Regardless, part of me hates stretches like this so much, in part because I don't like life unfolding like something to be "got through." I know I do it to myself--the commitments and the way I frame them--and I need to change that. But until then, I just hate it.
I keep thinking of last year, with its own marathon through late October and early November. I felt so good when I was done with it and the very next day, my dad went into the hospital. It's a pattern that's repeated since then, too: I think I have made it out of a tough stretch and think, "okay, I can breath now" ...and the bottom falls out.
This morning on my walk, I was going over all of this in my head. Then I looked up and found myself moved by the simple beauty of this stretch of High Street that I've admired so many times before.





