I got up around 3:00 a.m. EST. I crept as quietly downstairs as I could, despite the creaking floorboards. Sound is relative and most of us know how cacophonous any quiet attempt to exit can be, especially in a dark house. I made a bitter cup of coffee and drank it standing out in the red moonlight in the backyard, the pool shimmering and casting shadows. Planning ahead last night, I left everything I needed to get dressed easily. I headed out to the beautiful suburban streets filled with interesting houses and countless lives.  The mostly quiet streets fascinated me with the asymmetrical and beautifully maintained older houses.  Invariably, I think of sonder and the millions of homes, each of them filled with an encapsulated universe of family. This neighborhood is quietly captivating. A small terrier ran to me in the dark. No bark, just a wagging tail asking for a little bit of affection. I kneeled and provided it and he went back to whichever house he calls home. The walk was gorgeous and the fifty-five degree breeze was just enough to be chilly. Though it is very early, the streets echoed with unseen birds chirping and singing for an audience of one. When I reached the main road, I watched the bakery trucks at the Italian market and the people manning them as they scurried to complete their early morning business. It was impossible to avoid looking at the beautiful strawberry moon and think imtrospective thoughts. The evening before was filled with laughs and conversation with Erika’s mom. At eighty-one, she’s had a long interesting life; love, family, and experiences that could fill a book. Like all fascinating accounts, her life has been interspersed with drama and turmoil as well. But you wouldn’t necessarily know it by looking at her beautiful eyes or hearing her laugh. I knew I would have to stop walking the dark streets at some point. But it’s one of the things I love. Leaving a house with people still enjoying the deep sleep that escapes me most nights. Ever since my transformation, I’ve learned that there must be a reason that I’ve been gifted with this extra time, moments tucked away and stolen for a different life. If we’re lucky, we search for meaning. When I’m out walking in a foreign place, time slips away. My thoughts diminish and I just experience the things and pavement around me. It’s as close to Zen as I can probably ask for. My feet won’t return to this place. My mind, however, will always recall this quiet morning and the night before when I met a new person who feels like I’ve known her forever. I chose a picture at random from the ones I snapped on the walk. Pictures don’t contain memories; they merely anchor them to a moment in time. Love, X

Eyewitness to Joy

Just shy of noon, I stopped to make a right turn as I left work. It rained lightly and the clouds were darkly ominous. It’s the kind of ambience that makes green turn almost neon on the trees. Luckily no one was behind me. I watched a little girl of about 7 years of age, her pigtails flying under her helmet, as she pedaled furiously to make the hill. Twenty feet behind her were two more children on their respective little bicycles. Mom sprinted to catch up with them. They all laughed with absolute glee as mom pushed them both as she ran. A few feet behind her, the dad was smiling as he ran while pushing a stroller. It was a caravan of both exercise and happiness. All of them were smiling and laughing. An unexpected sight for a rainy yet beautiful midday Friday. Without an intention to do so, I watched them all climb the hill for several seconds. It was joy and spontaneity incarnate. Driving away, my thoughts turned to all the lessons that the parents were imparting to the children who were enjoying the rainy day. Fitness, spontaneity, family time, and laughter. Memories made.

Love, X
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I will call this one the flyover of impossibilities. As I walked out to my little blue car, a helicopter passed over, its helices thrumming the air. I’m not morbid but I am unusually aware that such things fall from the sky. It’s been 30 years since the plane crash. But there’s hardly a day that passes that I don’t hear someone comment something along the lines of, “But how likely is that?” I’m sure a strange look across as my face sometimes when this happens. On a long enough timeline, everything is possible. I’ve actually become proud of that horrible day in the early ’90s. I received an unwelcome message, one that I learned over and over in childhood… periodically I get pissed off at myself because the lesson slips my mind. And it fascinates me that people think I’m a certain way capriciously. It’s such a part of my inherent nature that I forget that they couldn’t understand. I might live to be 90. But I’ve come to embrace something in me that is probably a defect. As people fret and futurize, there are times when the futility of doing so seems so damn obvious to me. It causes self-reflection and makes me wonder if all of that is true, why do I catch myself overthinking and concerned about the what-ifs?
Love, X
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