Praise the long days of April, when I can finish up those final emails, make the drive home, change my clothes, hustle across the traffic of Riverside, and still have enough light for a walk. Praise the boardwalk, which sometimes feels like it was built just for me, me whose six-word memoir might read, Loves to walk beside the water, who carried a Wallace Stevens quote tucked into the front of her journal for a year, Perhaps the truth depends on a walk around the lake. Praise how for these 45 minutes I can leave behind the HVAC installers up in my attic, failing again, and the budgets and questions of program outcomes and who really deserves an A in the class, and just move my sandaled feet forward. Praise Anne Lamott’s long ramble about turning 61, which I read aloud to Chris before bed, in which she reminds us, If you want to have a good life after you have grown a little less young, you must walk almost every day. There is no way around this. Praise how many writers I can carry in my head, their voices coming at me when I least expect it. Praise the health that allows me to be here, the slice of time between things where I can breathe, and all the pauses I make so often for skyscrapers glistening in the distance, for rowers gliding by in sync, for colorful boats awaiting their next paddle.
April 8, 2015