Most of my good ideas happen when I’m trying to fall asleep.
I think I’ll remember, the notebook is too far away,
but in the morning they’re lost,
like a big shell pulled into the sea
by a small wave.

Some of my most intimate moments are not with family or close friends. They’re with strangers. People who come in and out of my life for a brief moment, and yet see me deeply.

.

To me, manifestation is wanting something, asking the universe for it, and then seeing it come to fruition. That, my friends, is just entitlement cloaked in some woo-woo magic.

When the car heater finally starts to work. Scratching an itch directly on the mid-back. A full tank of gas, $2/5 fruit deals at Kings Soopers. Fork-tender potatoes, crispy edges, globs of ketchup.

What has this year showed me? That I can adjust. It only takes a few months for a global pandemic to sink in and become a normal part of my words, my vocabulary.

I got lost inside a book, in between the yellow spine and chapter 7, stepped right inside a paragraph break, entered the plot…

Not the way I set my alarm for 5 am so I can drink coffee and read, before going on a run, before going to the dentist before work.

In the blink of an eye, I went from living in the city that never sleeps to a suburb of Denver, caught in a web of cul de sacs and sidewalk alleys, stuck between townhouse villages mysteriously “protected by the covenant.”