Honie Briggs

The thing was so heavy there was no way I could have accidentally left the hotel with the key in my pocket. The morning we left Florence for Naples I held the key one last time, gripping it, feeling the full weight of the heavy brass in my hand. When we checked in, we’d been asked to drop off the key each time we left the hotel. For safety reasons, we assumed. It hadn’t occurred to me to be concerned with safety. I’d never felt safer or more free for that matter. Days and nights exploring, soaking in the sights, savoring the experience with childlike naiveté was one thing that made it so pleasurable.

That morning, as we made our way to the train station, I couldn’t stop thinking about the opulent rooms of the hotel, once a private residence for the wealthy and important or that I’d held a key to one of those rooms. I will never forget that.

This morning, as I made the rounds to some of my favorite blogs, I knew I should be writing. Commenting on blogs isn’t going to get my work done, but it’s so much more fun than buffing and polishing a manuscript. I was scrolling through photos, daydreaming really, when my son came into the office and snapped me back into the moment, saying something about homework. Suddenly I remembered the topic of this post.

Like the weight of that brass tassel, procrastination holds me, grips me. I think I’m longing for the pleasure I felt that morning. Knowing I’d experienced something special, knowing that if the journey ended there, I would have been completely satisfied.