Almost August, Again

"How are you?"  This was the eternal question from peers.

I wrote about how I disliked this question because I found it inauthentic. I asked, what are the synonyms for fine?

"Tell me more."  Supervisors or coaches always extended the 'ask'.

Initial difficulty with this question existed because I lacked the vocabulary to answer completely. A co worker tried to 'help' when she gave me a word search to find my feelings. Still, my brain stretched and twisted itself. I had been in the leadership chair. I heard how I was being 'supported' through my own tested strategies. I measured my possible responses wondering, how much weight was too much weight? My answer depended on how confident I was that what they were constructing would hold.

"What's new?" was the chosen welcome question in each open conversation class. It gauged both mood and skill.

The response's level of detail expected sat somewhere in the intersection of the two previously posed questions. The purpose was somewhat about me but mostly overwhelmingly about how much I could express about what I did and why. If I was smart, I prepared my response in Hebrew ahead of time, ensuring that I found the words I had when the first that came to mind wouldn't do. Mostly, writing down my answer meant I could be confident in my ability to finish the answer that I started and be understood.

But why return to these questions now? It was August, again, almost. . .

My aunt made this observation standing in front of our mailbox last Sunday afternoon. That meant . .

The county fair?  The Olympics? Both marked time, but neither had anything to do with something I started, nor something I wanted to finish.

I told myself the items I bought at a friend's consignment shop were an early 'birthday present'.

"You deserve it," she replied.

Honestly, I kind of felt like I did.

Almost August was the synonym for almost my birthday, another year's reflection.

"Trust the process" was a question of belief in declarative form. How do you feel about where you're going? (A question that embedded the question: Do you know where you're going?)

Almost August again reminded me that I was nearing the end of the year's third quarter. My gym goal for the year was sets of kipping pull ups. In quarter one I built strength.  In quarter two I went from sets of 3 to sets of 5-6, sometimes even 7 in practice. This past week I completed sets of 4-6 during the workout. New skills. Visible progress recorded in my muscles. My body was the reason I bought those clothes.  My body reminded me what showing up AND showing up for yourself could do.

"Good morning. Have a wonderful day," my niece typed to me. We spoke a lot last week, when it was almost August. We talked about real things and learned about each other's lives.  She was seeking to understand, most importantly, in a mix of English and Hebrew, we could actually understand each other.

The echo of the Olympic sports' commentators entered my mind. "She stuck to her plan. Trusted the process."

"I don't know this kid," I told my dad.  "But I love her."  I had been my niece's courteous shadow for years trying to ignore the feeling of constantly being shook off.  Virtual clothes shopping. Her YouTube channel. Her Netflix series. I was always trying to convince myself I was still in this, meaning the eventual arrival of a reciprocal relationship. Had something actually changed? It was my heart's turn to remind me what showing up for someone else could mean.

Unable to escape the irony, I reread Almost August, an essay I published several years ago around a new start. It was based on a memory my father had of me as a toddler who was both strategic and strong. The memory was symbolic of how I should see myself because it was always (if sometimes almost) who I had been.

It took me a moment to locate the essay. Along the way, I visited multiple literary magazine websites that hold my bio. To quote myself, it may, "all come at once, or at least seem like it does." Maybe, especially, when it's August again.