My race for the formula used to be the only thing on the landscape of my life. Now it exists alongside kitchen things and ironic cookies and hotel trysts and long afternoon walks when I should be working. It lives in a world where conflicted emotions can be contained in one simple, fierce word over the phone. Where beauty is an asymmetrical freckle. Where baby goats play. Where I can wake up and Lizzie is the first thing I see. And I lie there loving everything about her so hard that it wakes her up.
