Last night, I had a dream that I boxed up all my heels, dresses, and work clothes and took them for donation.

Today, I mapped a plan for a 90-day Structured Exploratory Residency in West Africa.

Practice: Response

Her voice was measured as she shared her thoughts.

A voice on the phone agreed with the woman beside her.

~~~

She pushed her chair back

and folded her arms across her chest.

It’s 1:08 AM.

I just had an aha moment.

My brain wants to unravel it.

My body wants to sleep.

When my nervous system is on high alert, I write.

When the pressure lifts, I scroll. Watch TV. Read.

I spent my settlement on travel.

I wonder who I would be if I hadn’t.

I find a spot in the airport lounge.

Unknown faces follow me from Zoom.

They share. I don’t.

New city. Same woman.

Budget meetings. Flight confirmations.

In a conference room. On a plane.

Then there’s stillness.

The laptop is closed. The suitcase is still in the closet.

I stare out the window.

Geography is not just where we go. It’s the roles we inhabit. The rooms we sit in. The distance between who we are and who we’re expected to be.

This is the geography I’m mapping.

I took sick leave.

I’m still capable of deciding what I can handle.

I want to belong somewhere that trusts me.

I watched a movie where someone fought for love.

I cried.

He didn’t fight for me.

I told myself it was love.

Somehow I got on bad Hallmark today.

The kind that insists happily ever after always includes love.

As if that’s the only ending worth telling.

Happy Valentine’s Day

Last night, we booked a trip.

I didn’t need to move.

But we did.

On the train, a woman asked me about her stop.

“I think it’s the next one,” I said.

I’ve only been here a few months.

Still, she asked me.

Restraint.

Smile.

Withdraw.

Meeting.

Podcast.

Email.

I am my mother.

Fear grips me, and I don’t know how to loosen it.

I wrote a piece today. It stayed with me.

Later, at the train station, I reached into my purse.

An email.

I saw just enough.

I was back in West Africa—sitting with women who ran small businesses, laughing, negotiating, moving through their days. I didn’t belong there exactly. But I was welcomed.

A version of myself I don’t feel very often lately.

Wondering about the possibilities.

The roar of the crowd is still with me.

Barely a glance at the souvenir I brought home.

At first, I noticed the yarn dangling from her bag.

Then her hands, crocheting without looking.

The train was crowded. She kept going.

I watched the whole ride.

He stood in the door.

He sat in the chair.

He stayed.

I checked my mail.

He stayed.