On my morning walk—early to get it in before the H.E.A.T.—I came across some random wildness that jived with where my headspace has been. Things that played into wait-what’s-that-doing-here moments. This was quite helpful in reminding me that you just never do know. That the unexpected can break through into a new view. First off, lost in thought and podcast, I spotted a shaggy four-legger running down Fern Avenue, which is a main, four-lane thoroughfare. I immediately wondered who’d lost their dog until I understood it was not in fact a canine, but a coyote. S/he didn’t look like they were enjoying themselves. Kept looking behind and around with a “what tha?” expression. No, I’m not trained in reading coyote expressions, so that was all a bit of anthropomorphizing. Wiley turned down Buena Vista, a residential street, and so did I. I lost s/he for awhile (I mean, I wasn’t necessarily trying to follow), but as I glanced down a small side street, there W. stood outside a house where there’s a barn-like structure in the backyard. I’m not sure if there are small animals in there, but since no one seemed to be home, I called Redlands animal control just cuz. The lady on the phone said they tranquilize and return all Wileys to the neighboring mountains, so they’d be on the lookout. I had been a bit conflicted about calling and secretly hoped Wiley would find their way back on their own. I did remember from my childhood that coyotes enjoy munching on small animals. (More than a few cats disappeared at night in my childhood Pasadena neighborhood, which was surrounding by foliage and such.) As I walked back around the corner, leaving Wiley behind, there was a woman walking her small dog. I told her about the coyote. She crossed the street and went the opposite way. There was a cat sitting in a driveway. I told him about the coyote. He didn’t care. A mom with her toddler in the front yard was my next target. They got in their car and drove away and I realized I was being a somewhat crazy person and to just carry on with my walk.

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The thing about stuff being in a place I don’t expect it to be is that it scrambles my brain in a way that can, if I’m open to it, reveal new stuff. Or, alternately, roll me into a defensive ball as I try to figure out how to make everything work the way I envision it should. Given I’m currently reapproaching my novel, a new perspective is wanting to be found. And because my brain often operates in extremes, I’ve entertained through thoughts of just throwing the first draft out and starting anew (side-note: There’s a much-published British writer who trashes her first draft. Literally. Throws it away. Then begins again. Even writing that makes me panic.). I’m not doing that. But what I am trying for is a way where I’m courageous enough to make a mess, let go, trust it will come together, or not. And if not, be fine with that.

So, honestly, this tussle with my writing along with the every day (hour?) uncertainty we’re living in currently needing to be elastic enough to keep up with new Covid realities is, er, interesting and testing my proclivity for catastrophizing. It’s a fine line I’m finding between panic and preparation. And when I push on that reaction to feeling, whether it’s being tired (DELTA breakthrough? 106 degree heat?), revising my book (why bother? why wouldn’t I?), I have to dig deep. As Dennis says, “I’m my mother’s daughter.” And while there are myriad ways I’ve gone in opposite emotional directions from my mére, in this I have inherited a deep sense of trying to control what might happen. By living in the what-ifs. Sometimes that can be handy, other times not so much. The trick is to understand the difference, pay attention to when something wild is up, a thing out of place, to try and take a beat and listen. Am I merely reacting or can I sit in it and see what comes?

So, okay, yesterday Dennis and I took at-home, rapid-response Covid tests because we’re going away for the weekend and we just wanted to be SURE. They returned negatives about the same time a delivery of earthquake readiness packs landed in our front courtyard. Hmmm. I’m gonna call it good information and preparedness, but I’m also going to keep an eye on my inner compass. If I set up a writing space inside a safe room, I trust someone will check me for having lost perspective. Unless we’re having a zombie invasion.