Well I've been told not to sound cliche, cheesy, or embarrass anyone. But I love all things French including fondue and naked push ups. And i enjoy Breaking rulesss/
Living with a perfectionist is like being the chief of staff for the President of the United States; let your collective minds wander. My wife is beautiful, brilliant, honest, and the best person that I know. There is a reason that I felt as though we were meant to be together even before we met, and will be together travelling into the great unknown; unless she runs me over with a car. The advice tonight that I will be applying is the "be brutally honest" part. So here it goes, here is my work day at a glance or glimmer, whatever you prefer.
I will use an analogy, subsequently, to explain a typical day in the life commuting to and teaching in Washington Heights, just north of Harlem, in NYC.
I was 10 years old and just got a new dirt bike, it was late spring or early summer, I don't remember which. It was the time of year when the sun rose early and was warm, an ahhhh satisfying warm, and the shade was a cool crisp mist, refreshing and reminiscent of a season past.
I was going to ride this new bike over every bump and ditch in a 2 mile radius as fast as my 10 year old body would take me; this was my aspiration for the day. I sat down on the stoop to tie my shoes glancing at the magnificent new vehicle: the rubber tires with the small rubber icicles still standing from each individual tread, the fresh smell of the grease on the chain, and the unscuffed profile. I was ready, hopeful, as excited as a ten year old boy could be.
My younger sister decided to tag along and followed me as I cut along the lawn at break-neck speed. As I approached the road, my first major test awaited, the shallow ditch before the hard surface; I would turn it into a jump, flying high and landing smoothly........
Over the handle bars, face and forearms meeting asphalt. A momentary slow motion where flesh and concrete were one. In that moment the road felt cold, hard. The moment stretched into the reality that it actually happened; yes, I crashed!
In those seconds after the crash, that time period when I realized that yes I was hurt and bleeding, but no I wasn't seriously injured, the moment balanced itself out. On my knees, assessing the damage, part of me was enveloped in the cool, damp shade and part of me was in the warm, comforting sun and each was reassuring. Each reminds me that the day is still young and will be long, that the scratches hurt, but will heal. I can't wait to see if the bike is ok and I can continue my expedition.
Next time I will open up the membrane and share some real experiences from the Heights with you, rather than stumble about in analogy and memory. I hated the pavement in the moment, but I treasure its memory now.