I hope you will forgive me when I break format for this post. I can’t provide a SINGLE circumstance in this piece because this dream come true for me was built on what feels like a million moments.
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Amidst a sea of positivity, I let one voice stop me from swimming. Anyone relate? I had a funny idea. One that makes me laugh just thinking of it. An idea that others joined in with amusement and encouraged me to try. Did I listen to their voices? Nope. Did I let the voice of one friend, who laughed (not in a good way) at my idea get to me?
YES!
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During the pandemic, I tend to begin messages this way— “I hope this email finds you well during this surreal season.” Whether it’s a work contact I’ve never met or someone I’ve known for years, I imagine saying so much more. Let’s face it, this one-sentence greeting barely scratches the surface of what may be happening off screen in their daily lives—of how the email really “finds” them. I want to reach through the ether and just give them a hug. I think about the words I wish to share…
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A man jogs towards me on the sidewalk and then goes into the street to give me six feet of space. I wave and smile. He does too. In that moment, there is a connection of care. In the necessary distance, I link with this stranger. It’s a total juxtaposition; we join through separation. Bizarre.
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I clip into my spin bike and look around the room. I spot the familiar faces and think, These guys are always here. They must come all the time. Way more than me.
Before I even start the workout, I beat myself up a bit. Why?
The music starts to speed up. I catch my rhythm and try to dismiss the thoughts.
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Around 11pm, I exited the highway onto a double turn lane. In the left lane, I inched out for a right on red. The truck next to me, pulling a giant trailer, followed in full force. They gunned their gas and I watched as momentum swung the trailer into my lane. I sped my VW Beetle into the opposite side of the double yellow. One car, in oncoming traffic, switched lanes…
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I walked into the dark IMAX theater a few minutes late. Without my special 3D glasses, I saw fuzzy orange butterfly images and greenery. In the crowd, kids stood in front of their chairs with their arms out in expectation. I chose a seat up high so I could enjoy the movie and the children trying to catch monarch magic.
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In the morning when my alarm goes off, I roll from side to side in my cozy sheets, stretch my legs out long and point my toes. I gently rub my belly and breathe deeply. I wipe my eyes and drink the water sitting on my nightstand before my feet hit the ground. I walk to the window, slide the plush white curtains to the edge, and allow my eyes to get their first glimpse of the morning sky. Inhale & Exhale.
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I met Trice at The Absinthe House on Pearl Street. The bar doesn’t exist anymore, but when it did they had weekly reggae nights. I spotted him immediately—that woven tam cap slouching over two kind eyes, those baggy jeans swaying gracefully to the music. He asked me to dance, and I asked him what he did—proving that first impressions aren’t everything. That sometimes, the soul’s story sounds like The Wailers when it sings.
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