Part of the problem is that I don't want to be responsible for knowing how it ends. The essay's graceful conclusion, a novel's satisfaction, even just a Tinyletter's worth of certainty feels beyond me right now. I don't know how I feel. I don't know how to sum it up, or I don't want to, which amounts to the same thing. 

I know that every week on Monday I begin in sparring, in the ring: gloves up, knees bent, head down. I give chase; I listen to instructions. I allow myself to be coached, which, in case you were wondering, is the living worst: letting someone to watch you try to learn something and then explain (gently, encouragingly) all the ways you're messing up. It feels unbearably vulnerable to be seen this way: trying and failing and then trying again. 

I make it through the week however and then, on Fridays, T and I go to the beach. I come from the gym (strength training, no deep thoughts about it) and bring burritos for us to eat on the drive. We will often spend a full hour in the water. Getting out there can be a little bit treacherous: navigating your way past the break, where the waves crest and then crash.

But then all of a sudden you've slipped through to the other side. You're buoyed up by tide and salt, and the body you've been carrying around, trying so hard to be responsible for, feels compact and solid and blessedly particular. Who would ever imagine that something so small would be able to make headway against something so enormous? But the water is soft and sweet and cold, and your kicking propels you through it, straight and strong. Gazing towards the horizon, all you can see is yellow light and blue sky and dark water. 

I know how to describe these things to you: the process that swims me out from shore, and the schedule that allows me to stroke my way from one week to the next. It's telling stories about it that escapes me, still, again. Is it enough to live through it? To describe it? Am I allowed to write without making a point?

(Maybe a better question: do I want to?)

-

Thanks for reading my journal, guys. If you want to read something else, I wrote about going to Tom Tom for Buzzfeed, which was a) the excuse I needed to go to Tom Tom but also b) another entry into my ongoing investigation into the intersection of branding, "experiences" and monetization in the era of free-floating fame. 

& finally, for those of you to whom this means something, g'mar chatima tova. I hope the fast is easy and we come out the other side feeling more at least a little more peaceful than we do today.