Friday was a good day at work. I did a bit of a run around scavenger hunt for toner and was surprised that my security badge got me into places I didn’t know I could go. I learned new things, and I am really digging finance. I left work and drove to Santa Monica for another glorious sunset. I live a blessed life.
I walked the pier and saw that friendly photographer that once offered me a free picture and still offers a warm hug and a hot beverage. He kept offering hot tea and I accepted. I watched people on the pier land small mackerel. I looked for the seal that appears to prefer warmer weather. I even watched a man toss back a crab he caught, accidently knocking his drink into the ocean.
I answered a call last night that carried a redemptive value I never thought I’d see. It was a shift I didn’t know was coming and it arrived long after I gave up on it. The freedom it brings comes with a weighted burden of the heartache that came as a cost to the person bringing my vindication. After being accused of insecurity and jealousy over a friendship, I was told that yes, my ex left me for another man’s wife, and there is something wrong with what the two of them did and continue to do to my family, with blessings from those I once called my family. Being right doesn’t always feel good.
I spoke about the ex for the first time in months and it wasn’t painful. It was more a dull history lesson with angry highlights. I’m moving forward and experiencing many beautiful first times in a long time. It tastes like freedom. It smells like aftershave and feels like facial hair and solid muscles. I waited a long time for that conversation and last night I realized it didn’t matter anymore. I don’t feel happy about it. I feel pity. It sat on my shoulders and as the wind whipped through my hair, I couldn’t toss back the weight of disappointment that this woman felt.
I made a last stubborn walk through forceful winds to look for the gamboling seal that often cheers me up, then headed to the parking lot. I stood in front of Pier Burger and while I felt that dinner should be had, my appetite was gone. I met Patrick with beautiful and haunting blue eyes. He was searching for dinner in the trash in front of the restaurant and I offered him a hot meal instead. I looked in his eyes and addressed him by name. In his uncertain smile I found the cloying weight was a layer of shame that I was feeling and I let go of that weight long ago. I could see it in the way he looked at me, that the weight I was starting to shoulder was no longer my burden to carry. In the glimmer of hope shining in his icy blue eyes, I found my anchor in joy.