have a good day
Even in a life dominated by work, screens, constant tasks, and bills, brief moments with the people who matter most quietly restore perspective and meaning.
Three minutes until I’m off work for the day. Even though there’s more work to get done on other fronts, I’ve been waiting to be active. Long sitting since seven o’clock this morning will have that effect. My brain is pushing against my White Sox brim, filled with unfulfilled errands and tasks. The quiet hum of the laptop fan and the dull glow of the screen have been my only company.
I stretch out of my WFH position, and as my first foot hits the floor, I feel like I’m already out the door. I’ll try to return the texts and calls I felt too busy to answer before.
My real day is starting around 3 p.m. I’m standing face-to-face with a Hendrix poster, and in it, he’s telling me the day is far from over. I want to make a few stops, see some faces, grab some things. I deserve a quick shower first, after sweating those 104 keys. The room smells faintly of determination and dust, the kind of quiet that only exists in an apartment that’s been worked in all day.
Out of the shower and dressed, I’m ready to be a part of the world. After I run these few errands, I’ll be on the road to visit home, away from the city for a few days. While I’m there, I’m going to see my grandma and catch up for a few hours. My best friend wants to see me too, so I told him we could hang at a dive for a couple.
The drive down wasn’t too bad. I was in the mood for some Big L, Mac Miller, and a little bit of the O’Jays. Except there was one car that swerved in my lane, with less than two cars’ worth of space. Big, red, lifted Ford. Inside was a driver with road rage. Usually I’d say forget you too, but I kept it to myself and continued at my own pace. The late-afternoon light stretched long across the highway, its face making everything seem calm—the opposite of fray.
Sometimes you just need some horsepower and pavement. A couple of hours removed from a computer screen, I’m finally breathing real air and feeling like I can be present—there.
I knock out some work on a couple of projects by eight o’clock, but still I have no time to spare. One thing, and then on to the next.
Now I’m three stools away from the sixty-year-old gym rat at the bar who keeps flirting with the bartender closer to my age. I’m just happy to see my friend and hear about what everyone here hasn’t been up to. We had a couple of beers and laughed about work, wonderful women, and life, as usual.
Back in the basement for the night. Mom’s hung up a few more paintings since the last time I was down here. I’m dozing off while standing up. It was a good night, so we went to the same place with some more friends the next day. The kind of night that doesn’t ask much from you besides showing up.
After I woke up on Sunday, I was pissed because I had to drive back north to be in the office on Monday. But before I go, I have to go have breakfast with Grandma.
She doesn’t drink coffee, and she barely even eats, but she loves to ask me about me. I love every bit of it, except it’s hard to get her to tell me about how she’s doing. But if it makes her happy, how could I not tell her how everything is going?
After about two hours of talking about the past, present, and future with Grandma, life seems all right—even if there’s work the next day. It’s a brief contentment that fixes the world as she shows it. I miss a lot of people I don’t see on the regular, regardless of whether they’ll ever know it. Breakfast is over, and now there’s time for other things.
As I drop Grandma off before driving away, she says, “I love you. Have a good day.”