Six months I ran before the storm, eyes-wide, mind-revved, fingertips-atingle. Grim winter in my rust-belt city disappeared during a week hiking high Oahu ridges. Useless hounds, beloved corgis, and ancient cats snoozed on my tense feet during long hours at the desk. Spring came and went: the cherry blossoms, the tiny green perennial shoots, the new gardens. Summer sneaks replaced Joan of Arctic pack boots.
Amid the lightening and squalls and winds of change in the WideEyedProfessional life, everything life passed as moments in time, each separated from the next by nearly unachievable work-burdens.
The Spouse, he was there through this long storm. This catastrophic professo-ecological shift. He’s still there – I’m looking at his head nod, eyelids heavy sitting at his own desk in the WideEyedOffice this evening. HeavyEyedOffice more like.
Then, not long ago, I blinked.
I blinked against the shocking glare of desert sunlight at Elder Brother’s house in Arizona. I blinked and my heart thumped hard twice. Like tiny bio-earthquakes in my soul. The howling in my mind eased and I heard again. I blinked and saw again. Birds sang from the walls of the WideEyedFunk-West compound and strange flowers were erupting like sores on the tips of saguaro cacti. The air itself stank of otherness. I wondered, what it will be like the first time a human smells the raw stink of another planet? What will Mars smell like? The Moon? Airline air now probably but someday?
The storm is over. I can do more than survive now. I’m so pleased to be WideEyed again.