About a month ago, we went to the Cape for a long weekend. We watched the waves and tried to spot sharks at Nauset Beach, and then we ate shrimp or fish tacos or lobster rolls and drank wine.
Mornings were for the "breakfast" part of "bed and breakfast," and for coffee and stories. Dennis, the husband part of the husband-wife B & B owners, liked the phrase "a New York second." As in, a seal will kill a fish in a New York second. Or, a shark will get a seal in a New York second. Generally, the New York second came up in the context of the food chain. I always thought the phrase was a New York minute, like the Eagles song, but a New York second sounds even better. It sounds even faster.
Now I'm typing this on the Northeast Regional train as it pulls away from Penn Station and our not even thirty-six hour New York weekend seems just as fast. The days, and the weeks, and the months seem fast, the seasons too. I love every season, equally -- Christmas presents and wool socks in the winter, picnics (but also allergies) in the spring, the beach in the summer, and then apple picking and leaves and plaid and all cliched and all wonderful things New England in the fall. So I am a little sad but not too sad to see the summer go, because here comes another season that I love. The 23rd is the fall equinox. So today is the last Sunday of summer. So this weekend is the last weekend of summer. And so on.
Last Monday was the last Monday of summer. So we went to Hampton Beach. It was that deceptive kind of beautiful, sunny cold. We drove up with hoodies and hot coffee and put our rash guards on to get in the water. We body boarded, rolling to shore on the right wave at the right time and sometimes getting rolled underwater by the right wave at the wrong time, and talked about taking surf lessons next summer.
When we got out of the water for a break, all salty fresh and tired, I looked at my watch. It had only been twenty minutes. It had seemed like longer. But twenty minutes is still a whole lot of of New York seconds.
And there went the last seconds of this summer on the last Monday of this summer; and here go the minutes of this train ride back to Boston, this train ride to fall; and here goes the overlap of the seasons, the fade out of summer and the fade in of fall.
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.
There are big moments, small moments, experiences, peoples, places that make us stop. They get us out of real life and into something beautiful.
Like #MoreMovement last night.
We met up at Dewey Square at 5pm and there was that nervous, fun, jumpy adrenaline energy that happens when you don't really know what's about to happen. We ran a few miles, with some jumping jacks and burpees thrown in, following Brogan to our super secret spot for part two: yoga with Goldie.
We ran up and down side streets downtown and alleys in Chinatown and then deep into the South End. When we got to SoWa Vintage Market, the energy was up and the music was already jamming and we filled that old brick building with more energy and more noise and yoga mats and a whole bunch of sneakers.
I flowed with gravel on my mat (because, hey, it's an open market and there's gravel) and with my sunglasses on (because, hey, that strong summer light was streaming in). And something about the gravel and the light and the super cool DJ and the vinyasa was unreal. After a week of what I will call too much realness, #MoreMovement was unreal in the best possible way.
There are a lot of things that have done that for me. Running SeaWheeze. Colorado. Wyoming. Wanderlust. There are big, impactful, beautiful experiences that make me hit the re-set button in a powerful way.
But there have to be smaller experiences and moments in daily life too, and I am lucky to have them. There was last night. There was Saturday at Narragansett Town Beach. There is Boston. I don't have a backyard, but I do have every Boston sunrise and sunset. There will be tomorrow morning with the November Project.
Marathon training is tough. Marathon training at altitude
is, in a word, humbling.
Yesterday in Jackson Hole, I went out for my long run. There
was something about 7200 feet that got to me. My legs moved slower, my heart
beat quicker.
I ran two miles downhill around curves and switchbacks
towards Jackson and I sent up thanks to the running gods when I hit four miles
of straightaways. The straightaways were perfect. I tacked on an extra half
mile, because the straight road felt that good.
But, running uphill, back the way I came, was next. Moving
tired legs and pulling oxygen into tired lungs became harder. I was hot, so
hot, and I kept swallowing reflexively because I was thirsty. As I went up, up,
up, I moved slower, slow, slowest.
I thought about walking the last half mile. But walking is
even slower than running, so I kept running. I made a bargain with myself: Just keep
running.
That was it. That was the bargain. No reward, no pay-off.
Just keep running.
Let’s be reaI: I was barely moving.
Later, I did the math. Jackson is at 6200 feet, and I
started my run at 7200 feet.
Meaning: I descended 1000 feet and then ran back up 1000
feet. Holy sh*t.
I was humbled. I was completely humbled by the Tetons. I was humbled in more than one way. Guys, the Tetons are
really beautiful. They are very tall and very majestic and, to state the
obvious, we don’t have anything like them in Boston.
And isn’t it a good thing to be humbled once in a while?
Humbled by our bodies, by the physical challenges we put ourselves through.
Humbled by the potential in the opportunities that exist before us. Humbled and
inspired by others; humbled and inspired by nature.
It is not so far a stretch from being humbled to being
grateful.
So here it is: I am grateful for my body, for my legs, and
for my lungs and I am grateful for those very hard, very hot miles yesterday. I
am grateful for the spectacular beauty of Wyoming and for the simple fact that
places like that still exist.
Wanderlust Oahu. Yoga with Eoin Finn, surfing and swallowing an oceanful of salt water, more yoga, more salt water. We watched the sun set over the North Shore cliffs every night, all eyes on the horizon and the last surfers in the water.
Four months later, back at Wanderlust, this time in Stratton. Three buddies and about 300 miles round trip. We road-tripped, stacked our wrists with bracelets and silvery tattoos, flowed on yoga mats and paddle boards, and road-tripped back.
D and I had a really interesting conversation about granola bars a couple of days ago... you know, how some bars are "healthy" but have added sugar or weird ingredients. And then we started talking about health.
Health is such an intensely personal thing. Every body and each body are so incredibly different. And what does health feel and look like anyway?
When B asked me a few months ago if I have always been healthy, I didn't know how to answer. Because my own definition of health has changed and evolved. I have eaten things that I thought were healthy but actually made me sick (7-grain bread, I'm looking at you. You devil you.) It has been a process of trial and error to find the foods that make me feel happy and healthy, to create an active life, and to make sure that my diet and my physical activity work in tandem.
This means fruit and vegetables and protein. Nothing
processed. This means a boatload of water. This means quinoa and oatmeal
(grains I can eat!). Coffee, because I (really) like coffee. Almond
butter. Berries. Spinach. More protein.
This means running. This means strength training. Bootcamp. Barre classes. Plenty of yoga. And it also means November Project because I like forty stadium sections at sunrise and planks in the mud (read: dirt, sweat, and endorphins).
I have been stoked to see new food and fitness options come to Boston. Flywheel. Barry's Bootcamp. SoulCycle. Plus, Exhale Spa just added a Core Fusion Barre + Cardio class. I like the kale and the quinoa at Boloco and Sweetgreen and there are finally more and more smoothie bars. These are all good things, especially when it's cold as sh*t outside and you need a fun new workout and something delicious to eat.
Especially the smoothies. I'll hike to Southie for Nourish Your Soul, I have a crush on the PB&J smoothie at Fuel Bar, and today I tried CocoBeet, the new organic eatery near Government Center. I scoped out the menu beforehand and I was pumped to try it post-Sunday run. Granted, I was a little bummed that the smoothies and juice are bottled and not made to order. CocoBeet also does not serve food on the weekends, so it's really just open to sell the smoothies and juice (I think this business model may be a bit questionable, yeah?).
Regardless, I'm happy Cocobeet is there. I bought the Blue Coconut and the Kale Karma (points for fun names!). I liked the Blue Coconut - I definitely tasted the almonds and coconut oil. The Kale Karma is in my fridge for tomorrow.
I'm excited for kale and November Project tomorrow. I'm excited for yoga class this week and running in San Francisco next weekend. I'm excited for health, always.
Where was I two years ago? Six hours away (roughly) and a million miles away (roughly). Someplace hot and humid and tropical. That was a different life.
Where was I a year ago? Well I can't really say for sure, but I'm pretty confident I was working. I was in a work coma. For a year. That was a different life.
This year? Unlike any other year or life.
I can say that I have never been faster or stronger. Sometimes it catches me off guard, like during yoga class when our teacher tells us to move from a three legged plank through three-legged chaturanga. Like when I realize I'm getting a little bit closer to Eight-Angle Pose. And definitely when the November Project workout is to sprint (no biggie) with a human being on my back (very much a biggie). The practices of running, yoga, and strength work are integral to my identity and to my daily life and having the chance to do these things is awesome and humbling all at once. These things fulfill me, challenge me, and always, irrefutably, undeniably, without fail, propel me on.
What I look forward to are the adventures and the opportunities to expand on these changes and to do more... to go to the Wanderlust Festival, to run Bay to Breakers and to run the SeaWheeze Half Marathon again, and to travel to all of those heart-stopping, heart-breaking places. I realized a few years ago what it is like to travel to run. Last August, SeaWheeze brought together running, travel, and yoga in a very radical way. So, these days are in part a preparation for travel and for experiences to come.
What else is happening these days? I am looking here for the right words to describe my professional ambitions. Ambitions, yes. Ambitions they are, because I have never and will never lack motivation and self-discipline. I will say this: I am doing the hard work now and I am putting myself through the paces now, today, tomorrow so that, in six months or a year or two, I can say that I myself lay the foundation. I am laying the foundation for what I know I will achieve.
And I can turn around and use almost the same words to describe relationships. Let's lay the foundation. Let's get together and let's get excited, get positive, passionate, constructive. Let's help each other and let's grow, and if it's not a two-way street... well, then get out of my street.
I am interested in deeply transformational experiences, relationships, friendships, challenges, and opportunities. Let's have some fun, let's get a lot done, let's do epic shit, let's do it all. Eyes on the prize y'all, and the prize is this year.
P.S. Where's the title from? The Corona classic. Rhythm of the night, rhythm of my life.
We're standing around the bar at Brick & Mortar and I'm sipping bourbon and this sweeeeeeeeet song comes on the speakers. I'm trying to Shazam it, but it's too loud. And I'm all "Guys! What is this song?" But no one knows. A new friend says, "It sounds like Lorde?" and I think yeah it sounds like Lorde.
It's Lorde. It's super melodic. It's super Lorde. It's super nod your head along and maybe sway your shoulders too.
How often do I hear a song or a fragment of a song and think oh yeah I dig it? Oh yeah that's resonant? Oh yeah I'm inspired?
All the time.
So what am I inspired about? These truths, my truths: I feel powerful when I run. I feel elated when I write. I feel creative when I take photos. I feel centered when I do yoga. I feel free when I travel. I feel supercharged when I talk about goals and visions.
This isn't a blog only for running and workouts, or only for beautiful, super-sized photos of places that aren't home. What I do here (and always want to do here) is dig in deep. I mean for this blog to be a kaleidoscope of loves and dreams. Because life is anything but one dimensional.
This life is so much fun, and this life has it all. All kinds of inspirations.
I'm back in Boston after Denver, between travel for Thanksgiving and travel for Christmas, and before all of the travel that's going down in 2014 (stay tuned, y'all). And I am so glad that I am here, because the air is cold, the city is lit up and dressed up for the holidays, and there are people to meet, things to eat, and so much to be grateful for:
- My very first Hanukkah. If you follow me on Instagram, you saw the blazing menorah last night. Well, there was actually more than one.
Is four menorahs too many? I thought it was just right. And then we ate latkes and applesauce and everyone shared funny dating stories. Please note that these were not my first latkes - in fact, I went through a latkes-making phase a few years ago - but it was very much my first Hanukkah. It was lovely.
- Ladies' Brunch from The Toast. This satire of brunch planning is a few months old and I only just read it, but oh I am so glad that I did. It's a little terrifying but um also kinda sorta true. Instagram makes us do crazy things.
"Is Williamsburg cute? I feel like it’s all flannel wearing guys lol no
offense just not my type. BUT Brooklyn might be fun and like cute for
instagrams."
- And speaking of Brooklyn, you've seen the trailer for season three of Girls, right? It's kickass (as all trailers for Girls are), but more importantly THAT SONG. It's Ways to Go by Grouplove.
The music video is a little weird. I'm not so sure what I just watched. It's cool. Just go with it.
- And, while latkes and music videos and brunch are all super important, there's other stuff happening too. I've been thinking about the holidays and why they typically don't mean health. We have the chance to spend time at home and spend time with the people we love most... why can't those experiences be connected to wellness? Why do we have to wait until New Year's Day to start living our healthiest, happiest lives? Let's not wait until 2014. And while we're at it, let's not wait until next month or next week or tomorrow either.
So this is what I'm down for: I'm down to kick my own ass (the last three days: Core Fusion Barre at Exhale, spin at Recycle Studio, and Hip Hop Yoga at Back Bay Yoga). I'm down to get up at 5:30am to run. I'm down to come up with answers to the hard questions. I'm down to get outside and to get moving. I'm down to buy plane tickets. I'm down to make my goals more real and more specific and to create and invest in the circumstances and relationships that will support my goals.
Today, I was walking across the Public Garden and I saw the palest rainbow above Beacon Hill. No else seemed to see it. In that moment, I thought maybe I was the only one I could see it. Now I know that's silly. But the park was empty and so was Beacon Street and there was the rainbow. So I started walking towards it.
Here's the truth: I'm down to (literally and figuratively) chase some rainbows. Because, for all of my realism and all of my practicality, I believe that there are pots of gold and I believe that wonderful things can happen. They're already happening.
I hadn't even heard of them until I was away last weekend. I was sitting in the back of M's Range Rover when a super catchy song came on the radio. I was all "shhh shhh stop talking, I'm trying to Shazam the song!" Well I Shazam-ed it and it was Out of My League and now I'm crushing pretty hard on Fitz & The Tantrums.
Did you ever see High Fidelity? There's that scene where John Cusack is being all earnest and making a mix tape for his ex (because mix tapes are super cool and you can always get your ex back with a mix tape. Duh.). He says there are a lot of rules:
"The making of a great compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do
and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a
killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you
don't wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. There
are a lot of rules."
Okay, so I don't know all of the rules. But, if you know me, you know that I know what I like. And I like dance music and I like indie pop (and I really really like British indie pop). And I think they belong in the same playlist, even if that breaks the rules.
I made a playlist and I'm calling it "Best Ever." Maybe I exaggerate. Maybe. Maybe not. I mean, I know what I like.
I don't think this is a running playlist. However, I'm pretty confident that this would be a great travel playlist. Not so much an airplane playlist. But definitely a walking around the city playlist.
Last weekend in Denver, we ate everything. I do not exaggerate. We ate everything.
One of my favorites was our late brunch at Wild Eggs. Guys. Have you been to Wild Eggs? The only way I can describe the menu is that it is brunch's greatest hits. Strawberry pancakes, crepes, huevos rancheros... Everything sounds delicious.
I ordered the Kelsey KY Brown: roasted turkey, bacon, tomato, and a fried egg piled on sourdough bread (Mornay sauce on the side, and I added another egg and spinach).
And oh yeah, we split a cinnamon roll too.
I got back to Boston and I wanted more brunch. I bought Canadian bacon, tomatoes, eggs, and spinach. I liked the idea of a complete little breakfast in a ramekin, so I baked the eggs. Three days and five recipes later, I nailed it.
Guys. Do you have any idea how much Canadian bacon I've eaten in the last three days? It was a big sacrifice. I really took one for the team.
I added spinach at Wild Eggs and it was awesome, but I couldn't get it right here. If you really want spinach, I say saute it and serve it on the side. I just feel weird about baking spinach. I tried several times (with raw spinach, wilted spinach, and lightly wilted spinach) and it doesn't work for me. The bacon though? It works. Oh yeah. It really works for me. I just can't get enough.
Baked Egg with Tomato and Canadian Bacon
1 egg
2 slices tomato
1 slice Canadian bacon
1/4 teaspoon olive oil, plus more for greasing the ramekin
Salt and pepper
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Lightly grease a ramekin with olive oil (my ramekins are 3.5 inches in diameter).
Heat a pan with 1/4 teaspoon olive oil over medium heat. Cook the Canadian bacon about one minute per side or until it's just cooked through. Drain the bacon well on paper towels and pat dry.
Layer the bacon and tomato in the ramekin. You can cut the bacon and tomato to fit the ramekin, but I just fold them to fit. Crack the egg and pour it on top. You can crack the egg into another bowl and pour it on top or crack it directly into the ramekin, whatever you're comfortable with. Sprinkle salt and pepper according to your taste on top.
Place the ramekin on a baking sheet on the top rack in the oven and bake for 15-17 minutes, or until the white of the egg is set and opaque and the yolk is done to your liking. I like the yolk at 16 minutes - it firms up but still has a liquidy center. Eat immediately!
"This life is worth living, we can say, since it is what we make it." - William James
Life is moving incredibly fast.
I said tonight to C that every single day of the past three months has been unique. Like a night sky full of stars, every day has been its own constellation of experiences and opportunities and tiny inspirations and huge inspirations.
Life is ever evolving, constantly changing.
Sometimes I think about other times, other places. When I studied abroad in Paris, I ate baguettes, drank red wine, and listened to Europop and, when I went for runs, I listened to Maneater on repeat and ran to the Arc de Triomphe or up the steep incline of Montmartre.
God I loved Paris.
March 2010? I was somewhere in Europe, living out of my Osprey backpack, jamming my camera memory card full of photos.
July 2011? I was writing a lot and running even more and listening to Kid Cudi and drinking vodka sodas with L after work. This August? I was on Kits Beach in Vancouver, on my yoga mat, under the late afternoon sun.
These years have been full, almost exceedingly full, of memories, snapshots, experiences, moments supercharged with sensory overload.
So I guess my question is this: How will we remember these days?
I hope these will be the days of sunsets and spontaneity. Of dancing fast and laughing hard. Of gratitude for the wondrous, sometimes silly, but always remarkable lives that we have created for ourselves.
I hope these will be the days that we look back to and think to ourselves: "That is when it all began."
As far as I'm concerned, everyone should take themselves on a drive up Route 1, play 101.7 so loudly it drowns out Google Maps, steer with one arm, and dance with the other.
Lana Del Rey kept playing today. I didn't mind. On an Indian summer kind of day, driving somewhere I'd never gone before, it seemed right. You know, DJs used to play Will Smith's Summertime when the weather got warm. Now they play Summertime Sadness.
One summer ago, I spent a lot of time on Route 1, going up to Revere Beach or the North Shore. For me, it's impossible to be on that road and not think of summer. With the sun streaming through the car windows and a smoothie to look forward to, I could still pretend that it was summer today.
At Sol Bean in Middleton, I got a Tropical Colada smoothie (coconut water, pineapple, spinach, mango, and coconut butter), plus an Athena quinoa bowl with chicken. The smoothie was so good. It was green and refreshing and it tasted like straight up pineapple. Best parts of the quinoa bowl? A seriously ample portion of hummus (totally beat the chicken for flavor) plus warm quinoa. The menu is huge and I would happily try another smoothie (maybe the Purple Rain next time).
I sat outside on the porch. Yeah, the porch overlooks Route 114. But at least it's a pretty part of 114 (green leaves, green hills, and cows) and I was happy to be outside.
When it was time to leave, I got in my car and turned the volume to low. I had to pay attention to get back to Route 1 and I got confused. But as soon as I was back on Route 1, it was a straight shot to Boston. So the music came back on.
When I put it all on the line in an early morning workout at Harvard Stadium. I'm pretty sure the stadium is covered in my sweat. (Too graphic? Sorry.)
When I'm one of the first customers at Trident Booksellers (so peaceful on a weekday morning!) and I buy this:
Source: www.roughguides.com
And then I buy these. What can I say? 'Tis (preemptively) the season, y'all. (Also let's talk about my pink nail polish and gold bracelets and the pink/gold holiday cards. I did not do that on purpose.)
When a hot pink sports bra is the basis on which my outfit is built. (No photo. Come on. What kind of girl do you think I am?).
When my afternoon coffee break and escape from percentages/clauses/dollar signs turns into an afternoon Life Alive break. That there is the Coconut Alive.
I'm in the middle of one of those afternoons when I sort of think that I'm getting things done, but my to-do list is actually not getting any smaller. And, suddenly, I'm all WHOAH. It is almost 4pm, which means Thursday is almost over. And Thursday is almost the weekend, so this week is almost over and October is flying by and have you thought about 2014 yet?
Yup. 2014.
Well, that was a wake-up call. (Or a slap in the face.. take your pick). I got SUPER focused and SUPER productive and, all of a sudden, I got projects moving, I got weekend plans, I got January deadlines, and I got a list of plane tickets to buy and races to sign up for.
Some people call this crazy. I call this Thursday.
Goddamn it, some things are going to change around here. I am putting my foot down.
Let's be real. I didn't really sleep for a year. I have this disease. It's called workaholism. It's a real disease. There's even a Wikipedia article on it. The bad news? It's chronic. And incurable.
So, some things have got to change around here. I am setting goals, making plans, and living out those goals and plans. I am thinking about the life that I want to lead.
I am pretty sure that I've done more yoga in the last month than I did in the last year. This makes me want to do more yoga. Because, you know what? Yoga feels good. In the last month, I also set a half marathon personal record by eight seconds and I started running the stairs of Harvard Stadium with the November Project. My body hurts without yoga. So I'm Googling things like Scorpion Pose (putting it on my bucket list) and Mermaid Pose (crossing it off my to-do list). I dig Mermaid Pose real hard and, if someone wants to teach me how to do Scorpion Pose safely, I am game. I am just a little bit afraid because I like my spine the way that it is. But the pose is incredibly elegant and it also says "Hey, check it, I am a spiritual gangster." Which makes me want to do it. Like now.
I bought a basil plant. Because, as I told J, basil plants require watering, sun, and attention. So, by buying a basil plant, I'm saying that I am a person who can provide a plant with all of those things on a regular basis. I am taking a goddamn stand with this basil plant. I'm pleased to report that that the basil plant is doing very well so far.
I'm out on the road, y'all. In the last month, there have been three weekend trips. THREE. WEEKEND. TRIPS. This is stupendous! And - get ready to high five me - two of those three trips have been out of the country. (Canada counts. Don't give me any attitude. It counts.) I'm ready for that high five now. I'm also itching to buy plane tickets. I read an article about Valparaiso, Chile last night and now I'm all "Chile, Chile, Chile, when are we going to Chile?" I have this adorable habit of calling up M and saying, "When are we going to Spain/India/other faraway location?" I know. I'm precious.
I am buying ri-goddamn-diculous things like five kinds of bourbon and cowboy boots. A few weeks ago, everyone came over and we drank a lot of bourbon. My friends drank a bottle of Wild Turkey, a bottle of Bulleit, and a bottle of Knob Creek. I have never been prouder to call those people my friends. And, then, folks, I got up the next morning and went to vinyasa yoga with a voice that sounded like I'd been pounding bourbon for days in a room filled with cigar smoke. Namaste, y'aaaaaaaall. Oh, and the cowboy boots? Well, every girl needs a pair of shit-kicking cowboy boots. Duh.
I'm not cooking much. But, with all of this basil (please see aforementioned basil plant), there is about to be a whole lot of caprese salads around here. Caprese salad for you! And you! And you! Caprese salad for everyone!
Do I sound punchy to you? Well, I am a little punchy. I am still crazy exhausted and I am still not really sleeping (I may have been born without that gene). But I am happy. So there it is. I am happy. Granted, I am staring down some super-soon, super-intense deadlines that will have a major impact on The Future (From now on, I am capitalizing The Future for dramatic effect). But that's okay. It's more than okay. I'm reading, learning, thinking, taking meetings, getting excited - if I don't make the bed for a few days, it is not uncommon for me to find highlighters and copies of the Harvard Business Review between the sheets. If that isn't a glowing endorsement for the HBR, I don't know what it is.
Andy Warhol once said, "Being good in business is the most fascinating form of art. Making money is art and working is art and good business is the best form of art." Business absolutely is an art form. I can't paint and I sure as hell can't sing and, let's not joke around, my short-lived career playing the flute mercifully ended at the age of 11. But, if I'm an artist, well then business is my medium. Let's get together and talk business, okay? And, while we're at it, let's drink some bourbon. I take mine on the rocks.
Incredible opportunities. Fascinating, kind, accomplished, hilarious,
smart people and new friends (There aren't enough adjectives in the
world to describe these people). Exposure to the kinds of people and
opportunities that help me to define the kind of person that I want to
be and that challenge me to become that person. Moments when I had an
out-of-body experience, looked around, and literally could not believe my good luck.
Growing
pains. Hard lessons learned. Too much loss. Reminders that I can stay
the course, both for myself and for those in my life.
A
dance-off (I won). A scar on my hip from a freak Frisbee accident. Four
passport stamps. Three broken pairs of aviator sunglasses (This is why I
can't have nice things). Long road trips and short weekends away. Puppy
fever... in a bad way. Two weddings, two purple dresses. A phenomenal
tan from summer days at Revere Beach. Two five mile races and one
half marathon... and two personal records. One short (very short!) dress for New Year's Eve.
How will I close out 2012? By working and playing and (always) running. By living and celebrating with those I love best. With absolutely no fear and with total authenticity. With great gratitude for this year and great hope for the next.
So, let's dance the rest of 2012 out and usher 2013 in. I'll be dancing to this.
B and I are running late. We've gone up and down the length of
Portabello Road, stopping to look at scarves, furs, books. We stopped for a coffee and I stopped too many times to take photos.
And now we're
running late. We're at Ladbroke Grove, getting on to the Hammersmith
& City Line; we're at Hyde Park, switching to the Jubilee Line.
We're jumping off the Tube; we're racing up the escalator. We're flying down Piccadilly, looking for Albemarle Street, and we're bursting into the front door of Brown's Hotel. When the maitre d' points us in the direction of our table, we collapse onto the small banquette.
Because you really can't be late for afternoon tea.
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