The beauty of a blank slate
No matter how smart my phone, I love nothing more than grabbing a Sharpie pen and a clean page in my Moleskine, spreading out my bright pink leather bound daybook, and creating my list for the day.
I usually have a hot latte beside me on my desk and Facebook open on the screen in front of me. This early in the morning, I am just checking in, not wasting time.
And the opposite of a blank slate-- my face that's filling in with this extraordinarily ordinary life I'm loving living.
Here I am at my desk on Monday, the promise of a new week before me, my eyes crinkled from gaining a sleepless hour before dawn Sunday.
I am starting to dig the lines on my forehead, deepening creases on either side of my mouth, crepe paper under my eyes. I like the way my face is rearranging itself to accommodate age, the worry of children, deadlines, and degrees. It's a lived-in face, one that used to get too tan and knows how to smile. Even the roughening, reddening by my nose, the broken capillaries on my left cheek are old friends in the mirror.
I only wish I had known at an insecure, hungry 16 how more than half-full I'd be at 32.