Thursday Afternoon Sensory Inputs

Somewhere between now and not yet.

There’s something about today. The air is warm, but not urgent. The light hits everything just a little softer. I feel it in my chest, not sadness, exactly, but a kind of stretch.

I’ve been thinking about aging. Not the wrinkle counting kind, but the weight of days behind me and the question of what still wants to be done. Not just what I’ve done but what it’s meant. Who I’ve reached. What remains when I’m quiet and alone.

It shows up in how I love more slowly, more deliberately. It’s in the friendships that hold with less talk and more knowing. It’s in the way I think about work, not just money, but meaning. And it’s in the ache I sometimes feel when I think about community, about my kids, about what it means to leave a lasting mark and not just pass through.

I don’t want applause. I want resonance.

I don’t want to be remembered as busy. I want to be remembered as present.

And maybe that’s what this feeling is: a longing for impact without spectacle. For intimacy in all things. For the kind of life that hums long after the music stops.

So I sit with it. Let it rise. Let it settle.

Thursday afternoon. No answers. Just breath.

Brian,

Professional over-thinker, semi-professional pizza enthusiast.