for aunt mae.

Sitting in the sunshine sipping my americano, savoring my oatmeal, and reading some David Sedaris, two gentlemen carry their coffees and an inappropriate conversation out the door and into my space. It's a conversation about death, which isn't the inappropriate part. I started to get offended when they began to gravel on about the details of how the woman was killed, sigh big heavy sighs, voice multiple "I just can't believe it-s", name drop people that had contacted them knowing they knew her, and rehash, yet again, the specifics of why she had no chance, and what she would have been - "broken back, ribs, a complete vegetable" - had she survived.

They finished their loud obtrusive talk and then got behind the closed doors of their respective vehicles, which would have been the respectful place to have been having the conversation in the first place.

As they drive away, the woman next to me looks over with tear filled eyes and says, "My daughter was hit by a drunk driver and thrown out of her vehicle at the age of twenty-six, leaving three babies behind." I attempted to be as comforting as a stranger can be, marveling at how easily a lack of social awareness can inadvertently ruin a person's morning. They let a stink bomb fall out of the hole in their pockets, carelessly crushed it under their feet on their way to their trucks in the midst our rain scented spring morning, drove away before the stench reached their noses, and left us to bask in the stenches' wake.

Obliviousness is such a disappointing aspect of life.

Moments later, a kind cross-dressing gentleman enters our space, takes a chair, and asks if we mind if he smokes a cigarette. She and I both reply to his thoughtfulness with a request that he just move the chair where he was about to take a seat to the other side, in the direction of the breeze. He obliges, and we thank him for his consideration.

"It's sometimes easier to see clearly outside," he says.

Considerate cross dressing strangers smoking cigarettes as the second hand smoke blows with the breeze saying poignant and thoughtful sentences out of the blue: such a wondrous aspect of life.

temporary exit.

I think one of my biggest life lessons will be learning how to let go of the need to be understood. Giving myself permission to be mis-undertsood is just so damn difficult. But misunderstanding is inevitable.

Sunday evening is a prime study night for me at a place called Vintage. Telling Mark what I would like to order is a fail nearly every time. He always misunderstands me. I think it's because I mumble sometimes, though, and I assume the hearing of others increases as my volume decreases. I say my preferred glass no less than twice each time. But this is helping me grasp that some things in life don't need to be mumbled.

It's this hesitation, this tendency to think of oneself as a bother or a burden, and from that, a failure to see the things you should be shouting...the things that bring you joy, and the things you take pride in. I WOULD LIKE A GLASS OF THE CHIANTI!

The shoutables for me are quintessential aspects of this, my last season in Tulsa. WINE! RUNNING! DANCING! A GOOD CONVERSATION WITH A DEAR FRIEND! And they are so needed now, more than every, actually. There are many thoughts and feelings swirling in my head that were foreign until now. Because of this, I am again seeing the scope of my world through a different set of spectacles. This makes me think of my roommate Melody, and her life-altering laser eye surgery that, well, altered her life. It left her thankful. The experiences in my life are bringing new thoughts and ideas to the forefront of my mind, and ultimately leaving me thankful.

After Melody's surgery, she had to stay in for a while. She also had to wear some of those uber-protective grandma-like sunglasses, and make sure nothing entered her delicate eyes. That's the place I find myself.

I want to stay in, outside of the gaze of unknown eyes. And so that's the culmination of this post, on the sixth day of May. It's going to be the only one for a while. Life is Journey, and this section of my journey is begging to exert some anonymity. As a hopeful writer, coming to terms with everyone and anyone reading the words you are willing to share at all times, it's necessary. I am not there yet, so I am putting a cap on the words I am willing to share.

But readers, if there are in fact readers out there, do not fret. Bon Iver wrote and recorded "For Emma Forever Ago" in a cabin by himself in the winter...cocooning himself from the gaze of others gave way to an amazing source of thoughts and outpouring of creativity. Wikepedia called it "a cathartic time of isolation". And yes, I am comparing myself to Bon Iver. I often have movie star famous moments.

Yesterday in Double Shot, I went in just to get an iced coffee. I didn't want anything else. It was hot, and the milky options were too heavy. "We're out," says Garth. I stand still for a bit, say my thanks, and begin to make my exit. A man nearby mumbles, "that's sad." I put my sun glasses on as I perfect my stride out the door, look at him, and say, "sometimes, life is just sad." I was sure everyone around was aware of my talent as an individual and a writer, and would be, in moments, retrieving pens and pencils and scrap pieces of paper for my autograph. I kept the stride in tact to avoid the commotion before it happened.

And now, I am going to escape the publish button. I will still be writing, maybe more now than ever. There's so many exciting things about to take place in my life, and stories that are worth some space on a page. And eventually, I'll put 'em up here, again. Until then.

celebrated failure, celebrated pain.

I will be running into my future, one month from tomorrow. I will leave Tulsa on June the fourth, run a marathon in San Diego, and continue on my journey to my new, potentially permanent temporary home.

I put off training last weekend for the sake of some fun, including cartwheels, which led to a strained hamstring. The strained hamstring further delayed some necessary runs, which I learned were necessary, yesterday, when I attempted to run the eighteen miles I had previously neglected.

I had ran a sixteen mile route along the river a few weeks ago, so when planning out my route, I decided to just park a mile away from where I began the sixteen miles; the extra mile there and back makes eighteen. Problem solved.

Up to this point I haven't had any trouble at all, really, with my long runs. A little cramping here and there, but as far as endurance goes, it's actually felt too easy.

It was warmer outside than normal. I wasn't in the mood to exhibit self care, and was actually attempting this run, to an extent, to exhaust my body and my mind. I ate a bagel a few hours before, and brought along three packs of gu - running energy packs other marathon runners told me would be helpful. Around mile ten, in the heat of the afternoon sun and after running up an intense hill that was completely unforgiving of my delicate state, I hit what I think others refer to as "a wall". I stopped for a second, took a moment, and talked myself into going again with hydration on my brain. I had been passed a mile earlier by two women I had chatted with an hour or so before, and they told me tales of water just up the hill.

After reaching the top, with a look of death on my face and a predator sort of stare in search of said water as my prey, I noticed my moment's angel, in the form of Richard, a former customer from my time at Starbucks. Over the course of the past year, I had ran into Richard a few times here and there. Each time he would tell me a little more about his business plan, open up the binder that held its contents, and I would enjoy the look of joy on his face at the thought of pursuing something that he believed he would really enjoy. There he was, on top of the hill, living out his dream in the form of traveling a hot dog stand, Grilla Rays. And there I was, in desperate need of the bottled water stacked next to his feet.

He recognized my need, handed me two bottles, and I was revived, not just because of the water, but also because of the encouragement that came from Richard's friendliness and human connection. I left the moment exceptionally thankful, and began my trek to the end with the wall far behind me. That is, until mile fourteen, when my lungs felt like they were caving from the inside. I stopped, drank, and continued. Mile 14.27. Am I having an asthma attack? What in the heck is going on? Stop, drink, continue. "This is just mental, Meredith. This is where your mental strength must take control of your body. Your body will go." So I continue, can't breath, and again begin to gasp for air. I try to go again, taking slow breaths through my nose and slow steps from my feet, but at mile fifteen, I admit to myself that it's not mental, and that today, this is all I have to give. And so, both mentally and physically exhausted, and still finding it difficult to breathe, I officially stop.

Because of my brilliant eighteen mile planned route, I now have a three mile walk back to the Stratus. I labeled this walk, somewhere along its course, "the three mile walk of shame". I had needed and intended to run eighteen but ended up disappointing myself. I marveled at the fact that, after running fifteen miles, I can still feel a little bit like a failure. I also marveled at the joy that came from my walk of shame. There's something beautiful about stopping, strolling along, and breathing in life slowly after pushing yourself too far. That's what I did. I enjoyed watching the people I passed, the flowers, the man mowing and the girl in pigtails experiencing bliss on a bicycle...the woman riding her horse a bit below where I was walking, the view of Down Town Tulsa from way up high, and the joy that came from deciding my post-run-celebration-of-failure-meal. I had consumed nothing more than a bagel, half a pear, gu, and loads of water at this point in my day. I decided on a cheeseburger and sweet potato fries.

I am drawn to the challenging, the unattainable, and the difficult. Because of this, I am realizing that sometimes, I push myself farther than maybe I should. In the midst of my final days in Tulsa, this place that I have rooted myself deeply into, in the form of rich friendships and irreplaceable memories...I am going to stop, stroll along, breathe in these last four weeks slowly, and joyfully plan my celebratory-and-painful-uprooting-myself-from-Tulsa meal.

the tenth.

I am officially entering the mode of transition, where the goodbyes of one season begin, in the midst of hellos ushering me into the next. Yesterday was one of those mornings where all of my emotions were in super power mode, as if they had been plugged into a source of electricity, amplified beyond measuring capability, and it was lovely and also eery. That theme came from a conversation I had with my cousin, the exceptional woman that has invited me into her home, and further more, her life. She returned my call of inquiry, as I have been wondering about an official date and time to uproot myself from this beautiful Tulsa time I have been living out the past few years.

The date? "Let's just pick a date," she says on the telephone. "Okay", I reply, throwing my future into the mercy of her mind's direction - an adventurous moment on my part. "June...June...June...How about my birthday," she responds. "I like it...Sounds appropriate...And when is your birthday?" I say. "June the tenth".

And then, after a three minute phone conversation, it's settled. I will be flying into Washington DC on the tenth of June two-thousand and ten. And this, like yesterday's amplified emotions, is lovely and also eery.

A friend of a friend marveled at my situation the other day, as I recounted the facts and circumstances I will be moving into. "They live on Embassy Row, he offices out of the Watergate building, and their Sundays are spent having brunch at a French cafe in Georgetown. I live in a basement, and my Sundays are spent serving people having brunch on Sundays." "It's like you're the Fresh Prince of Bel Air!" said the friend of my friend. This made me chuckle out loud, and celebrate my chance to channel Will Smith and the potentially crazy happenings that may come from this lovely and eery decision I am making for my life.

But as I sit here at a place I consider to be like a second sort of home, feeling the breeze blow along the path of the opposite open doors, my thoughts are more consumed with what it is I am leaving behind. And though the weight of this reality is painful and heavy, and makes me feel very sad while simultaneously conjuring up feelings of apprehension, it's still not enough hold me back or keep me from going and moving, forward.