This urging is more like a pesky mosquito thought, reminding me to write in my book. Up until now, I’ve swatted it away with a flick. What’s stopping me is the feeling that I can’t do it. I tell myself it’s too complicated, like trying to untangle a knotted, knotty knot, so I don’t even try. Until recently, that’s exactly how I felt about working out. But, as things do, that changed. So much so that today—I’m proud to announce—I completed a 3-mile race.
My 37-minute start to finish didn’t win a medal, but Evelyn, dressed in a Raphael Ninja Turtle costume, sure did. She took second place in the costume contest, snagging a $25 gift certificate to a southern-style restaurant.
I still can’t get past the bug that flew into my ear canal. I’m uncertain if my finger caught it before it crawled too far, but now I’m in that psychosomatic headspace where I might feel something. Probably not, but maybe. I watched a TikTok where someone dripped alcohol into their ear, and a second later, a bug popped out. Ugh. Here’s hoping this one’s stuck in my earwax like flypaper, and it’ll just die, decompose, and maybe I’ll absorb its protein. Gross, but possibly true.
On a brighter note, I’ve leveled up my Spanish conversation game by finding a native-speaking friend. This week, we had an hour-long talk over Google Meet, during which they shared their screen, walking me through sentence structure tips. Learning a language stretches the mind, much like dropping a rung in limbo stretches the back. It feels impossible at first, but when you dig in and arch just right, you barely skim past the bar.
I’m also feeling pretty accomplished after delimbing the tall oak trees in the front yard today. A few rogue branches needed a push from the tree pruner, landing just inches from thwacking me in the head. My goal is to raise the underbranches high and tight to improve the view from the porch, and to help the trees. It seems like the weight of those lower limbs weakens the branches around them.
And speaking of branches, I guess it’s time I stopped flicking away my writing like it’s some annoying bug. Just like everything else, I know I’ll find my flow once I dig in. After all, I’ve learned that starting is half the battle—whether it’s racing, pruning trees, or picking up that pen.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 