Grace.

I like how my bed smells like you. You’re out there, somewhere. It’s 7:30 PM and I think other people are eating dinner with their families, and those that don’t have families and are very much alone are somewhere else entirely—bars, streets, crouched in corners.

There are so many homeless people in DC, and so many hungry people. Others are neither, but they sit on the front steps to their buildings, tank tops over dark, wet skin. Necks crane as the one white girl passes through their neighborhood, nods, “Hello, how are you,” bikers on sidewalks speeding by, sticky kids screaming, teenagers hanging around street corners checking each other out.

I like the sense of must and the feeling that responsibility gives me. It’s a sense of purpose, because for me, that’s what keeps me from being one of the people on the street. I like to walk and think about what my future holds. It’s not some sort of set-in-stone road map. It’s a dream, a long dream that starts and stops as I run my errands, stop at CVS to buy shampoo, soap, smell the soap, buy the bottle on sale, will I have children? Do I have my CVS discount card? I can’t separate these thoughts from my daily life because my sense of purpose is very much connected to what I want in the future. I survive today, and I come home today, instead of hanging around on street corners or bars because I have an understanding of what today is for. It’s for tomorrow.

Sure, today is fine for its own sake. But how much time is left? I know, dramatic and trite, really the stuff that juvenile essays are made of. Maybe.

There’s no real difference between being homeless and being lonely. Transience takes many forms. How sad it is to be alone.

I’ve never been happier, and I’ve never been more afraid of losing what I have found. If I don’t fight for what I want, then no one will just come and hand it to me.

Seven layer dip: green chili peppers, black olives, mild salsa, chopped lettuce, shredded cheddar cheese, softened cream cheese, taco seasoning mix, refried beans, one medium tomato. Serve with chips. Delicious. Don’t have too much or you won’t fit into that dress. Strapless dress, three weddings coming up, swimming suit season, okay, you can have just three chips. Pick around the part with the cheese on it.

Twenty minutes later, half the dish is gone and I’ve given up on the chips. They keep breaking, and I have salty fingers and corn crumbs all over. I’ve moved on to eating the dip with a spoon. Beans. Beans are healthy, right? It was either this or eating the Coco Pebbles, but the milk was bad.

I wonder what the recipe is for suburban living and why every home has the same set of chairs in the kitchen breakfast nook—those wooden, highly sturdy farm chairs that never quite match the table. They’re made to be that height so that when kids sit on them, they can exercise the full force of their hamstrings, swinging wildly under the table, ample room to kick siblings. Wind-up and all. They eat Coco Pebbles too, but in that context, chocolate cereal doesn’t seem sad, and milk never goes sour. Bowls made of fax-porcelain, when they fall in the sink they make a very light clinking sound that reminds me of a toddler’s high chair, the way things sound when they’re dropped from that height.

I could do these things on my own, I could do this all by myself, yet it seems grotesque unless it’s in the right setting. What would I do with a breakfast nook? A mismatched table and chairs? The milk in my fridge would always go sour anyway, even the quart containers, because it would still be just me. And the ants would get into the cereal box before I could finish a second bowl. When my place is messy, it’s sad. When a family’s house is messy, it’s somehow right. Even when it’s messy, everything is as it should be.

I think there isn’t enough room in this world for single living—it can actually be cheaper for me to go out to eat for every meal than to cook for myself. It’s cheaper because having to throw out the leftovers costs me too much emotionally. I hate wasting food, but cooking for one and saving the leftovers is grotesque again. I actually feel like I’m taunting myself. And happy hours with hot wings and half price ciders is like a field trip for the lonelies, even those who are with someone.

I’m not sure what everyone else is doing right now—my neighbors, my family, you. You’re probably at that place you were heading tonight, going about your business, and I know that I’ll see you later tonight. And only then will I feel like things are in their right place, when you lay down next to me, into that spot on my bed that already smells like you.

I have two halves, the one that wants that breakfast nook legitimately, the one that can add something to a conversation about how Target brand diapers are really good quality, and then roll my eyes at how idiotic it is that baby formula costs so much. I’d love to go one step beyond and be one of those parents that never talks about these things, the kind of mom that slings her baby over her shoulder in a hammock-like cloth and takes a long walk through the park, pockets loaded with granola and baby wipes. I would love to be that woman who does it all, and you know she’s happy because she treats those in her life with the utmost respect and admiration, like when she looks at her husband, everyone around her knows that she’s in love. That’s not so bad, is it? It’s not too much to want.

I haven’t been happier since I was a child myself. I remember standing at the side of the road on Christmas Eve, freezing and loving it, holding a candle for the one car every ten minutes, even though I’m not Christian. I was so happy that others were happy that night, probably driving with their families to church, that I wanted to let them know that I knew. That butterfly stomach giddiness that kids feel before they go on a flight, or before they open their birthday presents. I was happy then, and I’m even happier now.

I’m slowly unwrapping my future, and I have to remember to take it one day at a time. Even the little things that I do and feel are legitimate, regardless of the times I hear people say to me, “Well, your body bounces back much faster if you have kids when you’re young.”

Feist says it all:

Helping the kids out of their coats
Oh wait the babies haven't been born oh
Unpacking the bags and setting up
And planting lilacs and buttercups oh
But in the meantime we've got it hard
Second floor living without a yard
It may be years until the day
My dreams will match up with my pay
Old dirt road,
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
knee deep snow
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Watching the fire as we grow
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
o-o-o-o-old
I got a man to stick it out
And make a home from a rented house oh
And we'll collect the moments one by one
I guess that's how the future's done oh
How many acres, how much light
Tucked in the woods and out of sight
Talk to the neighbours and tip my cap
On a little road barely on the map
Old dirt road,
mushaboom, mushaboom)
knee deep snow
mushaboom, mushaboom)
Watching the fire as we grow,
mushaboom, mushaboom)
o-o-o-o-old
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Old dirt road rambling rose
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Watching the fire as we grow
(mushaboom, mushaboom)
Well I'm Sold...

Marilynne Robinson, Housekeeping:

“Having a sister or a friend is like sitting at night in a lighted house. Those outside can watch you if they want, but you need not see them. You simply say, ‘Here are the perimeters of our attention. If you prowl around under the windows till the crickets go silent, we will pull the shades. If you wish us to suffer your envious curiosity, you must permit us not to notice it.’ Anyone with one solid human bond is that smug, and it is the smugness as much as the comfort an safety that lonely people covet and admire.”

***

“You may have noticed that people in bus stations, if they know you also are alone, will glance at you sidelong, with a look that is both piercing and intimate, and if you let them sit beside you, they will tell you long lies about numerous children who are all gone now, and mothers who were beautiful and cruel, and in every case they will tell you that they were abandoned, disappointed, or betrayed—that they should not be alone, that only remarkable events, of the kinds one reads in books, could have made their condition so extreme. And that is why, even if the things they say are true, they have the quick eyes and active hands and the passion for meticulous elaboration of people who know they are lying. Because, once alone, it is impossible to believe that one could ever have been otherwise. Loneliness is an absolute discovery. When one looks from inside at a lighted window, or looks from above at the lake, one sees the image of oneself in a lighted room, the image of oneself among trees and sky—the deception is obvious, but flattering all the same. When one looks from the darkness into the light, however, one sees all the difference between here and there, this and that.”

He sat arguing about the likelihood that the corporate credit downgrade would force the company’s cost of debt to climb to a point of making it impossible for the company to finance the new project in Arizona.

She watched him speaking in a train track way, redundantly, rhythmically, and she saw no end to his monologue. Still, she felt sorry for him, felt so deeply sorry that she would have endured three more hours of his prep school tone and slow speech, which he invoked when he felt superior, if it meant that he would feel a little bit less alone and little bit more loved.

She put the pieces of the puzzle together quickly enough. That morning, the suits walked in to the conference room, all briefcases, polished shoes, perfectly knotted ties, and she shook hands with them, one by one. Tall one, short skinny one, bald fat one, glasses man, two dozen more, and Richard.

Months before, she noticed him. Something about the way he held himself during negotiations, something very brick-like, his back like a colonial home, legs like columns, chest like a fireplace, arms like oak table legs. She noticed how he refused to concede that he didn’t understand something, if that was ever the case, which she was never sure was. She noticed how his hair was never out of place, perfectly combed in a way that made her think that touching it would feel like petting the Velveteen Rabbit. She noticed the roundness of the glasses sitting high on his straight nose, making his Ken-doll cheekbones stand out against the titanium frames.

The minute she found the missing piece, she fell in love with him. It came in the form of an impossible task, a prolonged discussion to set up a future meeting date among the group of two dozen plus suits, all blackberries and personal schedules, family vacations and prior engagements. Ten minutes, twenty, thirty, and they still hadn’t chosen a date and time when all of them could meet again.

True, July fourth is usually a time for families to pile in the van and drive the hell out of town to stay with grandma and grandpa at the family cabin. Or it’s a time to fly to Las Vegas with the latest girl and spend a long weekend making love in the cold hotel room, leaving wet towels on the bed the way you never would at home, letting the water run for a lot longer in the shower because there are two of you in there, then walking into the steaming heat of the evening to get to the all you can eat dinner buffet before hitting the black jack tables.

It struck her as being odd that he was available on all the dates that had been mentioned as possibilities and then thrown out just as quickly. Jim was taking his kids camping, Bill was spending that week with his wife at the beach, Bob was going to visit his mom in the Midwest, but Richard wasn’t going anywhere. He was free on the second, third, fourth and fifth of July.

As she glanced at his left hand, she put it all together. His wife had finally left him, and she took the boys with her. Poor Richard. And then she noticed that his shirt wasn’t as starched as it always was, and that his face wasn’t the same as it always was—dark circles under his eyes, a missed spot by his left ear when he shaved that morning, a general fatigue that took the bounce out of his usual self-indulgent smugness. He was still handsome, but he looked wounded.

Secretaries blend into walls and then peel themselves off the wall paper when someone needs a cup of coffee or when a document needs to be copied. She peeled herself off the wall at that instant and felt such tenderness for him, that she surprised herself. That woman took his boys and left. To her mother’s house? To their condo in Florida? The boys would be on summer break now.

She pictured him coming home to an empty house, walking up the dark stairs, dragging his suit coat in his left hand, briefcase in his right. He’d throw his things down on the divan and go straight to the walk-in closet where a few of her clothes still hung. Blouses from the early nineties, long skirts that she always said made her feel dumpy after the boys came, sweaters that would do her no good in the humidity—he would burry his face in these things that remained, and he would smell her. He would sob for her, apologizing for what had happened in the end, for the speed with which his hand swung around and landed against her cotton cheek, stunning her for just long enough to freeze the silence that came after the slap dissipated, but not long enough before the sound finally came from within her, that deep, broken crying that came from her stomach.

He watched her tear some silk dresses off the hangers, throw some underwear and bras into a suitcase that she pulled out from under the bed. Hair flying all around her face, tears streaking her mascara, trails of black sliding down to her lips. He tried to stop her, tried to get between her and the bedroom door, tried to keep her from waking the boys, pleaded with her, “Just let them sleep till morning. Please, just wait, lets talk about this.” He couldn’t figure out how the taxi got there so fast, or when she’d even had time to order it. In a whirlwind of rustling fabric and feet running over the carpeted floors, she was gone with his children.

After the dust settled, late into the night, he sat in the living room staring at the front door, certain that she would come back. When the sun spread its unwelcome dusty light through the curtains, he realized the gravity of the mistake he had made—that in all the madness of her packing frenzy, he had not apologized to her. How quickly he had lost his temper at the accusation of his infidelity, how suddenly he had turned into his father, how brief that moment was—the moment that sealed his fate forever.

She watched the room empty out, suits filing into the hallway one by one, and she watched him shaking hands with the committee members, sure of himself, but not quite, confident and slightly weak. With anyone else, she would have thought that he deserved it for working eighty hour weeks, for sleeping with her friend in the cubicle next to hers. But for him, the golden boy, she felt a sick, devastated feeling, the way it must feel to see someone you love get hit by a car. She watched him as he stuffed his left hand into his jacket pocket, concealing the only evidence of what had transpired a week ago, the little circle of soft skin on his ring finger where the gold band had once been.

I got off the phone with a friend who is living a life that I could see myself living. And I was happy to talk to her—it’s been about six months, and the last time we spoke, I wasn’t a very happy person. I have to give credit where credit is due. She’s the main reason that I eventually came to the conclusion that if you want change to happen, you can’t just sit on your ass and wait for it to happen. Sometimes that works, but more often than not you end up getting something you never wanted that way. Change has to be actively pursued, and with direction.

I hate to sound like a self motivation guru, but I think this realization was one of those life-changing “Aha!” moments. When I grasped that concept, I began to live life differently. Also, when I realized that, I started seeing more and more of that idea around me. I ran across this speech by Jerry West, President of Basketball Operations (whatever the heck that is) for the Memphis Grizzlies. He spoke at a commencement ceremony on May 14, 2006 at West Virginia University, and I ran across the transcript randomly online. I hope it’s ok to paste it here. (If anyone who comes across this has a copyright problem, I’ll take it down.) Without further ado:

I was once told that there are three types of people in the world, and it is a view that I very much believe in. There are fighters, flee-ers and floaters. Let’s take a few minutes to look at what happens to each of them through their lives.

A floater is a person who drifts through life taking things in, going with the current, sharing in success and failure, but seldom determining his own fate.

There are many successful floaters in the world. As you look around you today, I am sure you can pick them out. They spend endless amounts of energy positioning themselves. They can often avoid failure, but the success they achieve cannot possibly be personally rewarding.

In my mind, success without a sense of personal accomplishment isn’t success at all. It is merely positioning. These are often the same people who equate success with money. Money is a measure of buying power, but seldom is it a measure of success.

Below the floaters are the flee-ers. A flee-er will jump from job to job, will run from challenge and opportunity alike. A flee-er is the first to cast blame, to make excuses, to point a finger when things do not go his way.

Alone, a flee-er is fairly harmless to anyone but himself. It is when he latches on to a floater that they begin to have a meaningful impact. A flee-er will bring down a floater. A flee-er believes that misery needs company.

A flee-er’s worst nightmare is a fighter.

A flee-er and a fighter are the opposite ends of the spectrum of self-determination. George Bernard Shaw eloquently described the difference in these two types of people.

He said, “Some people are always blaming their circumstances for what they are. I don’t believe in circumstances. The people who get on in this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they want, and if they can’t find them, make them.”

What Shaw describes is a fighter. A fighter is a person that will succeed. A fighter is a person with a direction. A fighter is what I challenge each of you to be.

What sets a fighter apart is simple to describe, difficult to maintain, yet vital for personal and professional success.

What sets a fighter apart is a goal…a dream…a vision.

I grew up in West Virginia as part of a family of six. It was a less than ideal environment. I don’t want to go into details today because I don’t believe the details are relevant to you today. I believe the lessons are.

Because my “real life” was difficult, I was propelled by a fantasy life. It was a fantasy life built around the one thing that I had fallen in love with. That was basketball.

I was the kid who played in the driveway hour upon hour. It was my escape. It was my private world. And although I didn’t know it at the time, it was my way of becoming a fighter.

My fantasy games always ended the same. Jerry West had the ball as the clock ticked down. All eyes were on him. Success or failure was in his hands. He couldn’t float; he couldn’t depend on someone else. He couldn’t flee; there was no one else to turn to. Jerry was the ref, the coach, the fan and the player.

How odd I must have looked talking to myself, cheering myself on.

As kids, we are blessed with the most vivid imaginations. Growing up in a small town, your mind becomes your best friend and your own little TV set. Always when things looked the bleakest, I could turn that TV set to the most pleasurable channel. I could imagine being anything that brought me comfort and joy. My mind always seemed tuned to that basketball game. I simply would not let myself fail. As I became older, I realized that at a very young age, I was really setting goals for myself.

The shot always went up. Jerry always won the game.

My driveway basketball games made me competitive, competing with the most important person – myself.

My driveway basketball games were all about achieving dreams.

I became a person with goals and dreams.

Those goals ultimately brought me to this place – to West Virginia University. Without the game I played, I would never have made it here.

All of you have also made it here – to West Virginia University. Your paths are as varied as your faces. Your journey, however, has just begun. Believe it or not, the easy part is over.

When I arrived at the University, I was homesick for Cabin Creek, the town of 500 I had left behind. I soon realized that my dreams and goals had to expand. While I had a God-given gift, that gift was not going to be enough.

And while I did not realize it at the time, my goals were achieved because I possessed three additional characteristics. It is these three characteristics that define a fighter. These three characteristics allow a fighter to believe in his goals.

They are character, determination and resolve.

Character, determination and resolve will give you the foundation needed to face the world.

Character, determination and resolve will help you stand fast as a fighter, to step above the floater and to surge beyond the grasp of the flee-er.

Character, determination and resolve are the virtues that you can drive to success. And if you play well, with that success will come the responsibility of leadership.

Basketball is probably the ultimate team game. Everyone has a role and everyone is striving for the same goals.

In the world of basketball, the goals are clear. They stand at either end of the court. The goals are always 10-foot high; they are always in the same place at the end of the floor.

The goals create energy. The goals create excitement. The goals create something to strive for. As long as I stood on the court, I knew my role and the roles of those around me.

I had played my role for years – in the driveway, in high school, in college and in my professional career.

It was when my life on the court ended that the character, determination and resolve I had developed faced their greatest tests.

Nearly 30 years ago, I was thrust into a new leadership role that I was ill prepared for – as a businessman. Almost overnight, self-doubt became a major concern. I was fortunate to have people around me who trusted my ability, people who could see things in me that I had yet to see in myself.

As a player, I had refused to accept failure. I had to find a way to feel that same confidence as a manager.

Each of you will likely face changes in your world as well. The path to success is never without its bumps and challenges. These challenges will create internal battles. These bumps will also create new and exciting opportunities.

And with each change, with each bump, with each opportunity, you will again need to draw upon your character, determination and resolve.

With each change, you will face a new group of floaters, flee-ers and fighters. In fact, you will again have to decide which type of person you are.

My point is this: Change and challenges never end. Each day you need to get up and decide what kind of person you are because each day is an opportunity to succeed or fail.

As my life on the court ended, I decided that I was going to be a fighter. I decided I was again going to lead. I didn’t know how, but I knew what was in me, so I knew that I could.

I am basically a quiet and introspective person. I am also very demanding of excellence in myself and those around me. At this juncture of my life, I found great inspiration in reading books and articles written by people who have long been associated with their views on leadership. In fact, I am still a prolific reader.

By reading, you expose yourself to great accomplishments, valuable lessons and many different views. I believe leaders are never afraid to embrace the lessons of others and apply them to their own lives.

A few common leadership lessons came to mind as I thought about you sitting here today. Many of you – I hope most of you – have what it takes to follow the path of leadership in whatever you are passionate about. As leaders, I hope you will remember seven basic lessons that I have taken to heart:

1. As you look forward, it is never wrong to reshape your goals. It is wrong to not have any goals at all. An ancient Greek saying reads: “Before you can score, you must first have a goal.”

2. Leaders who are not limited by their lack of vision can continue to have success as their careers advance. Remember: People copy success. When others copy you, it’s flattering, but it’s also dangerous.

3. What is right is not always popular, and what is popular is not always right. As a leader, you must follow your instincts, but never let go of your character, determination and resolve. You can’t get everyone to like you. If they do, it should be a red flag for you.

4. Keep an open mind and an open door. Don’t ignore suggestions and advice because if you do, people will assume you don’t care and will soon stop offering. Even more than keeping an open door, seek mentors. I have people in my life that I have trusted for decades, and I value their every word. Make sure your mentors are wise, not just smart. Leadership can be lonely, but it does not have to be pursued alone.

5. Don’t become old and dated. Don’t become complacent. Don’t become happy with the status quo. No matter what you are doing with your life, you can bet that your competitors are not ready to settle for second best. As Americans, we are getting copied better than we copy ourselves. We can do better than that.

6. Optimism is contagious. It uplifts and gives people a reason to compete and excel. Surround yourself with people who share your optimism. Some people need to be motivated more than others. Stay away from people who cannot be motivated; they are flee-ers in disguise.

7. Leadership is very lonely; you must follow your instincts when everyone says no.

Gen. Fred Franks, who garnered wide acclaim during the Vietnam and first Gulf War, said, “To lead is to serve. The spotlight should be on the led and not the leader.”

That is, perhaps, the greatest lesson in leadership I can offer today.

A true leader does not need to be the center of attention. In fact, I believe leaders who are selfish and always want the attention for themselves are not leaders at all. They may be good at generating attention, but they are probably not good at commanding respect. A leader commands respect and gives respect in equal measure.

I find a skill I developed as a child still works when I am faced with a challenge of leadership. And I still probably look odd talking to myself, cheering myself on.

It reminds me of the story of an old Cherokee Indian’s description of a battle that goes on inside people.

The old Indian explained to his grandson, “My son, the battle inside each of us is between two wolves. One is evil. It is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego.

“The other is good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf wins?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

Amen to that.

Success in life depends on which side you will feed.

I would venture that the flee-er finds it easy to feed the evil side. The floater will feed whichever side is most convenient. The fighter will only feed the good.

As you venture from the world of university life and move for the first time into what those of us on the outside call the “real world,” make sure you feed the good.

As with many things in life, what is most important is often invisible to the eye. Only you know which wolf you feed, although sometimes it is painfully obvious watching someone who is feeding the wrong wolf.

At other times, personal trouble is not so obvious.

Several years ago, there was a young NBA player named Ricky Berry. He played for his dad prior to going to the big leagues at San Jose State University. Ricky was drafted high in the draft and had a great “up side” at an agile 6 foot 8 and 220 pounds.

His first two years in the NBA were right on track to be a guy who would be in the league for a long time.

One morning it was reported in the San Francisco paper that Ricky Berry had killed himself.

At that time, a friend of mine was working for the University of California, Berkeley. This was very devastating to him personally because he knew both Ricky and his dad.

He went to the campus that morning seeking a good friend who was a philosophy prof who also knew the family well. He went to the professor’s office and asked him why this happened. Ricky had everything going for himself and his family, and he was only 24 years old.

My friend proceeded to tell me a story that I would like to pass on to you.

He said we have three window panes in all of our lives. We have a physical window, a mental window and a spiritual window. He said we need to clean the panes every day so that we can see out of them.

He went on to say Ricky worked out every day of the week and was in top condition – his physical pane.

And he read every day trying to improve himself – his mental pane.

But he had no spiritual commitment and that window became very cloudy, so dark that he could not see out of it.

So, when he had a crisis in his life as he did that morning, he wasn’t prepared to handle it and instead took his own life.

This is a true story. The moral of the tale is that we need to clean all three of our windows constantly.

Three windows to clean.

Three types of people in the world.

Two wolves begging for food.

Three personal characteristics to nurture and develop.

Life is an obstacle course around them all. Strong and clear goals provide the light to guide you.

Carl Sandburg said, “Nothing happens without a dream.”

I have lived my dream. I hope you are able to say the same thing as your journey winds down, as mine is now.

Your foundation has been laid; it is up to you to build from here.

Remember the words of Samuel Insull, Thomas Edison’s personal assistant and the man who created the Chicago Transit Authority: “Aim for the top. There is plenty of room up there. There are so few at the top, it is almost lonely.”

Protect your character.

Maintain your determination.

Build your resolve.

And always, always have a goal.

Thank you. Good luck. And dream big!

I'm sitting at the music school in the computer lab, and there are keyboards attached to Apple monitors. I can hear the hum of the processor and the occasional low note from down the hall. I'm not in my element but at least it's quiet and I've found an outlet anyway.

"I think my music has gotten better since I started having sex."

"Yeah? In what way?"

"I can build up to the climax better now."

I nodded and I saw the similarity between composing music and making love, as much as I think that phrase is not fully representative of what actually happens, because the love sort of has to be there to start with if you're going to make more love from sex. Maybe not. Maybe it's something that comes spontaneously and doesn't require anything else but two penguins making heart shapes with their necks and emitting an occasional low note grunt.

I don't understand how people can deny the humanity in animals and the utter animalness of humans.

I'm off topic and I never had one to start with. But something about the March of the Penguins and listening to the ploop plop of piano keys makes me feel like penguins would play piano if they weren't trapped in that climate, and if they had fingers instead of wimpy wings.

***
I saw a commercial about traveling around the world, snowboarding, chasing snow storms and it made me itch to travel. I still want to pick up and go somewhere for a long time, a year maybe, but the adult side of me is less and less likely to allow me to do that.

Rome would be great. And Sicily.

I took the metro to Rockville station but I like to call it a train instead. It’s more romantic. And the light came through the trees and chain link fences when I came out of the tunnel. Brick storage houses and abandoned weed lots in the back of strip malls made me feel like I was leaving something and going towards something else. An adventure? No.

Lunch at my parents’ house.

I brought in a beat up wheelie bag filled with dirty laundry, sheets, duvet, pillow cases. I thought of bringing his pajama pants that now live at my place like they rent too, but I figured I didn’t want to be his mom and instantly felt guilty about being so un-nurturing, but left them on the shelf anyway. I wondered if my parents would wonder why I brought only bedding to be washed, but they’re adults too, and I like to think that I’ve trained them well enough to let me be my in-between self. Because a real adult doesn’t bring home laundry to be washed—they wash it at their own place, with their own washer. But a child doesn’t worry about how that comes across to start with.

I know someone who is going through that questioning phase, “Will he? Won’t he?” Plucking a petal each time she sways back and forth in her debate, like a pendulum she wonders where her future will take her, and each time the weight swings left she thinks she’s wasted all that time with him, and each time it swings right she sees a home with children and him. I see her where I once was, and she asks me, “What should I do?”

I’m angry because I’m flashed back to a time when I felt powerless and out of control, when I let someone else decide my future like it had been highjacked. I thought I couldn’t live without him because he had become such a huge part of my life, and I thought that there was no one else.

When it ended, I fell deeper than ever before, and I swam and surfaced only with the flow of the current, and I wondered if I’d drown altogether. But I didn’t and I developed gills, so I could swim to the bottom of the deepest ocean and know that I can survive.

She will find her way.

What should I do? She asks me. And I unleash a tirade, but I should have kept my mouth shut. Because each moment is actually a point where two paths diverge, and each word of encouragement can make her more secure in her decision, and each doubting phrase can make her question what she knew was right. But now? Now, I don’t know, she says.

I see her. She’s a beautiful woman with the warmest heart. She’s capable of so much. Love, work, happiness. Without him. With him. It just depends on how many petals there were on that flower to begin with. Sometimes, it’s just that random and sometimes it’s that surprising.

I think that if he waits any longer, she’ll fall out of love with him and he doesn’t even realize it. There’s so much he doesn’t realize—that he’s also standing at a crossroads, and each day that he lets her slip away further is one more step into some other life, but without her.

He’s Peter Pan and she’s Wendy.

He’s behaving like a measured human with a perfectly reasonable desire for self-preservation and above all, selfish disregard for a woman’s need to love, to birth, to create.

She is acting like a mammal—following that need to nest and lick her cubs clean, build a dam of sticks and hang pictures on the walls.

He forgets that we are only mammals in our hearts. She forgets that he is only human. I want them to remember, but these are not my memories. I have chosen my path or I’ve accepted it, at least. It’s her turn to grow her fins and swim or grow legs and choose her path to travel.

I had dinner alone today at a nice restaurant. I walked right up to the greeter and asked for a table for one, outside. And I sat in the sunny-shade, reading The Perks of Being a Wallflower. And I felt infinite.

I ordered Mai Tai and Pad Tai,

With tofu, deep fried.

I wore a new dress today, and work went really well. And everything else went really well too. Coincidences and friends worked in a very connected way, so that I felt like the universe took care of me.

As I stood washing week-old dishes tonight, I caught my reflection in the window, smiling for no reason. The navy blue darkness making my smile even more visible to me as I realized that this is the happiest I’ve been in over a year.

“Do you love him?” My mom asked me.

“Yes,” I said.