I learned today that President Obama and Vice President Biden once coached their daughter and granddaughter in their basketball league. Actually, they were just dads on the sidelines but increasingly took over coaching duties because they .. were dads on the sidelines.
Way to make a guy feel bad about complaining. I never feel like I have time to build Rover and write when I have to ferry Madeleine and cook for the family. But if the leaders of the free world found ways to give time to their wards, I don't have anything to complain about. Sure, they have assistants and help but man... just when I thought I was going to write about how focusing on normal things vs world changing things was noble in an of itself and then I hear this.
Perhaps I need to find that ambition and fire somewhere.
Most days I only have conversations with my dog. Sometimes a few words with a barista in the morning. My world feels incredibly small.
Contrast this when I was traveling to South America and Europe for Tumblr - days full of meetings with companies, leaders and creators and nights filled with parties and meet ups, it's a big comedown. Or is it a blessing in disguise?
Some part of myself that's good and interesting is whittled away every day in this life. Can I call this a rut? I suppose I can.
Today I woke up at 6:45am and felt the familiar twinge in my back. Hello my friend, pain. My fingers and wrists ache with arthritis. I brush my teeth still in my boxers, then make Madeleine lunch. She eats only handrolls now, and I have the the routine down. Find the lunch box. Toss in a few carrot sticks. Cut up cucumber, tear out the nori, heat the leftover rice and dice the surimi. Cut up a small plum. Roll the temaki. Fill up the water bottle.
Then I switch to her breakfast. Half and heat a small bagel. Spread the cream cheese. Layer the leftover cucumber on top and add a few slivers of smoked salmon.
Knock on her door.
I'm learning to be more gentle and patient in how I approach her. It seems to be working.
After a few times of knocking, she stumbles out of her room. She sits at the dining table. I give her a few minutes to wake up. She grabs a manga book and starts reading when I place her breakfast plate on the table.
Then I make an espresso, throw on some pants and a sweater and load up a fifteen stretching session on the Peloton app. I take my meds: Allopurinol for gout, Naproxen for the aches, and Metformin for the diabetes.
I hustle to get Madeleine out the door.
The dog runs out after us, wanting a run because she has been cooped in the house yesterday. I chase the dog and usher her inside.
We drive for half an hour to Madeleine's art camp in the Presidio. On these drives sometimes we talk, and it's the best time when Madeleine engages. We talk about philosophy and relationships and creativity and tech. Sometimes we talk about things that bother her, like how her friends don't really update each other on their lives. Today we drove in silence – Madeleine just borrowed a new stack of books from the library, and she's head deep in her books.
I drop Madeleine off, then drive by the Coffee Movement - if there's easy parking like today, I'll stop and take a smoke and order a flat white. The barista complements me on my Maison Kitsune's sweater. It's the little things. I notice a little gnome figuring at the base of a tree while walking back to the car. It's the little things.
I drive home, for another thirty minutes through construction and traffic and impatient morning drivers. The dog is ecstatic to see me. We sit on the stoop for a little to wait for her walker. She leans against me. It's the little things. I take a smoke. Her walker comes. She's ecstatic to see him.
Then, it's my part of the day - quietness, in my own thoughts.
Is this a rut? I'm privileged to live this life. But I think I need to find the fire somewhere.