Nine days after the solstice
The summer solstice was nine days ago, but I'm only now getting around to writing my annual reflection that is supposed to be created on the first day of summer. Nine days ago, I was frenetically trying to finish up work and get ready for a road trip to Denver, where Benji was competing in a swim meet. We got back Monday afternoon, but I was too exhausted to come up to my usual spot in Donner Park. The last three nights were overcast (though the skies cleared a little too late to embark on my quest last night), spoiling the goal of watching the sunset.
So, nine days later, I'm finally here. And now that I am, I'm not totally sure what to write about. To say the last year has been a blur would be cliche, and I don't think it's gone faster than any other past year. But I've been struggling to wrap my head around the current summer and, thus, what's really on my mind. I could write about how we're a year away of having two kids in college and being sort of empty nesters. I could write about how the job is going well. I could write about how I'm a quarter of the way through my 50s already. I could write about the new dog. I could write about goals and dreams still in progress, and the little victories and setbacks along the way.And yet, I can't think of anything enlightening. I worry this lack of inspiration is a sign I'm losing my creativity, or I'm losing my passion, or I'm just accepted a level of lazy -- that I've given up. But then I think, just returning here to continue the tradition is important by itself. I'm not numb -- I'm thinking about all those things listed above all the time. Maybe for one year, it's OK to not get oh so profound while I'm writing from this hillside.
I brought Popcorn with me to Donner Park tonight. With so much emphasis on the puppy, she deserves this little excursion. We got out of the car and she immediately wanted to run around. I let her for a couple minutes, but then settled in so I could type. She has been looking at me as if to say, "Why are you wasting this opportunity?" At Popcorn's age, there aren't many opportunities, and mine are slowly dwindling as well -- though there are still many ahead. But sometimes, you just have to sit and watch the sunset, which is an opportunity in itself. She settled in and is enjoying the evening.
The sun just set, and the familiar temperature drop that settles over this hill took the sun's place. I just swatted a spider off the blanket, and Popcorn took that as a sign to play. This post is nine days late, but it's never wasted.
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