I do likes me a grand finale. Yes, I do.
For mine, I pulled off a 60-minute presentation with nothing but my bare hands and a stack of index cards. You shoulda been there. (Well, some of you were. Hi! It was kinda fun, huh? Just rolling with it?)
Somewhere along the line, I taught myself how to improvise. Some of it was intentional; some of it was…well…not. But it really is all good.
Every piece of goodness and weirdness and what-the-hell-is-this-ness can move forward with us to inform the next thing. Do your work. Prepare like a motherfucker. Then let the hell go.
Because as one who’s planned a wedding and a career path and countless other Virgo-type Things with Outcomes, I’ll tell you flat-out: you cannot control what will happen.
The restaurateur will use your carefully thought-out seating plan as a coaster and set up whatever two-, six- and 12-tops his people feel like. You will be waved onto the express lane for success and find the speeds make you carsick.
Thank god. The good stuff is what happens in the in-between spaces. The stuff you plan for, not the stuff you plan.
Three weeks of so much unexpected good stuff. Months (I hope) of unpacking ahead of me.
Thank you, Seattle. Thank you everyone along the way, and here and there, and everywhere, who came along for the ride.
Let’s see what kind of trouble we can stir up on our respective home fronts, shall we?