beautiful and dirty rich

Sometimes I wonder how I got here. I can’t say that I should have planned my life better, because of course, I did plan. I planned and planned and it was all wrong and came crashing down and I was left with the realization that planning doesn’t always make things better. Sometimes it makes things worse. And good fucking God. Now, by not planning, I’ve ended up in an entirely better place. And I’m happy. Honestly, I’m amazingly happy. And lucky. And grateful.

I spent the weekend laying on the beach in Rio. As you lay there and watch the water, locals come by offering to sell you anything you might want: sunscreen, hats, sarongs, magazines, water, jewelry. They’ll bring a portable mini-grill over and make you lunch. You can get a massage. A new bikini. On Sunday, I stood at the base of Christ the Redeemer, wearing sandals I got in Jerusalem.

Then yesterday, I stood in my living room and watched the sun over the water and all I wanted to do was cry. What the fuck am I doing? Am I doing it all wrong?

Today, I drove to the bank . As I parked, I saw a crow on the ground, clearly dying. I didn’t want to look at him. As I opened my door, the sound of birds was deafening. I looked up, and hundreds of crows were circling the air, perching on wires and trees and rooftops. All crying, screaming. It was a little terrifying. They all were looking at the dying crow. By the time I left the ATM, the crow on the ground wasn’t moving anymore. The air grew quiet.

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