the ramble

Some more of my favorites…

More things I learned in San Diego: take the risk.

Risk being embarrassed. Risk being hurt. Risk looking silly. It’s all okay – feeling silly, getting hurt. Especially when the alternative is not to get kissed.

It feels so freeing: letting go. Having no expectations. Not trying to make something happen, not trying to predict the future. Just trying to live wholly in today. Choosing to be vulnerable is also choosing to be free. Sometimes I forget.

A poem:

What’s the worst that could happen?
He says no. She says yes.
They say ha-ha-ha.
Who cares, really?

What’s the worst that could happen?
You fall. He doesn’t.
(It’s never about you anyway).
And, really, who cares?

What’s the best that could happen?
That sunset is less beautiful than the moment.
Your life changes.
For a minute. For an hour. Forever.

What’s the best that could happen?
You start to believe. Again.
A prayer is actually answered.
You care. Really.

Today it’s the best. Maybe tomorrow the worst.
But today is still the best.
So, on the subject of tomorrow…
Who cares, really?

After all, tomorrow takes care of itself.
But today is all yours.

I was on my way to meet my old co-workers for lunch and catching up and cool breezes on a shady patio when I saw him. Standing there on a cell phone, turned away from me just enough to cast doubt on who he was.

Still. I stopped the car and stared. Thin, tall, dark haired. His facial was different…a goatee.

I realized if I continued to sit in my car in the middle of the road staring, I’d likely be noticed and possibly feel stupid, so I drove slowly by, trying to see his face more clearly. My reaction, I thought, was strangely like an antelope from one of the nature documentaries I often watch. It hears something or sees something and it stops in its tracks. Frozen in an effort to not be seen, or in an effort to figure out from whence comes the danger. Then it bolts.

I got out of my car and moved to the restaurant patio–across the parking lot from where he stood in front of my gym. And I was curious, because he’d been on my mind lately, and I wanted to talk to him. So I started toward the gym, phone out and against my ear, so that I wouldn’t look like a stalker–rather, a distracted, pacing lady on a phone. Nothing to see here, folks, I’m not stalking a man who looks eerily like my ex-boyfriend…just having a nice phone conversation, walking around…nothing to see here.

I walked right past him. But it wasn’t him anyway.

It’s weird when you see someone for the first time after they broke your heart. Someone you didn’t expect to see again. Even when it turns out not to be that someone. It pushes you a little off balance. But I suppose it is good preparation. Because someday I may really run into one of the men whose memories I’ve tried to sweep aside. If only all of them could move away like the Jewish Glassblower Boyfriend or My First Love. The rest of you can please take a cue. Thanks.