After seventeen straight nights spent in beds that aren’t mine I’m finally on a commercial aircraft that’s making its way to the Bay and as glorious and special and electric as New York City and London are I cannot wait to be reunited with Bevan and our dogs in our cozy little casa in the Castro.

Speaking of Bevan, he flew away for a funeral in Long Beach yesterday morning and won’t be back until tomorrow so I’ve decided that if I land I’m gonna take a Lyft home, cuddle the heck out of Buddy and Ellie, take them to the park, go for a run and put on a face mask to wear while watching A Star Is Born before meeting Ross and Phoebe somewhere swank for dinner.

Then, after I wake tomorrow morning, I’m gonna slow-stroll down the street to my neighborhood coffee spot with a podcast in my ears, order a mammoth iced coffee and sit on a bench outside scoping all my peeps walking by.

Doesn’t that sound like perfection?

I know.

I can’t wait.

P.S. I should note that I am quite grateful for the trip I just took. Not only did I get to spend a lotta time with a lotta people that I adore, it was a nice change of pace to be totally focused on something other than what’s in my head for a spell. So thank you, work job, for tossing me out into the world.

One Damn Lucky Mess

This evening, after working hours, Laura and I trekked back to our Covent Garden flat in a downpour-turned-snowstorm where we hopped out of wet clothes and into an uberX that dropped us at Balans Soho Society for food and then Comptons for drinks and now, in a bed brought to me by Airbnb, I’m recalling how throughout the night I kept thinking thoughts like “I’ve eaten at this restaurant with my dad.” and “I’ve imbibed at that bar with my friend Bryan.” and “Lauren and I danced at this club.” and the sheer fact that I have mucho crazy-go-happy memories with loved ones in mother-fucking London is yet another reminder that I lead one damn lucky mess of a life.

My Yankee Best, or The One Where We Regrouped

A combination of it being Sunday and my being homesick and also plum tuckered out after an all-night airplane flight had me on the glum train as my flight touched down in London this morning. I regrouped, however, on a stroll through the city with Laura, giving my Yankee best to Ben and The Eye and that big, beautiful palace at the end of The Mall before stepping into Monmouth Kitchen for warmth and tapas and enough $6 Peronis to let me forget about time and help me remember that I’m here and this is it and there’s much marrow to be sucked out of my one and only precious life.

A Note to Van 2

Two weekends ago I got invited by a friend of a friend to join a group of eleven Iowans in a running relay from San Francisco to Napa. Although I didn’t know anyone on the team prior to the race, spending twenty-eight consecutive hours together in a rental van whilst wearing sweat-soaked running clothes changed all that. By the end of the two-hundred-mile journey my van mates and I had become family.

On Wednesday of last week, four days after the aforementioned relay ended, I found myself back in Napa for a work retreat and the hotel that my company put me up in happened to be across the street from the stretch of highway on which I’d finished my third and final leg of the relay. Needless to say, the familiar surroundings socked me right in the gut parts, so I stuck those feelings in an email to my running kin.

Dearest darlingest Van 2 mates,

I’ve been back to my normal life for the better part of a week now yet I can’t stop thinking about the special 28-hour journey the six of us shared last weekend.

Thank you for your warmth and your kindness and your humor and your support and for being so very generous in sharing the most wonderful parts of yourselves and for teaching me new things about myself and for making my first Ragnar relay an unforgettable experience.

There are moments, all magical in ways that my words won't do justice, from the back of the van and from grapevine-flanked checkpoints and from restaurants and starlit parking lots and the sides of busy highways that I very well may never travel again that I know will stay with me always, and it's for those moments, and more-so for each of you, that I will forever be grateful.

Thanks again, and keep on running.



P.S. Attached to this email is the picture I snapped as we parted ways on Saturday. Aside from my unfortunate facial hair situation which has since been remedied, I think it’s quite perfect.

P.P.S. Only a toilet is a toilet.