s right. Will the change happen in only 54 days? There are only 54 days.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Eighty
Oh, so cold.
Morning sweat.
They’ve started by stripping the limbs of the trees—thick, tall brown sticks.
But at least he’s talking.
Commas. No commas. Why does this have to be so complicated?
I think I’m falling asleep while I’m driving, and all the chips are gone.
Another x-ray in a year.
It doesn’t have to be this way.
I take my headphones off because I can’t possibly be hearing what I’m hearing.
“I don’t have any regrets…’cause I was me.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-Nine
Tiptoeing in the dark.
Early morning phone calls.
I’m pretty sure this coffee is too weak.
Good thing I read the email. Quick change. Quick drive. No water bottle. No coffee.
Yes. That is a model.
Ceasar salad, white chocolate chip macadamia nut cookie, large decaf.
On the plus side…
Good news. Different, but the same, but better.
Not enough time with the emails today.
I’m always the one to say what no one wants to hear.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-Eight
Just a few more minutes.
In my mind, a piece of paper. And on the paper, five columns. And inside the columns, lists of things.
I look up and see spider webs again for the first time in a while.
These views from here are always worth it.
All you need is a plan.
I slip on the dress and remember just how long I’ve had it. Clothing resale. Naperville. All those racks.
So distracted I can’t even write the words.
Where did my nose ring go?
But how do I want to feel?
Tomorrow. 5 a.m.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-Seven
Preparations.
Coffee delivery chit-chat and cool morning air and clear skies and a lot of cars.
The light.
Deep breaths, sweat, and gratitude. When I walk by a thick group of bushes, a flock of birds bursts from the branches.
“What star are you shooting for?”
When you just know there’s more.
“Change is inevitable, but personal growth is a choice.” - Bob Proctor
BBQ and a can of sparkling wine and good conversation.
I feel like I have so much to do, but I can’t remember exactly what it all is.
Too much.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-Six
Strentgth.
Four days in a row. I decide that tomorrow will be a rest day; the work will come later.
Will I regret this all-black choice by the end of the day?
“What can’t she do?”
Familiar faces in the light-filled Atrium.
Basically, what I’m saying is that the grass is never greener, but some things are worth sacrificing for freedom.
The longest, shortest week ever. What day is it? What month is it? What hour? When will it be the weekend again?
They roll to 6-0.
It always takes longer than I think it will. Need to make more space.
I just want it to be fun, and right now, it doesn’t feel fun.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-Five
In the dream, I have lost all of the basketballs.
So glad he remembered.
“Fail big.”
Not at the car. Not again.
This isn’t about me.
I tell him that I’m just too tired to argue. I don’t have it in me to fight anymore.
But I also don’t want to give up.
Chips and salsa. These thin slices of kumquats. Old friends. Not nearly enough time. “You’re like the mayor in here.”
Legacy. Gift. Offering. Favor. Blessing.
Life is a wild ride.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-Four
Can I do it?
Intermediate? I should turn back. No. I can do it.
I am barely doing it.
But this text message. This is the one that throws me over the edge.
He says there’s a bunch of gladiolus on the porch. He says he knows who the flowers are from. But they’re in Hawaii, I say. Can’t be them.
So hot in the sun, but not a single cloud in the sky. The best and the worst.
Gluten-free cupcake.
I blame the Tabata.
Do we just leave?
The question is: Can I do it again tomorrow?
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-Three
Cool, cool morning. My favorite kind of morning.
“I am the source of time.”
He asks me if I’m happy. I give an honest response. he tells me about the crush of the 15-month delay. Things happen for a reason, I say. He says he doesn’t want to take the money. But they see something in you, I say. Something you didn’t see in yourself.
No one can see me fall out here.
Seed. Experimentation. Crafting. Momentum. Completion.
“Once we understand our past, we can design our future.”
Everyone is interested only in themselves.
Almost everything.
It’s not just the jacket. It’s the hat, too. I’m going to miss his spirit.
I’m not stuck.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-Two
Thursday.
Thick skies. Cool. But it will be hot again.
67 days. So many decisions to be made.
Every day, I park in front of these vines and take a picture of the grapes.
Chicken Ceasar salad and white chocolate macadamia nut cookie.
Something in the air. Messages flying all around about who misses whom.
It’s not symmetrical. That’s the problem.
Cool breezes and frog song.
Too tired to make decisions. Too many decisions to make to be tired.
Thre’s enough time.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy-One
That was better than nothing, but I could use another five hours in bed.
I can feel it running through my body. All is in vibration.
French press of decaf. Streaks of sunlight across the table.
Twenty minutes is better than no minutes.
She read a poem. That seems appropriate for her. I grab a chunk of carrot cake before I leave.
What is this reaction? What is it trying to tell me?
Duck fat fries and a salad. A few sips of Chardonnay. Cool breeze in the shade.
When you look at something so many times, you can’t see it anymore.
It’s only Wednesday.
“Be yourself.”
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Seventy
How is the alarm going off already?
Zero hours. Caffeine is a non-negotiable at this point.
I walk onto the crush pad and see the stacks of bins full of grapes. I keep myself from grabbing a few to pop into my mouth. I think about what it would be like to work a day or two of harvest. There is not enough time anymore.
Power is out on one half of Main Street so we have tacos instead - one shrimp and one carnitas.
There is still so much to be done for this project.
I think I am falling asleep in this meeting. I thought I got one of the sugary drinks but it’s just flavored water. I shouldn’t eat anymore snacks.
Purple shorts and the kind of energy you would expect from a person who wears purpleshorts.
Even just 20 minutes.
Four days.
It’s only Tuesday.
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Sixty-Nine
Monday meditation in bed.
Purple grapes. A few crispy leaves. Clear blue sky.
If we can just laugh a little more.
It’s only 10:30 in the morning, and I can already feel the heat.
Everything is coming together so beautifully. It’s a beautiful space. A beautiful place.
He says he’s going to actually try this year because everyone is on him to try more. Like who? Everyone.
Maybe in another life, I could do website stuff.
I better start reading.
Keep buying into the fairytales.
“Being an artist means to be continually asking, ‘How can it be better?’ whatever it is. It may be your art, and it may be your life.” - The Creative Act: A Way of Being
Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Sixty-Eight
The inbetween.
Finding my balance. Feeling my strength.
Maybe I should pursue that idea after all?
I drive him up the hill to the gym. Inside the gym are a bunch of adult men running up and down the courts and a handful of boys standing on the sidelines waiting to get on. I take myself and my hiking shoes back home for a walk on the trails.
I always say the same thing: Just give me more notice.
Late. And trying not to be upset about being late.
No. Not Patrick.
Today’s A is much better than yesterday’s D-.
What decisions do I need to make today for what I want tomorrow?
Find the gift.