Joy…

Life has a way of getting pretty sweet when you don’t try to control every single situation, perhaps a lesson I have had to learn as my thirties have carried on. Two months in to 35 and I sit here looking out at a sunny February day. The fields lay bare, just as bare as my ass in so many photos you've seen. I’ve spent the last few days editing nearly a years worth of photographs…photos of a life well lived, a life surrounded by my closest of friends.

I’.m sitting here, Role Model’s Scumbag playing on my phone, they say the weather is about to get bad, more snow coming in, in an hour I must go run, a half marathon looms in Brooklyn on April 27th—come cheer me on. I sit here, typing, more like pecking with the way my arm is pinned in this old Jonathan Adler chair. My front door is open, the storm door closed, it is cold out, but today I don’t care, to hell with the February Kentucky Utilities bill. The corner of my eye catches my Aunt June’s yard and my mind dancing between childhood memories of summers on the farm, the taste of her sweet tea, a taste I can not replicate no matter how much I try, and the craving I’m having for orange blossom waffles at Cafe Gitane—that institution on Mott Street.

I keep going through these photos in my dropbox folders thinking what do I write about them, what should this post say, and the only thing I’ve got—and perhaps that is a beautiful sign, is the word—joy.