I haven’t seen a shooting star in a while. I’m swaying in the hammock, legs crossed, head tipped back as my eyes search the sky. It’s the color of blue cotton candy—the last bit of light before darkness takes over. One bird, larger than a robin, maybe even a bird of prey, darted across the sky the last time I leaned back. Other than that, and the rhythmic chatter of a lone bird, not much is going on out here.
Which is exactly what I’m working on attuning to. My mind feels busy, amped up, like a bodybuilder on steroids in competition. The waxy glow of lotion on my forehead and my spray tan feel over the top, pulling me out of my natural flow.
I left my phone at home for two whole hours while we drove to Publix. Dave and I are such dorks—when we saw the $2.54 price tag at a gas station (twenty cents cheaper than anywhere else), we gasped and looked at each other like kids. “It’s open! I heard BJ’s Wholesale Gas was open!” And sure enough, there was a huge banner announcing the grocery portion would debut on September 12th. Small-town awe isn’t about fame or fortune out here—it’s about a membership grocery store promising good prices and selection.
The sky deepens to a lavender-blue, and as a couple of quick flyers pass overhead, I turn and see, through the silhouette of the trees, a real stunner—the largest flashlight of them all: the moon.
My Seattle Mariners are playing my new state’s team, the Atlanta Braves. Normally, their games stagger at different times, but tonight they overlap. Disorienting, but also a reminder that it’s almost Sunday—the day we (my family, Dave’s sister and brother, our niece, nephew, and grandpa) get to go to the game together. Too bad I don’t own a Mariners shirt.
I know I’m changing, getting older. And yet I feel the same. The same as always—me. Me in all the ways I’ve always been: frustrated at the mess in the kitchen after cooking, peaceful and free with the windows down while driving, tense with to-dos like paying quarterly taxes, selling the Acura, or staining the porch posts.
But I also feel settled. Either too settled for my own good, or perfectly settled—the kind of settled where you dangle your toes into a pond, feel the chill, and let your cells melt into the earth. I think that’s where I’m at.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 