There are nights when I can’t wait to be alone, craving space and distance from everyone I know and love. But then there are nights when I pace the empty house, bored and lonely and missing my people. Perhaps the great mystery of life is to learn to love the in-between.

I do not wish to fool anyone. I do not wish to be fooled, either. Happy April to all.

I find it surreal and at times, sobering, to scroll through the notes app on my phone.

There are several orders for takeout. The medical clearance letter I wrote on behalf of a friend’s daughter for their vacation. Quotes like We can, we will, we must from the reality TV show about cheerleading that inspires me more than it should. Ideas that might or might not change the culture of my hospital and will take a long time to implement. My side of an argument I’ve never actually had with my husband. The cab driver’s name, along with instructions on how to settle the unpaid fare by phone because his credit card machine was down. Black Friday and Christmas and birthday and mundane Saturday shopping lists.

It is strange and cathartic and glorious, to scroll my own life.

I listened to The Push on Audible this week. I can hardly think of anything else.

Recently, one of my children became quiet and sad when they learned we’d donated an old stainless steel water bottle of theirs. When I say old, I mean we got it when they were two years old. We took this child on a solo trip to town one afternoon, stopping by the thrift store to see if it may still be there. After all, we had not realized this kiddo had cared that much and I wanted to make it right. Alas, the water bottle was not on the shelves, which resulted in a stoic presentation-turned-thorough sob fest once they climbed back in the car. I crawled into the back seat for some cuddles, which turned into a little therapy session about the moments when we miss our old life, and that we should never feel bad about crying, because feelings are in fact a tunnel and we are in fact welcome to move through them. A few minutes later, the same child cheered up in time to correct me for being insensitive toward their dad. I love my kids.

I’m just as nosy as any other Nelly, but it is becoming one of the great joys of my life to mind my own business.

I find great delight in the company of those who drink tea. It seems like such a wholesome, almost noble, trustworthy task. I should do more of it.