Recently, I went to the park and sat on a bench and watched Ruby play with other dogs. I sat in the grass at home and watched my son play basketball.

I lingered by a downtown fountain and watched the water spray in the sunlight. I didn’t feel guilty about not being productive.

I cried in private. I cried in public. I had three and half identity crises. I found my groove. I lost my groove. I found it again.

I hit a wall with running, which is a big deal for me. I took four days off. I picked it up again. I am grateful that I can run at all.

I rode my bike into a cemetery and spent time looking at old gravestones. I felt intense and beautiful emotions. I photographed the sycamore trees.

I rode my bike around the town I live in and discovered a small chicken and duck farm within the city limits. I met the old-timer who owns it. I now know his name. I now know his story.


I met a friend at the beach who I hadn’t seen in almost a year. We swam in the lake and meditated on the shore. It felt like our bond was renewed. I promised to stay in touch more often.


I got around using actual maps instead of the GPS in my car at a recent yoga workshop in Farmington Hills, MI. I realized how quickly I can get comfortable in new cities.

I visited the art museum and wondered why I was in a museum when the world is in such a mess right now. I spent a long time looking at art. I spent a long time looking at graffiti. I tried to figure out the difference.

I caught every nuance of pink in the sunset one night. It looked like a painting. It felt like peace. It gave me hope.

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“One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple.”

~ Jack Kerouac