I love watching a play-by-play of the day from someone. I love watching the face twist in the initial confusion over being asked what they did that day, the eyes roll up toward the right hand ceiling as the narrator remembers the minute details of the morning. I love to watch the light click on and the smile appear when they conjure forth the pleasant sensation of crunching into peanut butter and honey whole wheat skillet toast and washing it down gently with a glass of Minute Maid orange juice. I love watching the narrator then launch into either an extremely animated account of the day–the highlights, the frustrations, the craziness–or shrugs a bit in defeat of forgetfulness. Or disinterest.

Not everyone is into this question, and to those to whom I have asked it and have had no interest in answering, I am terribly sorry. My belief on the reason why some aren’t ever in the mood to give an account for the day is threefold; either they,

A). Don’t think that I truly care about how the day was. That I’m just asking for the sake of being polite.
B). They don’t remember the day, and it’s frustrating to try and recall the life of a day that was lived on auto-pilot.
C). They’ve got better things to do.

I genuinely believe that life was meant to be remembered and recounted. That’s the point of living out a day. To remember what was good so as to emulate that goodness in the future and to recall what was humbling so as to challenge our integrity and growth. To recount and pass on the knowledge of the day that we lived in order to further human progress.

It’s been said to me that if you speak out loud the dream that you had as soon as you wake up, the information will be stored in the hippocampus and you’ll remember the dream long-term. I think the same might apply to the memory of a day; if you repeat it, it becomes stored.

So if you don’t want to recount your day to me if I were to ask it from you, that’s chill. We’re chill. Do yourself a favor and recount it to yourself, though. We waste too many days to the automatic life.

So on that note, can I tell you about my day?

I suppose it started three days ago, on the worst Saturday double-shift of all time. I won’t go into detail but just leave it with a blanket, “it sucked”. The horrid mess crescendoed to an even more horrid Sunday shift, which then finally peaked on a “has-the-apocalypse-begun-without-anyone-telling-me” Monday shift featuring my first ever mid-shift anxiety attack.

So anyways. We come to Tuesday. The most blessed Tuesday of all summer, because it is one of the first Tuesdays that I don’t have to work on my off-day. I actually get my off-day….off. Glory.

So I woke up, kind of just popped out of my fluffy, pillow-laden twin sized bed at 5:03am. Good start, am I right? Made the bed, shimmied into my favorite Janji racing singlet and Nike black shorts, pulled on Ann my Trusty Trail Shoe, mixed Justin’s natural peanut butter with some raw honey and sliced up a banana, made pour-over Columbia coffee, and headed out the door around 5:26am.

I loaded into my Outback and headed, pre-dawn with a Rich Roll Podcast on the Pursuit of Wonder serenading my waking ears, to the Milford State Park.

I love a good pre-sunrise. There’s almost nothing that matches it, it’s my absolute favorite time of day. No one is speaking, no one is working, no one is doing anything other than listening. I pseudo-park by a rather sketchy information sign and hit the Eagle Ridge Trail. The sun is just beginning to rise, and the rays of the dawn light the clouds on fire. The weather is perfect, a 70 degree morning with a lazy wafting breeze that keeps the humidity tolerable.

And I take off.

I run alone, without a middle-aged entitled customer verbally pelting me with hate for not making her grande-skinny-half caf-caramel-macchiato-with-whip-on-that-please iced. There is no bread to slice, there are no sandwiches to make, there are no tables to bus. There is just Josie and some good August sunrise and some empty woods.

Unfortunately, there are also a lot of angry MASSIVE spiders of whose webs began to stack upon my face. I love the woods, I live for the woods–I would live in the woods if that were socially acceptable–but I’m not such a fan of constant head-to-heads with the sticky invisible strands of spider web. So after about 5 miles, I turn around from the woods and decide to run towards the marina.

The sun has struck the lake in fire by the time that I reach the docks, and instead of running, I stop. I stop and I scramble down the rocks and I adventure to the shore and I take off my socks and Ann my Trusty Trail Shoe and I dangle my feet in the cool lake waters. I take off my sweaty bandana and dip it in the lake, washing off the grass and mud from my ankles and massaging my sore toes.

For the next forty minutes I sit on my new best friend of a rock, listening to the delicate splashes of the fish and watching the water lap against the rocks I am on. I feel the sun creep higher in the east, caressing my skin with tingles of warmth. I feel the cool morning breeze whisk away the sweat from my run. I whisper to myself, I have nowhere to be. I have nothing for which to rush.

So I don’t rush. I take my time.

What a contrast to the constant movement of the past three days, of the relentless beating my feet and ankles have taken from running an 80 mile week on top of the panicky jerking movements of scampering to make people coffee.

Beauty in the juxtaposition.

Finally, after a gentle power nap, I lace Ann back on and run around Milford State Park for another 5 miles. I stretch out lazily after I finish my run, feeling good and strong, and then drive to a grocery store where I purchase a massive tub of fresh fruit, coconut water, and this dark chocolate peanut butter organic and vegan mock-Recess cup. Which was absolutely tasty, and which I enjoy while I drive home with the windows down and my hair flying everywhere.

I got home around noon and washed off, then cleaned things that needed to be cleaned and hit the errands. Now, present-moment, I just finished baking oatmeal coconut oil triple chocolate cookies for my beautiful coworkers with whom shortly I will join for dinner at our favorite cafe with a couple rounds of Scrabble to conclude the evening.

These kinds of summer days don’t happen often, of which I am glad because beauty does indeed exist in the juxtaposition; “Sometimes you have to work a little…to ball a lot”. (Tom Haverford).

I wish you a good Tuesday.

Peace and Blessings,



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