Tattoos, Pedicures, and Falling in Love.

Our other adventures took place under the manic of post-divorce, wandering the strip of Las Vegas and the streets of Manhattan and the Loop of Chicago, giggling, sharing non-stop, following the flow to the hotel room of a strange man or to video tape chocolate on my butt or to the falafel that you must eat before you die.

This trip with my best friend is different.

Yesterday was three hours in a suburban tattoo & motorcycle oasis, an afternoon on a patio reading biographies of an alcoholic and a technology entrepreneur, an evening consuming local fish and flowers with goat cheese and a single cocktail each.

Today, we had pedicures.

Now I’m writing to you stationed at the corner table of Panera Bread, with our own plug and section for the luggage of our businesses, drinking hot tea and a special order Americano, eating a banana and spicy hummus on an everything bagel, headphones in our ears and Macs on our table.

Quietly sharing space as we create our work.

Were we more happy back then?

Yes, there was more giggling, more grabbing each other for smashed up self-portraits, more sneaking away from the group for a secret smoke at an abandoned patio underneath the tracks of the El, more indulging of vodka & redbull and shots of tequila and martinis sent to the bar from our twitter follower in Virginia.

But our rabid enjoyment wasn’t sustainable — it was a manifestation of the pivot, when we first discovered the beginnings of who we didn’t have to be anymore. Of what we could let go. Of shoulds that no longer apply.

Our current state is different.

Now is about being.

It is about the mess we accept. The serenity we embrace. The work we commit to bring to the world.

It is what we do moving forward, into our perennial great work, into what the rest of our lives will be about.

Before was about falling in love.

And falling in love – with a person or a choice or a life – is a giggling kind of romance, founded on hormones and revelation and temporary insanity.

Falling in love is an addiction. A short-term satisfaction, just resulting in the craving of another hit.

Long term romance is calm.

The adventure in the routine. The joy in creating something that will never be finished, where the satisfaction is not in the there to which we are getting, but in the evolution.

Were we more happy back then?

Happy then was manic.

Happy then was in the way of not knowing better, thinking that once you say no or stop or never again, everything will be easy and fun and magical fairies throwing money from the sky and changing the world in an instant.

Today, this happy is serene.

Messy. Relaxed. Matter-of-fact.

This happy is real.

And, as you know, my loves … I prefer the real.

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