Yesterday driving over Fountaingrove

from getting a haircut and then stopping in Oliver’s, listening to music going up that first hill, giving me some new feeling and being, some new Now… associated with music.  I don’t know, it was different.  I of course thought of being an AE, but then just everything.  My business and the writing, the blogging, me as a dad of three humans who look to me for answers and safety, and everything else human needs in that pyramid.  Everything affirmative and uplifting, but there was a depth that wasn’t there before.

Now at the table, Tycho, a latte and thoughts of the wine blog, producing referrals for producers, being a resource, and then merely telling wine stories from my life.  At this simple table, I’m reminded of simplicity’s value.  Something to share with students this semester… keeping writing simple and personal, intimate, and not having it sound like something submitted to appease and to garner a grade.  This through my thinking yesterday over the hill as well.

Seventy degrees, window not between me and the air outside the car’s cabin.  Freedom in that drive, in the perception accompanying.  Everything about it, profusely haptic.  The drive was a bridge to some other music in my way and day, ME, my life and what brought me here.

Thinking of today like an equation, and working backwards.  What I want at dean’s end… noted. Now how to get there.  What added to what, what do I need subtract.  How I’m seeing it.  And the blocks I’ve been thinking are materializing lately on page, ignored.  My sight and concentration gallop away, I bring them back like a herd of horses enjoying fields more than fences.  Stop, think, put self into where you are…. Work with the equation in front of you.  This is what’s on the test, on the paper just placed in front of you.  Wishing for something else or wishing that your test was something else is silly and an injurious backward pedal.

Have to be on phone in a bit.  Need to mark up calendar.  Emma upstairs stomping around like a freed inmate, sining and celebrating Friday, her weekend ahead.  I imagine her in the shop with me, naming wine bottles and helping me count inventory.  She comes downstairs, asking me if she can have the breakfast sandwich I bought her.  I go into the kitchen heat up her morning eat and she asks me what I’m sipping.  Try explaining the composition of a latte, then the mocha.  She asks me why I would ever want cinnamon in my coffee.  I tell her that Daddy likes cinnamon.  “That’s weird.” She says.

Journals on desk.  Should be waking early to write in the ’48.  Then type.—  You know what, I’m doing it again.  Thinking about EVERYTHING too much.  Okay, I tell myself.  Get on the phone.  Make calls.  Say hi.  Do something.  Be an AE, About EVERYTHING.  Keep the music playing, enjoy the morning as Mark says always and genuinely.  Report what’s happened or happening, not what you hope will.  I sip again, and want this all to be done differently.  Think about my own office, the principle of telecommunication and internet connectivity and how wine is the exact same.  How?  Explain later.  Get on phone.

After being on the phone for about an hour, I’m frustrated.  Two leads I was given turned out to be horrifically weak.  This just tells me, stop thinking and creative my own leads.  Obvious I know, another sales in the covid era woe.  Thinking about this too much, about everything.  On the phone though I must say I was quite free and liberated, quick and beneficially careless.

Not getting in a run today.  Woke far too late.  Thinking of attacking the early hour again, and make it as fundamental as breathing.  Wake and run, that simple.  Tomorrow morning then.  Put out clothes tonight, and launch in morning.  Put more voltage into the writing the other morning when I left early, hit the pavement I think right at 5am or maybe even a minute or two before.  Haven’t done that in a couple years I want to say.  Running…. Only me out there, free, the air cold but not uncomfortable.  If anything, I should have suited lighter.

Been writing since this whole thing started last March, as I was before, but I feel my words have suffered or weakened somehow. So what do I do to remedy such.  What would I recommend a student do if approached with the same reality.  And that’s just it, who am I to teach this coming semester if I’m feeling such inner aches and lachrymose yodels?  Maybe there is no pill or remedy key, just write.  From the bananas I bought yesterday at Oliver’s and vowed to eat, to the wine last night – a Pinot, surprisingly – to me sitting here just a couple hours before our “Kickoff Meeting” for the new year.  Mood will assuredly be different than last January, where we were all care free and celebratory, knowing that the new year would bring more sales and community, growth and prolific pulse.  Instead, it brought covid.  A big fucking anchor.

I put myself back in the state I was in driving over Fountaingrove, listening to the Chef soundtrack, no window.  The. Focus on the road, each beat and percussion hit, riff.  All of this is attitude, and mind.  Thinking.  How you translate what’s in front of you.  I’m in sales, Enterprise Sales, during a pandemic…. Consider that.  Understand that when you’re calling on businesses.  Keep it in mind when sipping whatever wine you’ve picked for the late afternoon, evening.

Putting self in wine shop tonight, bed late.  Well then, that means no early run.  I stop myself in writing about the future.  Be in NOW… thinking of wine, thinking of walking into the shop and doing tastings with people… building a life, an EVERYTHING, around wine.  I was quite sharply suggested short of told to start a wine blog, and I did, but I don’t think I stay in it as I should have.  I got too easily discouraged, by tasting rooms and bad experiences with managers and the industry.  In this chair I think about re-writing.  EVERYTHING.