My grandson and I were cycling home the other day.
The sun was setting.
Birds were making whatever noise birds make when they’re wrapping up for the evening.
Dogs chased balls.
Runners shuffled past.
The whole scene looked like one of those impossibly cheerful suburbia advertisements.
Except I missed most of it.
My mind was somewhere else.
I’d just missed out on a speaking opportunity and was replaying it in my head.
You know the drill.
Different outcomes.
Different conversations.
Different versions of reality where things had gone my way.
Then, at some point during the ride, I came back.
Back to the bike.
Back to my grandson.
Back to what was actually happening.
And I had a ridiculous thought.
On the bike with my grandson is one of the happiest parts of my life.
I’ve said that many times because it’s true.
So what was I doing imagining ways to work harder so I could eventually create more time to do the very thing I was already doing?
I laughed.
Under my breath I called myself an idiot.
Then I kissed his helmet.