Whale-watching | Monterey Bay

It's a beautiful summer day. The sky is blue; the birds are chirping; all seems right with the world. So let's talk about death, shall we?

Here is why I want to talk about this (or, more specifically, feel like I need to): because until very, very recently, death was not a topic I could even begin to unbox in my mind without sparking an emotion that was some singularly crushing combination of despair and utter panic. The feeling that I got when I allowed my mind to wander to the death of anyone from my dogs to my husband to my parents to myself was so intense it felt like a living thing that I had to keep under lock and key, because if it got out it would consume everything it touched. I felt it - still feel it - physically, like a fireball in my chest. If I let it take even the smallest breath, it instantly expands beyond the borders of my body.

West Village | NYC

Two-Piece Jumpsuit | Bag c/o | Sneakers

I had no idea what to bring with me for this trip. The weather was maybe going to be lovely and hot, or maybe cold and rainy (it has, in fact, been both). I was planning to spend most of my time sitting cross-legged on Erin's couch squinting at computer screens and talking about exciting things like page margins, but also had a couple of client meetings for which I'd need to wear something more closely resembling actual clothing than my ugliest pair of leggings (which are obviously my favorites). And then there's this: in two days, after I finish up everything I have to do here, I'm flying back across the country with Goldie, spending about eight hours at home with Kendrick and Indy, and then going straight back to the airport to get on a flight to St. Louis. I'll explain why later, but the logistics and emotions involved in that rapid of a turnaround - mostly the fact that I've never spent two whole weeks away from my son, and my heart hurts when I even think about it - are obviously stressing me out.