It's Okay (I Promise)

It's okay to realize your passport is expired. I'm talking massively expired, over a year expired, oops expired. So you print those forms and rush to the UPS Store to get your picture taken but they don't take passport photos anymore, so you run to CVS and get photos taken right by Aisle 5 (the seasonal aisle, the one with all the beach chairs and sunblock), and then you run back to the UPS Store to mail everything but, oh, they don't mail packages to post boxes, so you skip right on over to the post office at 5:25pm right before they close at 5:30, and you get that package sent priority with an "Adios!" and a "Sayonara!" and also a "Good riddance!" But it's totally okay, because, in three short weeks, that sweet new passport will be in your mailbox.

It's okay to get back from camping on the Harbor Islands Monday morning, after sunsets and tent sleeps.

And because you just went camping, there are sleeping bags and gear spread out all over your studio apartment floor, and because you live in a studio, the sleeping bags are unavoidably and directly in front of the window unit. And because it's so, so hot, you sit right in front of the window unit, on top of the bonfire-smoky sleeping bags, and take conference calls and write emails. It's okay, and it's kind of comfy too.

It's okay to wake up at 5:30am with the intention of leaving the house at 5:40 and being on the Summit Ave Hill at 6:30. It's also okay to realize immediately that your stadium-sore calves and your back - sore from camping and backpacking and about fifty too many burpees - aren't showing up to run hills today. No, they are not. So you re-set that alarm for 8am and you get an iced coffee and you go to restorative yoga and, yes, you go right ahead and take that iced coffee into slow yoga, and what a delicious, over-caffeinated oxymoron that is.

It's okay to act like a four year old and put yourself down for a nap, while your significant other/other half/better half teaches himself card tricks. And when you wake up from nap time, it's okay to declare that it's ice cream time and you get M&Ms on your ice cream because, remember, you're acting like a four year old today. But then you go to the corner store and buy broccoli for dinner, despite the protests of the aforementioned significant other/other half/better half, because, after all, you're almost thirty.

It's okay. I promise.

My Favorite Four Letter Word: Goal

At New Year's, I always ask my friends if they're setting resolutions. Some say yes, some say no. Some decide that the year is going to be all about one thing. And then they ask me in return. I say no.

I set goals. I am all about goals.

I used to set super specific goals. I would set goals for a month, for six months, for a year out. I've looked back at what I wrote in 2012. It's not an embarrassing "Dear Diary" situation. But there is a pattern.

I was setting goals to fix or remediate existing situations. They were still goals and that's great because they gave me something to reach for and they gave me measurable ways to get there.

But where were they going to get me? I'm not really sure. And were they going to get me somewhere that I wanted to be? I don't really think so.

I've been thinking, writing, and talking about goals a lot recently. I feel like I'm tweaking my goals a bit everyday. If you've ever been to a ballet or yoga class, the instructor will come around and make adjustments to your form. More often than not, I really like it. I like alignment and I like extending a pose more deeply. That's what my thought process is like these days. A little tweak, a little adjustment, a little extension.

And what I am tweaking and adjusting? My idea of my best life possible and my goals, but only as they pertain to that idea. What I want and need to do today, tomorrow, next week, next month matters a lot more and makes a lot more sense when I know where I want to get to.

And once you've figured out what your best life looks like? Folks, there is no backing down from that. It won't look like anyone else's best life and it makes today's decisions real easy.

But I guess the tricky part of all this goal stuff is that, if you're constantly working towards a goal or a vision, then you feel like you're striving. And if you feel like you're striving, you may miss out. You may miss out on the present. I'm definitely guilty of this. Definitely.

And there is so much beauty in the present. Last Saturday, JJ and I walked all over the place. We bought strawberries and potatoes at Haymarket and jeans on Newbury Street.

We shared a bagel at Pavement (and it was a very tasty bagel) and, when we wanted a treat, we went to the Cookie Monstah truck, parked at the Public Library. We turned around and JJ recognized the people behind us in line. She had met them during her honeymoon in Thailand. That's what I call serendipity.

We walked down Boylston with our ice cream and then I saw these giant letters leaning against the Public Garden fence. J-O-Y. Just hanging out. So casual. And I don't know who Joy belonged to or why Joy was there, but no one seemed to notice it. I couldn't believe it. We had stumbled upon it, but everyone else was walking straight past it.

There is no goal or plan that can get you to Joy.

So I plan on walking that very fine line. I will keep on setting goals and refining my idea of what a good life is. And when joy pops up in front of me? Well, I hope that I will always stop and tug on my friend's sleeve and point it out and smile about it. And then take silly photos.

The Love is Mine

E and I walk into Life Alive. We've just come from working out at a gym with a turf floor and I say to E, "I smell like turf." All those planks and sit-ups on the turf? Yeah. People in line turn around and look at us. What can I say. We work out hard.

We order our food - the Goddess bowl and the Love Alive smoothie for me - and we find two spots at a communal table downstairs. Our bowls come first and we dig in. When our smoothies arrive, the food runner asks, "Who had the Chai and who had the Love?" I look up and say, "I have the Love."

I realize just a split second later what a perfectly lovely phrase that is. And it's true.

There are too many blessings in my life to even begin to count. People, opportunities, places, and events have woven together to create something magical. And when you realize how you want to live the rest of your life, you want the rest of your life to begin as soon as possible. So I wake up everyday with enormous gratitude and excitement. I feel so fortunate for this day and every day and all days to come.

We sit there and eat our brown rice and veggies. E fills a Mason jar with hot sauce and then eats it all (well done, E!). E gets a take-out salad for J and we crack it open just to steal a bite of hummus (sorry, J!).

E suggests frozen yogurt, so we detour to Toscanini. E goes right for the Goat Cheese Brownie and I have a scoop of the White Russian, because I realized a few months ago how much I really do like White Russians. So I may have had the Love, but I have the booze too. 

Just One Scoop

I'm cutting through Boston Common and I hear Shakespeare. Shakespeare on the Common, that is. The audience is absolutely rapt and I know that I better not block their view. I spot the Ben & Jerry's Truck and, keeping my voice quiet, I order a scoop of Cookie Dough. And I swear, this is the best ice cream of the summer. Ben and Jerry's is good and all... but it's the summer night, the Shakespeare, and the slow walk that make it taste so, so good.

Summer Days

I am on a long, hot run through the Financial District. I'm sprinting down Atlantic Avenue and suddenly decide to veer under the arch of Rowes Wharf. I work my way out to the water and along the wharf and I'm about to turn back to Atlantic when I take a big breath. Salt air. I stop, facing the water, and breathe. Salt air.

Salt air means only one thing to me: landing in a tiny plane on the airstrip in Nantucket, popping my head out of the airplane and being so happy to smell salt air. Summer after summer, year after year, I'd walk down the stair cart that had been rolled up to the airplane, breathing in the air and knowing that we were finally there, that we had a month ahead of us. A month of kite-flying and bike-riding, frappes from the soda fountain at Nantucket Pharmacy, Quidnet Beach, morning walks to Sconset Market to get the New York Times (for my parents) and chocolate milk (for everyone under the age of ten). And there was clam chowder, but I was little and didn't like seafood, so I would order clam chowder just to get the oyster crackers. I read and read and read those summers and I won the kids' reading contest at the Nantucket Atheneum library several years in a row. The librarian eventually had to disqualify me because I always won. If I couldn't sleep at night, I'd lie in bed and watch as the light from Sankaty Lighthouse flashed through my bedroom window. I'd count the seconds between each strobe of light and I'd eventually get too tired to keep counting.

***

Much later that day, I'm on Revere Beach. We've spent the day reading and lounging in our matching beach chairs, wading into the water, buying cups of frozen yogurt at Twist & Shake. It's late in the day, about 3:30 or so, but the afternoon is magnificent. It's sunny with just a little breeze, the light is golden, and the beach is calm. I pull out my iPhone and I open up Pandora. I'm playing the 90s pop station -- you know, N'Sync and Backstreet Boys -- but then Eric Clapton's Layla comes on.

And I think of the kitchen in Nantucket. The stove with the quirky pilot light, the big wooden table, and the tall chairs painted light blue. Were the chairs really light blue? Memories play tricks on us. But I think they were light blue. In the corner was the white wicker chair and near the countertop was the radio. I remember Layla playing on that radio. Did Layla really play? I think it did. And even if it didn't, my memory of Eric Clapton playing on the radio as we sat around the big table and shelled peas fresh from Bartlett's Farm is a good one. So I will keep that memory.

It's a truly beautiful afternoon. I have to be back in Boston for a 6pm board meeting. I look over at B and say that I don't want to leave the beach. I never want to leave.