Today.

Morning. I awake to my bedroom filled with cold night air. My nose is cold, a rarity for August. Push back my freshly washed sheets, feel the tiredness in my eyes.

A new day.

Run around the house before my job interview, let the nerves hit my stomach, start to drive. I am anxious, don't quite feel ready, but I try to pray out of that feeling. I pray to God honestly. Turn onto Lagoon Street - I love this street, with its musical name. Pass the lake, push through a yellow. I am afraid of being late. I am afraid of not being early. I'm afraid of not being in control.

I look down at my wrinkly paper of directions, which sits beside the resume I typed up not a minute before leaving the house, and read where I am supposed to turn. But I encounter a large sign which tells me about construction. Large, orange. I don't know where to go, so I do what I always do: call Dad. He helps me, and I find the place.

Park shakily, double check I've locked the car door and have my phone turned off. Smooth my skirt, read the wooden numbers above the door, knock. I knock hard. Maybe it will make me sound confident, even if I don't feel it.

Nobody answers, nobody comes. Am I at the right place? I call the man who will interview me, and he asks me if I am by a building with yellow bricks. Yes, I am. Is that wrong? Lots of people end up there, he says. He tells me to come down the alley. He's the one in the truck, waving at me. Thank you, I say. We meet, shake hands, and walk by two of his workers unloading a truck. Two young guys in faded shirts, and I feel out of place as they say hello.

The interview is held in a place filled with papers, cords, tools, dust, and when it's over, I feel free. I turn up the music in the car. The cashier at Trader Joe's is the perfect dose of friendly, and I am happy. I am driving by Lake Calhoun, feeling the perfection of the weather, longing to stop and sit on a bench. . . okay. I've got to pull over. Who could waste this day? With the spontaneity of jazz, I walk around barefoot and watch the waves. I swing by the beach, bury my feet in the sand, and watch people.

It feels good to be here, strangers all around, wind on my face. No one looks at me, and sometimes I think bliss like this only exists when I'm swallowed up by the beauty around me.