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Follow The Wandering Introvert on

Follow The Wandering Introvert on

It’s Monday, 7:40 a.m., and I’m moving slowly, despite:
an early-morning run with a friend that ended more than an hour ago,
a trip to the ocean with my love and our dogs,
a latte bought for me by a stranger,
a shower,
a stroll through the depths of social media and all the feelings that go with it.

Outside, someone is already using some sort of power tool – not a lawnmower; a hedge trimmer, perhaps – on a nearby lawn, and a car drives occasionally by my house (more frequently, more frequently; still nothing at all like living in a metropolitan area). Inside, one dog lies near my desk – as she always does when I’m working – and breathes a heavy sigh.

A friend of mine texted after I’d fallen asleep last night, asking if I was still awake. When I got the message this morning, I thought about how that friend had been on my mind all day yesterday, and I regretted not reaching out. I’ll hope to talk to her later. She lives on an island, where it’s warm and beautiful, and I wish I could be there, having coffee together, visiting and perhaps finally shaking the chill that’s settled into me this morning.

May on the north coast is nothing like May on the east coast. I love the ease of the weather here – tall boots are always an option, heavy coats never really are – but I also know that back east, trees are in deep, green bloom; the heavy, sweet promise of warm nights, thick with heat and fireflies, looms straight ahead; skin is tanning golden and brown as clothes themselves lighten.

Summer is coming; as it does, my desire for adventure increases, the habit of a light schedule ingrained on my spirit like the untouchable remnants of childhood. It’s hard to stay focused when I know the world is calling, yet as the days pass by, I feel simultaneously content. It’s an unsettled juxtaposition, but I’ll take it.

For now, work calls. I’m grateful for this day, for this Monday, and all that it may reveal. It has already been an adventure, all of its own sweet making. Perhaps the gift of today is recognizing that, even as I stay in one small, familiar place.


Sunset, not from today; who knows what this day will bring?

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