3 DAYS - CHON CHON EE

This means slow. I often repeat this to my kids when they read an excerpt at one hundred miles an hour, ignoring pronunciation and intonation.

Today is my last night in this apartment. I just made my final cup of tea. I did my yoga. I poured my whiskey and here I am. This has been my routine most week nights while working on this project.

In the middle of my yoga sequence, I pressed my forehead into the ground during pigeon pose.  I rested there, took a good three breaths, and checked in with my feelings. Nothing intense registered.

Today feels completely normal, except for that bit where I turned my apartment upside down and shoved everything into bags.

I still have a lot to do, and perhaps a first, none of it's been manically formulated into list form. I'm serene, yet somehow still adequately putting out fires. I recall holding the same temperament before my departure to Korea. I feel steady and balanced; a little calmer, a little patienter, a little lighter and yes, a little slower.

I feel open to transition.

I also accept that at any moment I could become completely unhinged.

I'll get on that plane in a few days and that's just real. I'll walk slowly to the gate, under-slept and wide eyed.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Chon chon ee.