What I would like to bottle up to save for later:
The simple native feeling of getting to run after weeks of conditions (smoke, heat, travel) making it hard or impossible to feel free. Getting to run, not having to run. Dropping everything when I realize the AQI is in a good range.
The feeling of running as both a celebration of clean air and a eulogy for the fires still burning.
The silence of a pod of pelicans.
The good moods that are detectable even across Zoom, when the air clears and the sun comes out and the blue of the sky reveals itself.
The realization that a day was a good day. Not just when I settle into my nightly journal and look back, but when I’m moving through it and can see myself as if I’m looking from above.
The hugs from my mother.
The banter of a group of old friends who, despite time and distance and computer screens, can fall into easy conversation and gentle ribbing as if we were all back on my old roommate’s couch drinking copious amounts of wine and commiserating over shared grad school woes.
The secret second blooming of the poppies.
The buzz of ideas when starting a new project, one that will be hard and fraught with obstacles and personalities and weirdness but that gets my head turning in places that have been dusty for a while.
The stability of dialed-in medication.
The remembrance that there is more than the news. That forgetting the shitstorm for an hour or a day makes it possible to care even more about changing it.
The remembrance that there is goodness to move towards, not just evil to rail against.
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Bank of Erin 