Sometimes, you get lucky

The Tortie is lying on my toes as I write this, purring so hard I can feel the vibrations down to my bones. It's a Monday, but the air is cool and the ache in my left thumb isn't as bad as it was before. (We'll get to that.) All I can think right now is how grateful I am for everything in my life.

I'm grateful I got the tiniest and most spontaneous book tour, following a bunch of unexpected circumstances. It's a growingly rare opportunity. Between the pandemic and declining budgets, authors rarely get sent out into the world anywhere.

I'm so grateful for the people who showed up at the triptych of events. To the surgical tech and the criminologist who chattered with me about viscera. To the teacher who brought his student to Brookline Booksmith. To the lovely woman who came, despite recovering from surgery. To the Astorian crew, who absolutely did not have to clear their evenings to make sure I had friendly faces in the crowd. To the chauffeur (who is also a racecar driver?!) who drove me from Concord to Boston and told me so many interesting things about recreational racing. To my conversation partners, who kept me sane and asked the best questions. To my editors, to my publicist, my marketing manager. To the booksellers for their time and care. To a darling cryptid who kept my houselions going while I was away softly going AAAAA at the world outside of New York. To the friends who shouted about my events and who turned up to them, full of bright joy and warmth. To the new friends met along the way.

I had tried for days to think of a more coherent newsletter to write. I wanted to pen something intelligent, something incisive, something useful to people gearing up for their own tours. But this is all I can manage: just a thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Growingly, I'm convinced that this is what happy ever after in real life looks like. It isn't a fairytale bereft of grief or pain, but something more nuanced: it's having people you trust, and people you can lean on, and work that excites you even when it frustrates you. It's having a reasonably able body, and the ability to improve upon it. It's feeling safe, and having a home you love, and food in your pantry, and plants on your shelf. It's knowing your tomorrows may not be perfect, but you have resources enough to try and make them wonderful anyway.

I think pets are the perfect metaphor for this. You know there will be pain one day. You're aware that loss waits on the horizon. But today, there is warmth and love and play and a trusting form sprawled across your toes. And if you're lucky and if you are careful, there will be a lot of those good days (good months, good years, decades even, god one hopes) to come.

Thank you for being here. I appreciate all of you more than you can know.

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As always, a cat photo.