Time Travel

My local library system recently opened a new flagship location, which is wonderful since it’s five minutes from my house. The first time I visited, I walked around to get a feel for the place. It’s pretty snazzy, but I was super jazzed to find an entire set of shelves that holds yearbooks, both high school and college, from around the region. I thought I remembered where my gran went to high school but when I looked, I instead found M’s grandmother. (What are the odds?!) 

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It’s actually NOT a misunderstanding

I ran to the grocery store the other day—my old store, not ALDI—to pick up just a few things that ALDI doesn’t carry. I grabbed one of the wee carts and start blasting around the perimeter, as I do. The one thing I really miss about this particular store is the music. I don’t even register what ALDI plays, if anything. The HVAC unit in there is so obnoxiously loud that the Pride of Troy could be blasting away in the meat section and we wouldn’t hear it. But the fancy store…they play good music.

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Twenty-five in Twenty-five

Two years ago, after listening to a podcast I love, I sat down with a dear friend to create our “23 in ‘23” lists. Twenty-three things we each wanted to accomplish in 2023. We did this in January of ‘23 so we were actually working with a little less than a year, but it was ok. The podcast hosts encourage listeners to include some stretch goals, of course, but also save room for the easily attainable. That way one doesn’t get discouraged as the year goes on.

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The Art of Letting Go

My deep contemplation of letting go began in earnest in late 2019 when I signed up for an online decluttering class and, over the course of the next year, excavated my home to dismiss a bunch of crap that was simply weighing us down. Releasing physical objects is perhaps the easiest kind of letting go.

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Two-Thirds Birds

After several weeks of family members, friends, and colleagues approaching me cautiously with wide eyes and gentle demeanors, grasping me softly by the arm, leaning in, and whispering, “How are you doing? Are you okay?” I think it’s time to come clean.

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Bright and Beautiful Things

The summer before seventh grade, my parents moved to a new school district. I left all my friends I had known since kindergarten and went to a new, much smaller school, filled with kids who had known each other since they were in kindergarten at the elementary school that was within sight (two parking lots and a track away, to be precise) of our middle school. The tight bond of the kids in my new class was the first strike against me. Why bother to make a new friend when you’ve got your usual crowd?

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