What to say, what to say? Today has been mostly typical. I had eggs for breakfast. I read a book. My dad and I went to work out. I ate a salad for lunch (woo). The salad came from Braum’s. While there, I walked through their grocery section, which was filled with ice cream, milk, cookies, and everything else that’s delicious but makes your ass fatter. Believe it or not, I didn’t buy anything. Later, while munching on the salad, all I could think was that it tasted like a good decision–unremarkable, like cardboard. At least compared to a half-gallon of cookies and creme. But my pants fit, so that’s something.

This evening I went to a local brewery to hear my friend Donny and his band, The Wren Boys, play Irish music for St. Patrick’s Day, which is tomorrow. I’d planned on taking a nap this evening, but when I saw Donny’s group was playing, I decided to get out of the house. They’re always fun, and tonight was no exception. Plus, I ran into two other friends of mine, one of whom joined the band for one of their numbers. She’s apparently learning to play the whistle pipe, which in my opinion sounds like something out of a fairy tale and is absolute magic.

Here’s a video of Donny playing the pipe. Notice how all three of the guys keep time with their feet differently. This fascinates me and is something I’m going to try to remember the next time I think my way of doing something is the right way. There is no right way. There’s only a different way.

After Donny and the guys finished playing, Donny and I chatted in the parking lot. I said the last few months had been challenging because of my knee injury, but that they had also taught me a lot, like how to be more patient and compassionate with myself and others. “As frustrating as the situation has been,” I said, “I’ve grown.” Then Donny said he’d heard lobsters shed their shells, which are inflexible, because they’re uncomfortable. In other words, if they want to grow, they have to let go, and it’s their discomfort that alerts them to this fact. Personally, I hate that life works like this, but this has been my experience a hundred times. Pressure is what causes us to mature. At some point you think, I can’t live like this any longer.

Speaking of pressure, my dad just dropped two glasses on the kitchen floor, and they completely shattered. I was sitting at the kitchen table (where I am now) when it happened, and it was absolutely glorious. It was like watching a snowball hit a wall. Kersplat! The glass flew in every direction, including mine. It really was beautiful. Now it’s past midnight, Dad and I just swept up the broken glass, and he’s running the vacuum cleaner. I’m still at the kitchen table and have a headache. Ugh. It’s difficult to concentrate. I’m not sure where I’m going with this. This is the difficult thing about being under pressure, about growing. Rarely if ever can you see what’s coming next. Consequently, you have to let go of your old shell, your old life, on faith. When what’s familiar to you shatters like glass, you have to trust that you can start from scratch and be okay.