2015

We used to look at month-old boxscores in the back of FIBA magazine. Then we upgraded to refreshing the play-by-play every twenty seconds online. Then came live audio feeds and grainy video clips. Now we can sit and watch every game live in high-def from his living room, talking about death and sex and karma all the while.

Starting to devote bigger chunks of time to my most important work. As an experiment, I’ve pushed my first email check of the day until 5pm, and blocking Facebook from nine to six, will give it two weeks and see if anything falls apart. Feels good already, starting the day off proactive rather than reactive.

Woke up together and lazed the afternoon away, then apple pie in a cafe where Malcolm Gladwell happened to be. We spent hours roaming the straats and grachts, capturing memories, and now find ourselves in a vintage fashion store after closing, trying on everything and being treated to free food and drink by the quirky proprietor.

First trip to Amsterdam-Noord, stepping off the free ferry alongside an ancient submarine and newlyweds posing beneath a bungee crane. It’s an old warehouse district, now home to quirky cafes and Europe’s biggest flea market. We opt not to use our tech and head in a direction we assume to be north, looking for a sunflower maze.

I’m luckier than most, been half my life since someone close to me died. That streak will end soon, and doubtful I’ll ever come close to it again. Thinking about this as we walk through the hospital, past whispered conversations and worry-worn faces. They said yesterday she had dementia, and I wonder if she’ll remember me at all.

Running through De Pijp on my way to the park, and I’m a well-oiled machine. My body takes firm steps, turns tight corners, feels no pain. My mind is sharp, aware of surroundings, looking forward to another day of fulfilling work. Perhaps it’s this overconfidence, this illusion of invincibility, that leads to me hobbling home a half hour later.

Amsterdam has a character all its own, a city chock full of uniqueness. Little independent cafes and second-hand furniture stores and quirky bicycles and miniature buildings made big. Every second view is a postcard, every second girl distinctly beautiful, every second dude your best friend in another life. I’m grateful to be here, every second.

Still lonely, longing for deeper chats and intimacy, but it’s easier knowing that I’ll be starting a new life soon, one which won’t involve faces and places changing quite so rapidly. Instead I’ll be building foundations, investing in friendships, relationships, community. It won’t happen overnight, I know, but it will happen. I’ll put in the time.

The perfect morning begins at 6:30 a.m., a spectacular sunrise on display as I head to the well-equipped gym for stretching and free weights, followed by a twenty-minute meditation session out on deck with an Atlantic breeze. Then it’s basketball drills on an empty court, a quick shower, and a slow breakfast over a good book.

We’ve lost most of the awkwardness. Maybe one in every twenty interactions is awkward now. We have enough experience and confidence that we can handle almost any situation. Like that displeased boyfriend yesterday, or the girl who turned out to be way too young on second glance. Even shutouts and blank stares no longer phase us.

Internet down at the house so it’s a coffee shop work day. Like a cheap-ass I spend six hours in one spot and buy a single cup. Most of this week has been a struggle work-wise, but today it’s all green lights, checking off tasks like a man possessed by some mighty god of productivity.

Antigua is a little colonial town surrounded by volcanoes, full of cobbled streets and broken steeples. It was Guatemala’s capital until earthquakes wrecked the joint back in the eighteenth century. I step off a minibus, check into my hostel, and go for a wander. My new favorite thing is finding an old, quiet church for a wee spot of meditation.