Loudly Bergamot and Nearly Perfect
April is Aprilis, from aperire: to open. Spring opens the earth, flowers open to sun, books close for tax season. The government wants what's owed while nature gives freely.
Finding steadiness after 120 days of documenting my dots. Big endeavors and little moments. I keep showing up, and the treadmill keeps showing up for me. 62 treadmill miles and counting. 6 Beli stops, including my 50th quaint coffee shop. This one off the beaten path in Galena, Ohio. An annual celebration of Gotcha Day for my dream home, six years into forever. And a nearly perfect month of closing my rings is perfect enough for me.
April was for noticing what was always there. My water was always 4.54 billion years old. Every drip, every drop. The birds were always in the trees, I just finally saw them. I might be a birder now. Got intoxicated, sipping a bit too much petrichor after Mother Nature opened the skies. The snake in my barn? He’s been my neighbor longer than I’ve lived here, just never introduced himself. May flowers showed up early like overeager party guests. Went out of the office and into nature to teach my team about shinrin-yoku at the Audubon. Turns out standing still in the woods has a name. Who knew?
Stood on a stage talking about remixing ideas. The best part was the lines I forgot, rescued by ad libs. Met up with AI experts on a road trip across America, doing things AI can’t. Authentic laughs and ice cream cones. Pelotonia has arrived: groundbreaking, stud signing, and fundraising. Went behind the scenes again, to capture Dream Big in new ways. Two old pals invited me on their podcast. Again. Magic shows up when people drop the performance and just talk. April asked me to open. I gave her messy and real.
Started new rituals. Or maybe just did things twice and called them rituals. How many times does something need to happen before it counts? Pickled my own eggs. Evening tea has become a staple. Lady Grey has quiet opinions. She's loudly bergamot about it anyway. Won't be rushed. Steepingly deliberate. Lazy Sundays that start lazy and end lazy. Campfires that get a little too big. Unreasonably proud of shoes that matched my watch band. Climbed a wall. Not a metaphor. Violet has earned a seat at the table. Saturdays are for baking sourdough. Opening the oven feels like Schrödinger's Loaf; simultaneously perfect and ruined until you check. Some rituals are old. Some are just being born.
This is what 30 days looked like when I was open to it being anything.
