Simple = Beautiful

The trouble with owning a really big brain, my darlings, is simply this: one tends to rely on it. To the exclusion of other, equally useful skills and attributes.

I have spent this past summer (which I suppose is pretty much over, though I am in wilful denial about that) unlearning that bad habit. Or trying out new ways of functioning that don't involve so much analysis and overthinking and overlay of heavy expectations of life and of people.

It's been going rather well. I came to a big decision about my immediate professional future without once frowning and fretting over it (okay, I exaggerate, there may have been a frown or two - but that was about 486 less than there normally would have been). I got over feeling obscurely heartbroken about a little June fling. I played and played and toyed and toyed with any number of cute young boys.

I got a tattoo. I took risks. I did a whole lot of bicycling and a whole lot of leading with my body, and my instincts, and not my big big brain. And it was good for me. And I liked it.

And now I am looking at how to keep that going, as the fall comes on with its heavier tone, its back-to-work mentality, its changing colors and smells, its Rhinebeck and its apples to be picked, and its skies so gorgeous they traditionally make me feel like I'm just not doing enough to appreciate them every day.

Breathe, the summer taught me. Just breathe. Pedal, and breathe, and pedal some more. Spoke-music. Hands on grips. Hair rumpled by wind and crushed under helmet. Ruffle it up and move along. Wear the little dress that flips up under the rim of the bicycle seat. Don't worry so much whether the new people like you or don't like you.

Think about what you want for dinner in the next five minutes. Think about what that is, flying over there, wings beating the sky - hummingbird or bee? Think about what pretty yarn you can buy for Shannon at Rhinebeck. Think about that beer. Yum. Beer.

Think about how kissing the blonde was just as nice with stubble on his face as without. Think about popsicles.

"He's like sorbet," I said. "Palate-cleansing."

Yes, like that. I do like that. Pity I've just overloaded my stomach with all those brownies I'd made for Special J. Note to self: Wait until dear friend is actually ready to receive visitors before beginning the baking. Don't worry, Special J: more where that came from, honey.