Written August 3, 2025
Hello, Dear Readers,
This Sunday had only one out-of-the-ordinary mission: a run to the local Asian grocery store to restock the essentials. I woke at my usual time to find my wife had already slipped outside, stealthily waging war on the yard.
Now, she wasn’t always this way. In her youth, she was a night owl through and through—someone who thought “morning” began somewhere around brunch. Then, somewhere in her twenties, she flipped her internal clock. The transition was not without bumps; force your body into a new sleep schedule, and it might just retaliate with a cold, a migraine, or a general sense of betrayal. But she discovered that her energy wasn’t lacking—it just needed a kickstart. A brisk morning workout turned her brain into a hyper-focused, productivity machine. From then on, she’s been an unapologetic early bird.
Her day-off schedule is a masterclass in efficiency. Yardwork, shoe shopping, and Asian grocery runs are all plotted in her Google Calendar weeks in advance, color-coded like a military campaign. Workdays get the same treatment—her Outlook calendar is so tightly packed that she can shift tasks within a five-minute window like a chess grandmaster rearranging pieces before the clock runs out.
This actually works in my favor. After my brain stroke—yes, the kind that leaves you relearning basic skills—I needed structure like plants need sunlight. Two holes were drilled in my head to drain fluid, damaging the part of my brain responsible for executive function. Sequencing tasks, building routines, forming new habits—these weren’t just “life tips” anymore; they were survival strategies. Walking could leave me as drained as if I’d played an entire chess tournament in one day.
Living with someone whose days run like clockwork helps me anticipate what’s next. She gives me plenty of notice when her plans might bump mine, especially with my Saturday long runs. In Nashville’s summer heat, you learn quickly that running 10K in the late afternoon is an act of madness. If an Asian grocery trip falls on a Saturday, I shuffle my entire week accordingly.
This morning, I took my time getting ready, fully aware the store wouldn’t open for another hour. My wife wrapped up her outdoor project, came in, and prepped for departure. We shopped, came home, and she went straight into her next marathon: making yogurt, cooling an eggplant dish for herself, and tidying the kitchen. She’s been moving since dawn, and I can already tell tomorrow’s going to be a sore one for her. Hopefully, she lets herself slow down—though knowing her, recovery time will probably end up on the calendar too.