i am right here.
Rushing, the echoing of my heels– click clack, click clack, as I hear The Girl From Ipanema playing over and over in my head. Was I going to be late to my meeting? Likely…but this morning, I seemed to need coffee more than other days or maybe I just needed to be alone, amongst hundreds of people seemingly also rushing, with my thoughts. OK, I'll admit it's the latter. Lately, every morning, I seem to need to be alone with my thoughts to remind me of why I'm here. THIS morning I felt my Dad with me. He was the one singing The Girl From Ipanema more than 10 feet behind me. I was walking too fast; he was rarely in a hurry. He didn't say a word but I kept waiting for him to yell out at me huffing, "Damn it, Susan, slow down!" Well…that's what he probably would've said. THIS morning was the one morning…my first morning since I landed here…that I was able to piece together some words for how I am feeling.
I know why I am here and I came here for the right reasons; I am certain of this now. I am not lost; I know where I am, I know where I am going and why I am going there. What is missing, however, is who I am. I don't know who I am anymore. I can't feel that person lately. I remember feeling her slip away in those early days staying in The Chelsea in a space clearly not my own. I don't know where she went; I have my ideas; I miss her. Confident, certain, laughing, telling some silly story about almost anything, getting stronger every day…and moving forward – me and my bike, the push-pull of the pedals, turning, turning, always forward and often upward. Me and my bike, in my last months living in Oakland – it defined me. It wasn't the cooking or the baking. Those acts were just endings to a perfect bike ride up into the hills on any given, stolen day from work, with Alan or Michelle or Ray or anybody else who would aid my creativity to get work done earlier and earlier as the days tick-tocked away toward the day I would leave them all.
Go figure, my coffee place of choice is way on the other side of the Concourse, up an escalator, through a lobby and on the other side of a super heavy door – 8 minutes there, 5 minutes for the barista to sling the cappuccino (a really well executed one…no hearts or other "artistic" message etched in the foam…just a good, well-balanced cappuccino), 8 minutes back. I was 3 minutes late for my meeting. But the meeting requestor was 5 minutes late. I am just in time. Let the adventures of the day begin.