12.1.22

I have to confess something. I am, admittedly, short. My driver’s license says I’m 5’2 but I lied because I’m probably closer to 5’1.5. I know this comes as a shock to you as my formidable social media presence may have created the illusion that I take up more vertical space than I do. Some call it overcompensation, I call it free real estate. 

Now that I’ve gotten that off my chest, I’d like to invite you into my world. Let’s adjust the tripod several inches closer to the earth and make sure we’ve got a good handle on our lens. 

The thing is when you’re constantly looking up to meet someone’s eyes or standing on your tippy toes to reach a cabinet you get used to looking at things bigger than you and just start assuming you’re at the same level. You also learn how to jump pretty high. 

I got back from London yesterday and I already miss the walking. There’s something about walking as a means to an end and sharing this experience with everyone in the city. You’re all on your way to or back from something and doing it alone is not an option. You can play a game of chicken, but with eye contact, and be surprised at the thrill and confidence you’ll collect. Best of all, you will look at their faces and they will look at yours right back. This bearing of witness is one you can’t really get from shopping in a grocery store, going to the gym, or gently releasing the brake on I-10. Unlike the latter examples where we truly exist in our own worlds, walking in community is a forced acknowledgment of our shared one. This is when the silos come down, or more likely, are knocked over. Yes, I exist.

Today, I was kind of dreading my evening walk since it already paled in comparison to the ones I had this past week. But the weather was too gorgeous to resist so I went anyway.

I’m always quick to say that we don’t really get fall in Texas. Sure, it’s no Stars Hollow, but we’ve still got trees that have leaves that end up on the ground at some point between September and December. And today I get the first pass to step on a recently fallen, freshly crisped leaf. Delicious. 

I gaze up at the Waxing Gibbous calmly overlooking the baseball field as the sun begins its night routine. I really love when the moon makes a cameo during daylight hours. Like when the student who’s usually late arrives extra early one day. 

In the same line of vision, telephone wires drape across the clear sky like the really long arms of the cell tower bodies. I wonder when we decided that trees and mountains and clouds stopped being big enough for us. But I’m still grateful that I can call my Nani.

I’m listening to my fresh-out-of-the-oven playlist named “Anaklusmos” after Percy Jackson’s trusty sword, more commonly known as “Riptide” but the Greek name sounded cooler/more obscure for my Spotify profile. And, no, Riptide by Vance Joy is not on it because Percy would hate that song and think it’s corny as fuck to put it on the eponymous playlist.

I’ve been on a PJ kick lately. I’m about to start the last book in the series and I’m already sad about it. Since you asked why I’m reading a children’s book, I’ll give you a few reasons: 

1. I’m in a reading rut and need something easy.

2. I’m refreshing my memory ahead of the forthcoming Disney+ series.

3. I happen to own the series in its entirety and it didn’t weigh on my moral compass the way another certain beloved children’s series might.

But mostly I’ve been having a hard time connecting with my childhood self. Until recently, it was easy to be back in 3rd grade reading Thunder Cake or at the elementary school recital of The Littlest Christmas Tree or the day Michael Jackson died. But lately, it’s become increasingly difficult to realign with the version of me that used to act on impulses the exact moment they surfaced and had an imagination not yet tainted by inhibition.

So now I’m walking on a paved path along a bayou listening to Jesus, Etc. by Wilco thinking of how everyone really is a burning sun. I love when you have a thing going on in your life and it colors your whole world. Like the way my dear friend Lizzy wears Teen Wolf colored glasses. Kind of like how people used to see the world in grayscale before they invented color TV.

I think that’s what we call an “era.” And it can be a ton of things at once. I’m in my Word Hunt Era when I see an array of letters behind my eyeballs as I’m falling asleep. I’m in my Annoying Person Era the moment I hover my thumb over the Notes app. And I know I’m in my Percy Jackson Era when I’m scraping my dinner crumbs into the trash as an offering to Zeus to please return the bag I left on the plane because it had my wallet in it. Also when I have a ballpoint pen with me at all times. (Or is that my Annoying Person Era? As I said, it can be a ton of things at once.) Sometimes that’s all you need to turn your orbit around. 

I make my way around the soccer fields my brother used to play on. The practice fields are empty, but there must be a game going on because I spot spectators on the hill that overlooks the fields. The silhouettes of parents in folding chairs watching a game that I can’t see, painted by the gloaming as the sun goes down for its western nap, make me emotional for some reason. I try to take a picture and then chide myself for this feeble attempt to capture something that transcends form.  

It’s getting dark at this point. I pass the baseball field again, this time spattered with kids practicing. I love when someone throws a ball and the other person catches it. 

I’m taking these final few steps with my chin fully aimed at the sky to soak in every last drop of moonlight as if to learn something from it before it vanishes until tomorrow. The moon’s halo reminds me of a dusty spotlight. So humble. 

Four houses down from mine is a big tree with giant Christmas ornaments hanging off its branches. The simplicity is comically brilliant. I bet the gods get a kick out of it. 

Three houses down and I give my neck a break only to be met vis-à-vis by a wispy entity that I realize soon enough is just the shriveled leaves of a neighboring weeping tree, but not before almost tripping over the unleveled pavement. Almost.