Today was a sixty-degree, almost sunny day in Seattle. Around 5, just as bars and restaurants prepared for evening crowds, as UW students wandered up and down the Ave, smoking and lugging backpacks and thinking about their nights ahead, I was near campus. And I could feel the buzz. That high of being 19 or 20 with many long hours of darkness and mystery ahead.
I had driven to the edges of the U District because my seven-year-old was performing in a play, but for a few minutes I could believe I had just begun the journey. Everything, every single thing, spread before me–-an unsown field with its tilled rows pushing toward the horizon like greedy fingers.
It hurt, a little, to be 44 and done with all that.
Okay, it actually hurt a lot.