The Best Thing About August 2013

“Why can’t we tell somebody?”Luther Vandross, Your Secret Love

In August, I committed to doing the work of being a curious soul. To read in a deliberate fashion. To write in a deliberate fashion. To follow my imagination where it leads.

There were little victories like making a commitment to writing and reading every day and, mostly, sticking with it which presented bigger rewards. Getting back to those things which keep me most sane provided a less cluttered mind which, in turn, gave me the room to keep a, mostly, clean house; to hold, mostly, to my workout regimen; to being a more present member of my family.

Hell, I even sent my grandmother’s birthday card on time.

I imagine, though, that what I will remember about August won’t be the work but the respite.

For a few days, we escaped to Palm Springs and the Ace Hotel. It was hot—112 degrees at some points—and it was wonderful. I took a mini-social media vacation during it. I read. I drank. I ate. I swam. I exercised. I slept.

What I enjoyed most, though, was the unencumbered opportunity to just talk with my partner in life. To talk about life. A road trip is an excellent time to re-ignite verbal conversation. We’re digital folks. We’re both in our gadgets all the time at home. Hell, we IM each other questions when we’re in different rooms in the house. If I’m being real, we do that when we’re in the same room, sometimes.

So, to look in her eyes and to ask questions and hear answers and see who she is in that moment? The best in life. After the trip, I’ve found more opportunities for this. Small things, like keeping the dining room table clean so that we’re inclined to eat there instead of in front of the TV. Taking that long walk with her when the opportunity arises. Remembering to say things out loud instead of living in my head or online.

The person I am most curious about in this world is Tiffany B. Brown. That pause in the middle of the month was the explicit reminder of something I think I know implicitly: that getting to know more of her every day is a gift.

The work of knowing her is never done. And it’s not really work at all.

 

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