Me: "Geez. How can you study while listening to this racket?"
Caedon: "It's smooth jazz, Mom."
My life is pretty weird.
My son, Caedon, age 16, is in the living room writing a socially complex and engaging science-y college paper, playing smooth jazz in the background, only stopping to ask questions about APA citations and to get excited about chemical compounds and words I cannot pronounce.
I, on the other hand, age 36 and *also* in college, am listening to 80s glam rock so loud in my headphones I can feel it in my actual bones.
I write and re-write true sentences to try and make them just 2% more beautiful every time. Just 2% more human. It's all I'm ever really trying to do.
I am literally bouncing on a yoga ball while I work, typing, writing deep, leaning in with my whole body like playing a concerto, because this is how words move me...how they move first in me and then through ...