The last time I wrote, I was a giddy and panicky mess, launching True*Stories, tying up loose work ends and packing for a week in Miami. It was exciting and exhausting, and the next day was spent on airplanes and in airports.
And then vacation happened.
Rama and I went to Miami to visit Barbara, his (and now, my) grandmother. I brought my macbook with me with the idea that I’d do more work than play, but oh. The idea of vacation was too irresistible. I did enough work to satisfy my clients, and then I turned it off, spending the rest of the week chatting and laughing, relaxing and exploring, eating and shopping with Rama and Barbara. I slept in, I took naps, I went swimming. I even started–and finished–reading a book for the first time since I don’t know when.
Even though we’ve been back for a week, I feel like I’m still riding that high. I feel like a teenager on summer vacation, and I probably act like one too. (We’ve flown kites, thrown frisbees, chased ice cream trucks and, today, picnicked on the lawn.)
I’m still working hard and I’m blessed to have as much work as I do. But I am playing hard too. And I can’t help but think that this is the way it should be.