June or something, 2014: madison in madison

One epically punny coupla days in Madison, Wisconsin. A weekend that, in many ways, decided the rest of my life. A pivotal moment.

noun piv·ot \ˈpi-vət\
  1. a shaft or pin on which something turns

  2. a :  a person, thing, or factor having a major or central role, function, or effect b :  a key player or position; specifically :  an offensive position of a basketball player standing usually with back to the basket to relay passes, shoot, or provide a screen for teammates

  3. the action of pivoting; especially :  the action in basketball of stepping with one foot while keeping the other foot at its point of contact with the floor

So, for the purposes of this post: number two, but without the basketball. Also maybe one, actually.

I remember spending these days in Madison keenly aware of this pivot-y moment I was living in. I was exploring this new city as a surveyor, trying out coffee shops and wondering if I could see myself frequenting them as my local establishments, strolling streets and wondering which neighborhoods I could live in, being interviewed for a potential job and interviewing it right back — are you right for me, too?

Seeing glimpses of future romances — in the bowl of a pasta, in the halls of a quirky “campus,” in the downpour of a summer rainstorm.

Glimpses that turned into coulda-woulda moments, eventually.

But note: No “shouldas,” because I pivoted away and I pivoted right.

But it was a fun coupla days, nonetheless. I’m grateful for the glimpses I got to have, and to have made the decision I made, that much more informed.

 

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