The Space Between Big Moments

Wednesday, June 24, 2026. A mostly ordinary day with some pretty extraordinary moments.

That’s the short version.

The longer version is that my dog took the biggest poop of his career in the backseat of my car before I ever made it out of Charlotte.

Not only did Cameron poop all over the backseat, he immediately decided he couldn’t possibly remain near the scene of his own crime. He climbed under the seat cover, onto my actual seat, somehow got poop on both back paws, and delayed my morning by forty-seven minutes.

Forty-seven.

Not forty-five.

Forty-seven.

So that’s the energy I brought into Wednesday.

Eventually, I made it to Durham.

I worked for a little while because, you know, bills. 

Why Durham, you ask? My best friend of 20 years brought a baby into this world on Tuesday. So I went to Durham. I held my best friend’s brand-new baby until I couldn’t stop smelling her little face.

I wandered into a record store and bought a few obscure jazz albums for three dollars each because apparently that’s the kind of sentence I get to say about my life now.

I checked into a hotel that was much cuter than I expected. My room was upgraded to a king suite. Love that for me.

I touched up my makeup.

Then I opened Google Maps and searched for somewhere to eat.

Not fast food.

Not the empty hotel bar.

Not the steakhouse next door, even though I thought about it.

I wanted somewhere that looked like somebody cared about the cocktails.

That’s all.

I wasn’t looking for a life-changing evening.

I was looking for a bartender who respected tequila.

Bar Virgil delivered.

The bartender recommended an off-menu hibiscus-infused tequila cocktail that deserved to be on the menu. I started with a bourbon-mezcal drink. I finished dinner with another tequila cocktail because the people sitting around me kept ordering it and curiosity got the better of me.

The smash burger was exactly what I wanted.

The fries were excellent.

The playlist was…there. I don’t remember a single song.

The most entertaining conversation of the night belonged to a maid of honor who absolutely hated the bride. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. She simply wasn’t interested in lowering her voice. Eventually I laughed and made a comment because there was no way I was pretending not to hear any of this.

Nobody flirted with me.

Nobody bought me a drink.

Nobody asked for my number.

Nothing remarkable happened.

Except… I got exactly what I came for.

That realization didn’t hit me until I was back in my hotel room. Because that’s where the other version of me showed up. She’s been around for years. She’s the one who always wonders if there’s another story waiting somewhere else.

Maybe I should go downstairs.

Maybe the hotel bar has come alive.

Maybe there’s another place within walking distance.

Maybe I should keep the night going.

Maybe.

She’s always looking over the horizon for the next thing. Not because she isn’t grateful. Because she’s afraid she’s leaving something on the table.

The funny thing is… I don’t think she ever completely goes away.

She still lives here.

She still asks the questions.

But for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t driving.

Because another voice had gotten a little louder.

The one that quietly said, “You wanted a good cocktail. You wanted a good meal. You wanted to get out of the hotel room for a while. You did that.”

There was nothing left to chase.

That’s a strange realization for someone who has spent so much of her life chasing.

Chasing the next promotion.

The next relationship.

The next apartment.

The next version of herself.

The next milestone.

Even now, I have goals.

I want to move.

I want a yard for my dog.

I want to keep getting healthier.

I want to write.

I still hope I’ll meet someone someday.

None of that disappeared over three cocktails in Durham.

But maybe there’s a difference between living with hope and living with the constant feeling that somewhere else is where life is happening.

Because life happened on Wednesday.

Not dramatically.

Not cinematically.

It happened while I held the little girl my best friend brought into the world.

While I found old jazz records.

While I talked to a bartender about tequila.

While I listened to a stranger complain about a bride she clearly shouldn’t have agreed to stand beside.

While I walked back to my hotel.

Nothing happened.

And somehow… that’s exactly why I think I’ll remember it.

Maybe getting older isn’t about wanting less.

Maybe it’s about finally recognizing when enough has quietly arrived and having the courage to stop looking over your shoulder for something bigger.