The minute we cleared security, my phone buzzed. Delayed.
A few minutes later, delayed again. An hour after that, canceled.
We were flying out to see our daughter. The airline had already rebooked us for a few hours later, so there was nothing left to solve. Just time to sit and wait.
I don’t love flying. I don't know why. Maybe it's the logistics, maybe it's the lack of control. I just don't love it, and I don't think I ever will, but I always say yes to the trip.
I was restless. I couldn't focus to work or read. I was tired. I was longing for the superpower of teleportation. But there I was, at an airport, with time on my hands. I rested my head on my husband's shoulder, he leaned his head in too, and that was all that needed to be said.
TODAY’S PICKS
THE FEATURE
The Shadow Artist.
She walked into a friend's Paris apartment expecting it empty. Three objects from her old marriage were waiting on a shelf instead. It opened a door she hadn't gone near in years.
THE REFLECTION
A Pocketful of Almonds.
Her grandfather died. The family land got sold off, tree by tree. She went back one last time and filled her pockets with almonds.
Settle A Debate.
On a late-night road trip, is the passenger's job to be a true co-pilot, awake, engaged, navigating? Or is scrolling, napping, headphones on all fair game?
THE WILDCARD
His Puppy Ate Two Months of Work.
Steinbeck's new puppy got loose with his only manuscript one night. No backup existed. He called it "a minor tragedy" and joked the dog might have been a harsh critic.
If you know someone who'd love this, send it to them.
That's the whole ask.
There's something in it for you too.
Details below.
My answer:
Filling my home with pieces that actually have depth and meaning in them. Not just things to fill the space.
