Running late is how I typically start the day. Rushing, sweaty faced I pack myself in the truck for my daily hour commute to work. There is great balance in the daily commute. Driving the same route everyday allows for autopilot, driving subconsciously muscle memory takes over. Looking over to my neighbors on the road I write their story in my head.
Sipping coffee John chokes on the ringing phone coughing as he looks over seeing her number pop up. Side things had their place.
Why had she stayed the night? How was she going to explain this? Her husband had to know. Brushing on more concealer would do nothing.
Some times the stories stay and build as the miles roll by my window. It is pulling in the parking lot I take a minute add to the notes app on my phone.
Walking into the school, the smell of cleaner and sweaty teens have forever attached to the walls. Smiles and hellos break me from thoughts that have consumed my last hour. Doing something you love is a gift not everyone has the opportunity to celebrate. I love teaching. Seventh graders are in an evil battle between adulthood and childhood. Unfortunately we all know who will win but the battle rages on. In a single day I will have to say "stop pulling your shorts up to your shoulders, spit that out, what do you mean your fingers are stuck, are you sure some one took your chewed up pencil?" I wouldn't have it any other way.
The day ends and it is a rush to get out of the parking lot and to the gym before 'she' gets there. If traffic catches us then it is women's locker room doom. We throw on clothes in a flurry of action- both us elbowing to get done and out of there first. If we fail...we are trapped. The bush lady will corner us in another awkward conversation while she walks about naked and we desperately try to escape without appearing rude, because that would go against Southern upbringing. Once free it is a bevy of beautiful men, sweating, grunting and burning muscles. Concentration on form, pulling, pushing, and don't forget to breathe flood my brain with endorphins. Two hours later and back on the road to another commute.
The yeng to the early morning yang. Relaxation sweeps over me. Instead of developing secret stories for my highway neighbors I let the music fill me and search the roadside for natures treasures. Sitting still is a just a part of the ride home. I photograph my treasures eager to share or hoard them for myself. Pulling into my neighborhood the stress of the day melts away I know it is only minutes from the time I will be in my perch with my sweet laptop finding my inner flow plugging in the snapshots the day has revealed. Some times flow spills from me fluid like rain, other days it sputters stumbling over misspelled words and disconnected images. In all of it there is happiness.
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