Possibility

“Fuck YOU!!!”

Immediately, I’m jolted awake. It’s followed by a thud, then a slammed car door.

I tap my phone screen, 2:13 am. Like clockwork, the people who live across the street from my mom are at it again.

Chad’s awake too.

“They’ve been going at it for at least 5 minutes,” he says.

Tires squeal as one of the parties exits the scene.

Welcome to the urban sprawl.

“We have to get out of here,” Chad says the next day, “I’m going stir crazy.”

So, we did. Thankfully, we have his grandfather’s cabin – three hours away in a more chill rural area – which is where we’ve retreated to.

Here, tiny delicate shoots of bright green grass are coming up everywhere. Oak and pine are sopping wet, as is everything else. Little streams carve their way around boulders, making little trails carrying sticks and other debris into bigger streams and rivers. It’s been raining almost non-stop.

We’ve been having a blast splashing through the water; I don’t know where people got the idea that you can’t walk in the rain but it’s not true. You can, and there’s a bonus. You get the trail to yourself.

Rain taps my hood, splashes my face. My bangs are separated into three dripping clusters.

We walk along the river as mist rises from the trees. It’s ethereal and fresh. I feel like a horse freed from a stall, spirited and wild.

Back at the cabin, I poke at the coals in the wood burning stove. I feed it a chunk of sweet-smelling cedar – saving the madrone and denser logs for when it’s really cold. The metal makes little snap and popping sounds as it heats up.

Soggy shoes get strung up above the stove on little hooks intended for that very purpose. Charlie’s curled up in one of the recliners, basking in the heat. Elvis settles down nearby, the heat drying out his fluffy layers.

We have everything we need, and nothing we don’t.

I write during the morning, in between thoughts I look out the window at the snow dusted hill studded in trees. I pause to go for a walk. Do some low-key restorative yoga, and breathe.

At night, we read or play Scrabble.

Human beings tend to complicate things so thoroughly, it’s easy to forget what little we need to simply be content.

We rang in the New Year here, and by “ring” I mean we were asleep. For me, the magic isn’t in the clock striking midnight, It’s in the few days after.

If I could bottle that feeling – the energy, delight and possibility experienced at the beginning of each new year – I would.

I’d sniff that powerful elixir any chance I got.

Let it carry me through the blocks, through the times where I feel about as inspired as a K-Mart, wondering why nothing is happening.

In fact, I’d sniff it now, almost a week into January.

We’re hanging out in California because I have dental appointments to suffer through – I have a consultation with a specialist at the end of the month. Not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but a bit of a hinderance nonetheless. I’m working on being content where I am, even though Chad and I can’t wait to head out of California for the next adventure.

So, short of being able to bottle it (yet) I’m doing the next best thing: Remembering.

Remembering what infinite possibility feels like; what it feels like to be as lively as a bottle of champagne, open with a pressurized pop and all these ideas thoughts and energy spill forth.

No matter where I am, the day exists. Unlived hours unfold like blank pages.

Ready for us to make a mark.

Happy New Year!