You know it’s too hot when the air is shimmering with heat. Your car is like your own personal hell and the crayons your kids forgot outside have formed into one giant, super crayon. I don’t do well in heat. I like everything a nice 22 to 25 degrees. I can even tolerate a balmy 27, but anything higher is just too much for me. This is in Celsius, by the way. I don’t know what that would be in Fahrenheit, my American friends. We Canadians are crazy that way with our temperature in Celsius, metric system and our need to make bills into coins.
I find it difficult to commit to anything or even do my laundry while it’s this hot. So, I’m thinking. I can do that without working up a sweat.
Today, I’m thinking about things like, if I could do anything what would it be? Why do beer bellied men think its okay to roam free, shirtless? (It’s random, I know. I didn’t promise my thoughts would be coherent.) I have an ongoing fantasy of moving far, far away. The locations change. Today, I’m somewhere in Italy sipping red wine on the piazza overlooking the orchard that we bought with our savings once Scott hit it big.
I guess typing took its toll on me and I didn’t have the energy to finish up what I wrote two days ago. Lazy, it’s true. It has cooled off considerably today, but the temperature should be climbing steadily over the next few days. While there is some reprieve I thought I should finish up this post before I use the heat as an excuse again. Of course, I can’t remember what I was going to say. I’m going to pretend it was brilliant though.
I’ll say this in lieu of.
I met people last week that lived many lives. They traveled, worked, loved, chased after dreams, and made monumental decisions along the way. Not one of them was going to stop anytime soon. They were still asking questions of life. They were wondering what’s next. I marveled at their hopefulness, at their commitment to life. To do more than eek out an existence. Retirement meant open doors and new chapters to be written. They knew when to shrug off others’ expectations and when to stay true to who they were. They knew what mattered.
As I listened to them talking and to what was left unsaid, I thought, I want this. I’m an ordinary person who wants to live an extraordinary life. Extraordinary doesn’t mean I have to have it all together. It doesn’t mean fame or the perfect house or anyone else’s idea of what extraordinary is. It can be as simple as asking what do I want to do? It can be diving headlong into fears, not knowing where I’ll end up. Success can mean what I want it to mean.
It’s my version that matters.