It was a year of boys becoming men, hope fleeting and restoring, airport lounges and concert pits, long sips of cold brew coffee, plans and pivots, playlists pushing me down interstates, with amazement in my eyes and a wild heart suspended, waiting to simply see what happens next.
Here’s my annual recap (about six weeks late).
I, yet again, spent too many days and nights in Orlando: speaking at conferences, running workshops, attending meetings, and on no-more-than-one date with a guy who ended that date when I told him that he was a terrible speller. I don’t know what I expected from a guy named Bily Baldwin.
My cousin Julie and I kept our tradition of finding the best Autograph Collection hotels wherever we go. Julie got flowers from a stranger in Savannah, Georgia and I saw some live music and a few drug deals at a club in Columbus, Ohio. One gentleman, in an effort at flattery, told us we were a lovely mother/daughter pair, and if I’m being honest, that wasn’t flattering at all.
My family had a reunion last November and it was the first time we were all together in our Beverly, Massachusetts childhood home in over a decade. We were there to deal with the sensitivities of aging parents but also found time to enjoy a feast of Thai food and a night at the theatre to see, Arrival, the best ABBA tribute band on earth. We sang our hearts out, remembering every song from the stack of albums we used to play on the turntable in the dining room.
I saw my family again in July when my younger brother got married in his Olympia, Washington backyard. Eamon experienced his first first-class cabin before being relegated to the floor in our AirBnB because I significantly under-inventoried the sleeping arrangements. Sometimes you’re up and sometimes you’re down; literally.
My dog, Atta, died. Inspired by the 06 female wolf of Yellowstone it was only fitting that I visited Wyoming to pay her tribute. I made a quick trip to Jackson Hole in February, when on a live music Monday night at the Mangy Moose, my boss winged me in to the only single 6’4” millionaire on the mountain. That guy still doesn’t know what happened. But what can you expect from a guy from Omaha named Ashley.
I went back to Jackson Hole in October, landed in Idaho Falls, took a $400 Uber across the Teton Pass, danced at The Silver Dollar and the Million Dollar Cowboy Bar, waded into fly fishing, went on a wildlife safari, explored Yellowstone, shot rifles, shotguns, and pistols at the range, threw axes, hiked (crawled?) a mountain, and took a cold water plunge; all while hosting an event for over 80 colleagues without losing a single person.
And while there wasn’t nearly enough of it, there was running. I completed the Marine Corps Iraqi Freedom virtual event (220.3 miles over 6 weeks) and I took 1st place in four races: the inaugural 5K in Celina, Texas, the RJ Hess Memorial 5K at University of Virginia, the Salute our Troops 5K in Ashburn Farms, and the Red, White, and Run 5K in Brambleton. And I took 8th place at the Oklahoma City Memorial half-marathon, in spite of getting sick at mile 10. Then, my knee blew out, and it’s been a long recovery.
Maybe the most overwhelming trip I took was to University of Virginia in May to witness Liam’s commissioning as an officer in the United States Army followed by his college graduation. Almost immediately thereafter, I watched Eamon cross the stage in his high school commencement exercises. Humbled.
I stopped off in Manchester, New Hampshire to witness the nuptials of a long-lost friend, spent a few nights on the bank of my dear friend’s river in Biddeford, Maine, passed through Palm Beach County and did some damage at the Square Grouper (more accurately it did some damage on me). On a Wednesday in September, I worked for so long on a rooftop in Nashville that I ordered both lunch and dinner from my barstool. I drove a U-Haul truck to Madison, Wisconsin, with pitstops in Pittsburgh and Toledo. I walked over six Chicago miles, happily holding hands, letting go only to hold my first Italian beef sandwich, Portillo’s hot dog, and slice of deepdish pizza. I crossed a night at The Drake off my bucket list before driving back to Madison for, what turned out to be, an 18-hour travel day and a near nervous breakdown in Newark, New Jersey.
I dropped Eamon off at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg after sitting on the closed-down interstate for four hours. Then, as the clock struck midnight and the last of the boxes were unloaded, I dropped a bucket of cheese balls on the quad that promptly exploded. I left my mark on that campus.
I climbed Signal Mountain in Chattanooga, made a home in a restored barn on a horse farm in Chelsea, Alabama, rolled tide in every gameday tailgate tent in Tuscaloosa, celebrated another birthday from the Harbor Beach in Fort Lauderdale, swam with dolphins in The Bahamas, ran out of gas in a golf cart in Bimini, burned the house down throwing dice on a cruise ship craps table, hiked through the De Soto National Forest in Mississippi, hightailed it out of Biloxi, ducked and covered on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, made an unplanned stop at McNeese State in Lake Charles, Louisiana (Geaux Pokes!), lived in a one-room farmhouse on 17 acres of solitude for a month in central Texas, rescued a dog in Waco, ate a Chimichanga while watching a Christmas boat parade on the riverwalk in San Antonio, walked my dogs around the campus of Texas A&M, University of Texas Austin, and Baylor, spent a day at the stockyards and saw the cattle drive in Fort Worth, and then Cirque de Soleil, ICE, and the 12 Days of Christmas exhibit at the Arboretum in Dallas.
My dogs learned how to sprint on a leash when we got chased after a wrong turn in Little Rock, Arkansas, crossed over the Mud River in Memphis, were instantly famous on Music Row in Nashville, looked like scholars on the Knoxville campus of University of Tennessee, and happily arrived at Virginia Tech in Blacksburg on the day of Eamon’s last final exam. I made it home just in time to fly back to Texas for a four-hour steakhouse dinner, after tarmac delays on my way in and out of Houston.
An unexpected trip to the airport on an early morning in April was the most unexpectedly significant of them all.
I was talking to a colleague last week when he laughed and said, “You know, Jeannette, it’s hard to hit a moving target.” While that might be true, I think life is just more fun on the run; even with a blown-out knee.
New hashtag happening now, #ThisIs49