Part 9: Widening the Circle

Chapters

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A drive from Oregon to Florida, to experience music and living across the USA, and ultimately join a jazz cruise. AKA, a listening practice, unfolding in real time—written on the road, in the spaces between cities and notes.

Day Seventeen

Fort Lauderdale, FL

My alarm goes off before sunrise. Max is curled against my chest, breathing heavy and steady, warm—still smelling of last night's bath, salt hiding in his ears from Key West. I slide my hand onto his chest and feel his heartbeat. Solid. Certain. Alive. For a moment, I don't move. I just listen.

But morning comes anyway. I gather the leash, harness, treats—moving slower than usual, gentler, not wanting him to wake before he knows what today is. He stretches, looks up at me: Oh good. We're together. What's next? He doesn't know this is a big day. I do.

Part of me wants to keep driving. Skip it. But growth rarely looks like comfort.

At the Pet Lodge, the trainer meets us with an easy smile—calm, grounded. We talk music almost immediately, and the familiarity steadies me. Then I hand her the leash. It feels heavier than nylon. I kneel, lift him—tummy to chest, one last squeeze. "Sit." He sits. Perfect. "See you later." Not goodbye. Never goodbye. I walk out without turning around twice.

Still—the car feels wrong without him. No tags clicking. No soft snort. Just space.

Yesterday, in Key West, he overheated on our walk—panting, eyes glassy. I scooped him up, blasted the AC, rubbed ice along his belly. He melted. Belly up, trusting gravity itself. You've got me. That kind of trust changes you. Wordless. Mammal to mammal.

So today feels strange in reverse. Yesterday I was regulating his body. Today I'm trusting someone else to. Maybe love isn't gripping tighter. Maybe it's widening the circle.

Back at the hotel, the room is too tidy. No leash on the chair. No water bowl clink. For the first time in weeks, there's nowhere I have to drive. No routes. No logistics. Just space.

So I let the day be mine. I work out, walk South Beach—art deco curves, sunlight on the water, everyone dressed like life itself is the occasion. I don't manage anything. I simply exist inside it.

Later, at the Ritz, a glass of wine. Ocean in front of me. Breath steady. Tomorrow the music begins on a different level. Tonight, I just get to be.

Miles ahead.

To Be Continued / See Chapter List At Top