H E L L O, S T R A N G E R

I love it when life greets you with a perfect moment. I'm on a train headed into New York City. My life is such that on a Thursday afternoon I can leave work early to meet up with friends for a Broadway musical. It's a perfectly warm, sunny, fall day. The 4:11 pm train is the best time to hang out with the sun as it's easing down for the day. A song pops up on my Spotify, "Real Love Baby," by Father John Misty that, along with the half baby bottle of forgotten sake found in my backpack, creates a sweetness in the belly.

As I sit here in this moment, intrinsically content, I wonder why it is that I am such an occasional writer. And I think the answer is that I just overcomplicate uncomplicated things. I write every day in journals, on the backs of receipts, in my mind. No one looks those things over or edits them. I wonder what I would accomplish without the pressure I put on myself for perfection. Not even perfection. The pressure to be really, really good at something. I think I would rather be a mediocre person with grammatical errors and misspellings who does things, who lives, who puts themselves out there.

Thanks for going on that personal journey with me. You must excuse me though, I need to carry on with my perfect moment of staring out the window and listening to the next really great song that popped up in my queue.