It’ll be a half century next year. A whole fifty. Can you believe it?
My great-grandmother, who stood at the head of six generations and lived until I was 25, made it to 93. My son’s father left us at 19 though. And my own father—I’ve already lived more years than he got the chance to. Life’s not promised and it’s not set in stone either, which is exactly why I’m committed to making mine radiate.
And now… it’s my turn at 50.
The Art of Showing Up
It’s a familiar setting. The ambient clatter of a coffee shop immediately greets me at the door. It doesn’t sound the same as when I’m only walking in to grab a cup and bounce. This is the sound that welcomes me in to spend time—the clank of possibility in a cup.
The grinder roars, milk steams, and baristas sing out orders mostly for their own amusement (that’s what we did when I was a barista to stave off boredom). It’s the kind of sound that knows I’m here to write.
Naomi is already there, coffee in hand, having scouted the best table where we can spread out our laptops and still feel cocooned in quiet. We never get right to typing. First come the laughs, the shared sighs, the “Did you hear…?” moments. Then, slowly, we drift into the work.