Pause

7 days until the project begins

It never ceases to amaze me how fast time goes. Two weeks ago I was working a full time job; seven days ago I was visiting two of the biggest and (arguably) best U.S. national parks. Today I sit on a plane back to San Francisco. In exactly one week I will board another plane bound for South America.

Yet there are clear points when just for a moment the clock seems to stop. It's as if fate is giving us a chance to appreciate the present before it rushes into the past. The last two weeks have given me a rather large dose of those pauses and it has taken a while to fully absorb them.

Leaving an advertising gig is always a riotous event. The "tour of Ireland" was a fantastic way to depart. Organized by friends, the afternoon consisted of beer, laughter and memories in the (surprising) sun. But the real moment of reflection was the night before when the D/C family gathered to send me off. It seems funny to describe co-workers as family and a job as home. Yet in its own way, the unique and colorful cast of characters at Duncan/Channon gave me a home for nearly six years. Standing as one of them for the last time shook my core in a way I did not and could not fully anticipate. It is a bittersweet departure, full of good memories and deep gratitude. 

From there, time took an eastward direction. The photographs from Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks tell a beautiful story; I won't attempt to compete with my overly flowery language (my father's evaluation). But what the photographs do not explain is the priceless hours spent with my dad. Hurtling down the interstate at 75 mph through wide open spaces for three days requires patience, conversation and a decent CD collection. We have our differences. It is the similarities that are striking...dry humor, love of printed maps and detail-orientation are apparently genetic. As we crossed into Arkansas for the final stretch, it struck me at how lucky I was to have those hours and memories. 

Three days in Arkansas passed quickly. I spent most of it with my mother, rushing to see people and getting things done. Today we took a moment to relax; as we sat quietly in the living room, she brought out her mother's bible. The initial pages chronicle the family history. Dates of births, marriages, children and deaths going back as far as the 1880s are written in my grandmother's tidy handwriting. My mom held the page open as I added an entry for her older brother, who passed almost a year ago. It was a reflection on a wound not fully healed and a presence greatly missed. 

In a few hours I will be back in San Francisco and the real mad dash will begin. And I look forward to it. The punctuated clarity of the deep, soul-reaching moments are sure to find their way through it.