I woke up with a slight hangover this morning.
It wasn’t an alarm clock, 'spring-out-of-bed' morning which a reasonable person should pursue for Mondays. I spent last night sitting with good friends on a rooftop deck overlooking Grand Rapids. We pulled the last moments out of a beautiful spring weekend, pretending today wasn’t going to happen. On my way over I nabbed the remaining slices from Nantucket Pizza and a bottle of Argetinian Clos de Los Siete. Everyone was tired after a trip to the beach, so a few of us worked from our laptops tossing out a few ocassional comments. After sunset, we went downstairs and threw together random half-magarita tequila drinks with whatever we could find, discussing everything and nothing. Work, girls, shoes, weddings, proper proportions between Mexican beers and hot sauce.
But today, waking up with a slight headache that only tequila offers me, I like the feeling of moving a bit slower. On days like this I am not riddled with thoughts of ‘things I must accomplish today or my business will fail and I'll join the masses of homeless people in Grand Rapids before moving under the Wealthy Street bridge to die.’ Owning your own business has the capacity to bring on such feelings. While I admit this slight hangover is not the best thing for my body, it seems to do well for slowing down my mind. I feel guilty telling you this, with no way to prove it's results in my life, sans the amount of work I’ve accomplished this morning.
I wandered into my office at about 7:30 and stumbled across The War of Art, a book I've been reading for the millionth time in preparation for a meeting with it's author in the next few weeks. I finished the last third, thinking through it's genius and trying to figure out questions to ask it's creator to make me sound smart. I showered and shaved and threw on a pair of orange capris. It's hot these days. The temperature says 77, but I'm already feeling sticky.
As I was lazily getting ready this morning, I was talking to my dear sister. If you aren’t aware, my little sister Heather and her husband Michael, are pregnant. She was preparing for an ultrasound by filling her bladder with water (which I guess is a thing) and worrying if she could make it to the hospital without peeing her pants. I could tell this was an exciting morning for them. They will soon return home with a grainy, alien, black-and-white sonogram photo that Heather promised not to post as her facebook profile photo. Each of them have new jobs they love, a new yellow house, and new plants on the back deck ready to begin a new life in the yard. I feel so happy for them.
While working, waiting to see evidence of my alien neice / nephew, I realized I'm pregnant as well. As hope is flooding my life, as Spring has sprung following a prolonged tough winter, as I meet my deadlines on giant projects, as people’s white bodies start to nervously shed articles of clothing, as dresses shorten and guys perform last second push ups before trips to the beach, I feel alive again. I feel healthy. Work is stable. Life is stable. I see a new future slowly making itself visible as I bend around this long gradual corner of life. And while I don’t know the details, I feel pregnant with good things.
I am happy and it’s been a long time coming.