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Writers Block


I’m less than 48 hours from the start of my new gig.  I am delighted at how much walking into a new role in a new facility just feels like going home.  As I sat with the news that I had been hired I mainly remember thinking, “ok, cool, I’m back in it now.”  It feels right.

Last year I wondered about how I would spend unstructured days, and when I would be Aspirational Me and when I would be slacked out on the couch.  Ten months later, here is what I can tell you:

1.  My days and weeks were anchored by Writer’s Block, my nickname for my friend J.O. and I getting together and working quietly next to each other.  It kept me working on projects when it would have been easier to do anything else.  I am glad hearted for this time with her and I will miss it deeply.

Also – the local coffee place Hendershots has a great core of routine people during the week, we aren’t friends but by golly you get a group of folks to make eye contact with.

2.  My weekends were anchored by CK lunches.  Friday lunch with my awesome circle of female friends kept me from feeling lonely, isolated, or alone.  I am going to miss the predictable routine of seeing these ladies and sharing our lives with each other.  When things feel all a mess there isn’t a thing that can’t be solved with chunky guacamole and ALL THE GREEN.

3.  I was athletic for a bit.  I got to try out if I was someone who could work out a lot, and I was, for awhile.  I got as far as 5 days a week with a double on Friday and the movement felt good when I did it but after I took a week break to rest my screaming feet I (kind of) never went back.  Even with the time and endorphins I struggle to keep moving my body.

4.  I didn’t improve or expand my cooking at all.

5. I essentially never slacked out on the couch, maybe an afternoon here or there but the hours upon days of watching reruns just never happened.  For that I thank Writer’s Block and CK Lunch.

6. I can plan a decent Time But No Money vacation, with the help and support of a lot of people.

My husband and son were wonderfully supportive, the stars aligned when I needed them to, and my heart is grateful over and over again.

Dear Son,

I promise to care about swords at 6:17 in the morning.  To care enough that if we both throw on shoes we can go outside and fight if you try not to get to loud because everyone on the planet is still asleep.

I promise to look at your day, through your eyes, because getting bossed all the time is no fun if you don’t get the chance to boss back every once in awhile.

I promise that your job is not to be a third adult in this house, even when you look like you can do it.

I promise to try and get you around other kids a lot because being able to look people in the eye is important.  For your mind, for your neck, for your imagination, and because that is what it takes to move around in the world.

I will play in the rain and snow with wild abandon because that is how you do it.

I will pour my hopes and dreams into myself, so as not to crowd out your hopes and dreams with my own.


I made choices about how I would use my body to have kids.  One and done.  That means that I promise to take on the responsibility of demonstrating joy, and lighthearted exploration.  Kids with siblings have someone to slay the dragon with. I promise that as well as I can, I will put on my helmet, grab my shield, and head into the woods.


5:00am  (horn flourish sounds as I get a text message)

Orbitz:  Your flight in three hours is currently on time.

Me: Why are you telling me about my flight tomorrow???  Wait.  You aren’t …. you think … if you think then o’shit, o’no, o’please.

Me:  (grabs computer, manically types, laughs my half-crazy adrenaline laugh).

Mom:  (from under the covers) What is going on?

Me: Our flight leaves in 3 hours.

(general sputtering from both of us)

Jeff:  I’m so0000 tired my knees just bend so I can sleep.

2 hours and 40 minutes later … we are packed, on a plane, and buckled in.

Most of our trip was smooth sailing, it was all delightful, but it is going to be awhile before the last part of the trip stops being the first part of the story.


Dear Orbits, thank you.  I love you.