Right on Time

Is it possible to be kicking life’s ass while, at the same time, feeling like it’s kicking yours? If so, clip my ticket.

I’m swimming—mostly gulping water—against a rushing river, and then, as if remembering that’s not how this race is won, I relax. I point my toes downstream, lean back, wear myself out less, and let the current take me.

In one moment, I’m connecting vine-and-brick puzzle edge pieces like a master. In the next, Dave is shoving puzzle pieces on top of each other, flipping them onto their backs like turtles—little clawing legs scratching at nothing.

There are puzzle rules, I tell him. And what he’s done has harmed the puzzle. There’s no flipping already-flipped pieces.

I see most situations as a competition.
Who am I competing with, you ask?

There is a future puzzle contest I place myself. Imaginarily. How to optimize each maneuver. How to be the first to slam the final piece in, throw my hands up, and hear the heavy sighs of participants from across the room.

When I’m not competing for efficiency and optimization, I’m criticizing. Myself or others. I could be doing better. They could be doing better.

You might say, Jaclynn, that’s a lot of work.
A lot more work on top of all the things you’re already doing.
To which I’d empathetically nod my head like it’s attached to a jack-in-the-box spring.

How do people even like me? It’s all in good fun, right?

Especially since shortly after I found my laptop to type, Dave found me to apologize for his harsh puzzle antics. I told him it was fine—but he still has to step it up. I need a world-champion partner.

I’m trying my hand at Korean food—specifically hard-boiled eggs marinated in soy sauce, jalapeño, garlic, and onion. Holy cow, just imagining the umami makes my mouth water.

I also made French bread. Which was absolutely delicious—but with extra melted butter.

There’s a scene in Pluribus—an awe-inspiring moment—where the main character looks through a telescope. It’s intimate. Light pollution from the city makes it hard to see, and another person—part of a collective human consciousness—has all the city lights turned off.

The darkness.
The purity of the moment.

For someone who has felt so alone, so stripped of humanity, it touches something deep and novel within her.

And it made me realize: I want more of that. More awe. More wonder.

Unfortunately, most of those moments arrive without notice.

One did last week—Evelyn riding Kisses. Her hand waved at me as she sat upright, the horse bumping heavily into a trot. Week after week, the quiet accumulation of her growth—her balance, her courage, her willingness to let go of the saddle—gave me that feeling.

Awe.
Right on time.

Love, Jaclynn