While I’ve long said numbers aren’t my thing, I’ve realized over time that might not actually be the case. Music and dancing involve numbers. Cooking, too. And dates.
It’s been pointed out to me before that I use dates and timelines when telling stories. “And that was at the end of 2012,” or, “…on the next day, which was a Thursday, which was the 2nd…” and so on. Strange, maybe...it’s just how my mind works.
Last summer I was curious about something so I sat down to do some counting and figure it out. I'm glad I took the time to do it. When it showed up on my calendar yesterday I became a bit emotional.
Throughout the day yesterday I saw things differently, thought about my life and the people in it. Was, and am, overcome with gratitude thinking about how things have fallen into place.
One of the very first posts I ever wrote, over ten and a half years ago, had to do with where I’m from, with comparing New York with Utah. In that post I said, “After almost nine years of living here, I can be from Utah now.”
It’s not that my views have changed. In fact, I love Utah more now than I did then. I still catch my breath at the views here, the mountains, the sunsets. I love Provo, I really do; it’s not a very popular thing to do so I become defensive of my city. I love Salt Lake, too; countless times I’ve been asked, “Why don’t you just move there? You’re up there all the time.”
What’s changed, or at least become more clear, is not just that Utah is my home, but that New York is also my home. Provo and Busti, Salt Lake and Jamestown. Corners of Manhattan, sections of San Diego, and hundreds of places in between. Turns out, not where but who you’re with that really matters.