Hi, all! First a correction: Last week I wrote that it was my dad’s 84th birthday. Well, no, he’s now one week deep into his 94th year! Why I shaved off a decade? Maybe it’s because I have no concept of time? Maybe because when I’m with him it feels like 94 is the new 84? Maybe I have a Peter Pan complex? Well, yes, that last statement is probably truer than all the rest. (Or, as Dennis just asked: Who’s your copy editor? Benay, I need you. And a fact-checker as well, perhaps.)

I’m getting in a groove here on this left coast when it comes to work. Despite (maybe because of) the amazing light that happens in my new workspace I toggle between inspired (work on that essay from my tutoring student, download the reading I need to work on with said student) and daydream-y (wow, that palm tree is tall. Is that some kind of citrus tree across the street?). I’m not mad at any of these thoughts. They come, they go, I carry on. The weirdest thing is the sense of time. It’s not that I don’t feel an urgency. I do, in fact, feel waves of intense almost-panic mostly due to not having a more regimented schedule. Freedom is a funny thing. Choices. No meetings. Time. Altho my go-to has always been to front load and get things out of the way not because I’m always inspired to do these tasks immediately but rather because I feel like something may happen that will block me from getting done what I said I would. I might fall into a coma. My hands may become paralyzed or an alien ship may come carry me away (I am closer to Area 51 after all). This is all tied into how I want people to perceive me. My ego and entire self have a vested interest in not letting anyone down. not. one. person. on. this. globe. I’m working to let go of this, since clearly—tho not scientifically proven—there’s a pathological moment tied in there somewhere.

Precrastination is a thing. And it’s not always pretty. The short of it goes something like this: You’re asked to cross a field and come back with a basket of tennis balls that are set down in the dead-center of the space. Do you A) pick up the balls on the way over, then carry them across the rest of the field and back, B) cross the field, then pick up the balls on the way back, thereby only having to carry them for a portion of your trip. Logically B) makes sense. I, of course, would do A) because (see above) I’m terrified something would happen to block my completion. My hands could completely detach from my body or something. So I’m willing to carry more than I need for three-quarters of the trip, probably slowing myself down, in order to complete the task. So there’s a bit of a delusion in there. One that may also tie into that Peter Pan moment mentioned earlier. I’m young. I can fly. I can do anything. forever. Seeing myself clearly is maybe impossible, but definitely an ongoing process.

Within the idea, or more likely ideal, that I hold onto for myself is also contained a sense of all the people I feel I’ve been. Or maybe the roles I’ve played. Every time I slide open my closet here, I see the rows of clothes I love and they all have a story. The last time 98.5% of them have been worn was as they traveled up escalators in the Hearst Tower on their way to the 28th floor.

Surprisingly what is hitting me first when I open up the closet and drawers are the smells of said items. It’s not like they smell of NYC in particular, but they do carry a whiff of another space. A moment I’m reminded of what scent I spritzed that day and maybe how I traveled through space and picked up elements around me. Where does my style figure in today? What message am I sending out to the world? Yesterday I changed my top three times. In the morning we had a meeting with the manager of this property and since we had a couple of nitty-gritty apartment things to go over, I wore a button down that would deliver a business-y thing. Later I needed a comfortable sweater. Last night we went to dinner and put on a little dressier item (which my dad just called and complimented me on. so there’s that!). I continue to be aware of how clothing imparts a message of who I am in the world at that very moment. It goes beyond reminding me of what age I am, which flies in the face of the Peter Pan theory I often have tucked under my arm. I’m more reminded lately of the space I’m inhabiting and how I’m moving around inside the new-ness of it. I’m loving the new view. I also feel a lot of smiles around the views in my past. What view inspires you?