San Francisco, April 2025.
Next Stop: Cable Cars.
Our little group has already scaled Lombard Street, explored Chinatown, and stopped for overpriced hydration. Standard Coca-Cola (for them) and some pink concoction in a glass bottle for me. With the first sip, my eyes did that thing, and I knew it would be well worth the double-digit dollars the Hubs shelled out on it.
And I hoped no one wanted a taste...
Okay… full disclosure.
I stopped composing just now to go hunt the selfie from the California trip. Even the thought of that beverage has sent my taste buds to watering…
I go to the Google as I sit here on the couch, contorted around two cats as if my weary spine will eventually pop out of the unnatural curve.
It’s called Vybes Mind + Body, Strawberry Lavender.
“Adaptogenic” is the $10 word used to explain its makeup and intent (fitting, because it’s what that bottle cost).
Ingredients are purported to reduce physical and mental stress (got that in spades), support adrenal function (mine’s living in flight or fight, so it’ll suck up any bit of support it can get), and help regulate mood and energy (as soon as Hubs reads this, he’ll be online ordering a semi-load full, given the state of mood and energy glitches happening under this roof).
Evidently, for a bit, my body responded well to these adaptogens. It couldn’t have been a placebo effect because I didn’t know to monitor for adaptogenic benefits.
I only knew that it tasted good.
And I didn't want to share it.
And the first sip made my eyes do that thing.
Back to San Fran: We get on the cable car for our ride up Nob Hill.
Travel Buddy’s hubby holds their Coke. But he’s tapping it against his legs. Against the cable car seat.
My Hubs is gawking about the cable car, whining because he’s not scored an outside seat. Her hubby is still swinging the Coke.
Travel Buddy gets a little ticky. (I’m not whining or ticky because, evidently, adaptogens are coursing through my system, providing me with a sense of… adaptability that’s been heretofore inaccessible and, quite frankly, overall foreign.)
“Hey!” she snaps at him and snatches the Coke from his hands. “You’re de-fizzing my Coke!”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, I knew two things as I took another sip of Strawberry Lavender Vybes and traced the condensation running down the glass with my fingers, blissful.
First: “You’re de-fizzing my Coke” will be a thing now. Like a blog post thing.
Second: That’s what’s been happening in my life. For years.
A de-fizzing of my proverbial Coke.
Inadvertently.
Innocently.
Or with rage and malice.
I’ll have a nice, bubbly event/idea/vibe in motion, and then Poof! The universe de-fizzes it.
Others may describe this phenomenon as a shoe dropping. Or a rug being pulled.
I like “De-fizzed.”
It fits my mood. My energy. My mental capacity for nearly any task.
Once I’m de-fizzed, it’s tough to recalibrate that carbonation.
I stretch from around my two furry feline helpers. My spine and my numb left leg remind me why I shouldn’t compose on the couch.
But I’m curled like this to begin with because I de-fizzed just this morning.
I was going along okay, I thought. Then, Poof! All my bubbles popped. Glitches abound.
Inadaptability gift-wrapped and hand-delivered by the dynamic duo of grief and overwhelm.
The thought of sitting in my office surrounded by the pile of to-dos and estate paperwork made that stress band tighten around my head, de-fizzing my gumption to open the blank page and start the blog.
So, unhook the laptop. Drag it to the couch. Summon the feline overlords.
Pray for universal carbonation recalibration.
And toss in a little hope because The Great Google promises me that Indiana does, in fact, have Vybes. I don’t have to accidentally buy a plane ticket to San Fran to muster the adaptability to manage the next pile of to-dos.
It’s waiting for me in a cold, glass bottle a mere seventy-four minutes and sixty-six miles away.
