A Time for Everything

Okay diary, I left out a little of last night – so here goes. Cora was still sitting at Oliver's desk reading 'The Frontier Duchess' when we returned from the ranch. When I stated the obvious, that Rita's book was a thinly veiled fictional retelling of her dreams of Norman, Rita absolutely flipped out! On a positive note, it did lead us to the next clue in this not-yet-dead case… The man we had seen was not Marie's husband. All that was left to do was convince Oliver that we needed to share the letter's contents with Marie. The words brazenly manipulative were not used again, but I think they were definitely hanging in the air. Thank you, Rita, for that wonderful memory of yours. You are going to be Marie's letter.

Sometimes, this work we are doing makes you introspective. I sometimes think that there are two different people, DC Shane, and Denver Shane. My life in DC was all about the work. It was analytical, clinical. There were inputs and outputs, lines of code and data. I was like that too, I think. I was about the process; my life was coded too (even the thrill of an occasional hack was about the lines on a screen). Denver Shane is different. My life here is all about the work too, but as well as the head, here I have to use my heart. Seeing Marie, and talking to her about soulmates, about knowing that you are loved, and that perhaps this was her time to reap that love that her younger self and Sam had sown.

Seeing Marie and Sam reunited, and beginning their story again was precious. I hope I was right when I told Rita that there was a time to write stories and a time to live your own. I hope Rita's time (and Norman's) is coming soon.

I have to put something in here to document our dance class…

I guess everyone hates to feel foolish, but I really hate to feel foolish. I have carefully constructed my whole life around being in control. I took an art history major in college because I always secretly feared, as much as I love art, that I was not passionate enough or good enough to be an artist. I learned to code because there are rules; branches, strings and iterations make sense. I am even self-aware enough to know that white-hat hacking is much more my speed – a chance to prove I am clever without having to be (completely) on the wrong side of the law. Even debating was all about being in control. Shaping an argument, writing to a formula, delivering rebuttal with facts but always in a timeframe meant that it was safe.

Dancing, in a class where I was the only beginner, did not feel safe. I don't mean I didn't feel safe dancing with Oliver, that felt safe, almost comfortable. Dancing in front of Madame Francessca and the rest of the class? That did not feel safe. I guess I could say that dance class was the most enjoyable, terrifying, comfortable, disconcerting and altogether unsettling experience. I will need to fit in a lot of practice before our next lesson.