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Estimated transit time was about 22 hours and 12 minutes. Actual time from the moment I woke up to the moment I placed my bags on the stand was 43 hours…but aren’t we really in this massive transit of life all the time? Trying to be this, get somewhere, do something, get that to place so we can do this and that with greater ease. My father and I almost cried when we departed so I sped off…something about meeting destiny and not looking back went through my mind. I don’t want to be the object of anyone’s pain but I forgot to say I love you. I board the plane and I am still amazed at all the little things that mean so much in my life that I have taken for granted like the people who care about me, picking up on a whim in the middle of the night for coffee, a great slam on a tatami floor… The sunset is gorgeous and I saw the Rockies mold the land like bare dorsal bones on a skeleton or xylophone keys vibrating music. Life has a different beat for me now and I take advantage of all the in between spaces that don’t seem to have volume where this “nothingness” occurs: the suspension of time when a drummer’s calloused hands raise before hitting a freshly stretched head, or the medium blast of cruising engines, or even that huge empty universe that stood like raw clay waiting for expert hands to make the beginning of time. San Francisco is gorgeous and I saw the waters of the west coast for the first time in my life. Did I ever tell you how important those in between spaces are? Hey, did I tell you I love you?