meandering musings

[I originally wrote this post in September of 2016. I didn't publish it because I felt like there wasn't a point. When I came across it recently, I decided that the world at least needed to know about the man on the beach. :)]

It's late.

Well, not that late. It's only 10:30. Normally when I can't sleep, I end up tossing and turning until 3 before I take to the computer to write it out. It's been awhile. I suppose I've had some really great creative outlets that have taken the spark out of writing a little bit for me. Sometimes though, you just gotta tell the world what's up.

Through various steps that my husband and I are taking in our lives at the moment, I've been driven to looking inward. Connecting with my inner self to learn where true happiness in my life can be found. Strangely enough, this is very easy for some people. There are people, like my spouse, who know exactly who they are. They know exactly what they're doing here. They know the type of person they want to present to the world. They are firm in their purpose, and seeing the "next step" is not a struggle for them. There are others though, who like me, haven't ever really connected with that inner self. 

It's really interesting to learn this about yourself. For instance, I didn't know until recently that I don't really have a favorite...anything. Food, type of music, band, color, movie, book,...I could go on. Isn't that weird? Whenever my husband decides it's my turn to pick the music, he'll ask me what I feel like listening to. 9 times out of 10, my answer will either be, "I don't know," "I don't care," or "Anything but..." The same thing happens when he wants to know where I would like to eat if we're going out. When I'm asked what my favorite color is, I usually just say something that sounds good, like sunset colors. I don't even have a style in clothing. I'm not drawn to anything in particular, but there's not much I dislike either. Which is fine. All of this is alright. It means I'm really easy to please. For the most part. It just contributes to this picture I'm trying to paint for you of someone who feels very ambiguous in her existence. 

Perhaps I'm just in a funk lately. Change does that to me. With my husband's school year started again, I am left alone way more often than I'm used to, especially after a summer of spending a whole ton of time together. It was wonderful, and now not seeing him as much is really an adjustment. It's not fun, but I've accepted it as part of my life. I try not to make him feel badly about it, since it really is for a good cause. 

This is a really weird post. No rhyme or reason to it but to get words out of me. I did have a really cool experience at the beach today though. I started out in a state of reflection and introspection. This turned to a bewildered and confused state, followed by about 15 minutes of crying. Thankfully, it's Monday, and there were very few people at the beach. Not to mention, I had my Mickey sunglasses on, which are reflective, so you can't see my eyes behind them. Once the flow of tears had ebbed, I laid back on my blanket in the sand and put my headphones in. I listened to the waves behind the soft music I was playing, and just laid there sort of numb. Empty. It felt alright. Then I sat up and attempted to write out what I was feeling on paper. It wasn't working so I decided to just stare out at the water. Which is something I could do all day, every day. The sea is mesmerizing to me. 

The next thing I know, there is an old man sitting next to me on my blanket, showing me his sketch of the beach, which will soon be a beautiful watercolor painting. He's a sort of nomad, living out of his VW van, and mostly he sticks close to Laguna, but apparently, he has big plans for Baja. He showed me his portfolio, and I was blessed to see his amazing talent with a brush. He told me his life story and his name, and he asked to see my sketchbook. I self-consciously showed him some things, and he told me to get better paper. Then he told me about his plan to sell a song he's written, which is about caring for the environment, and I got to record him playing it for me on his harmonica. He is a self-proclaimed hippie, and since's he's not the first I've ever met, nor the first I've liked immediately, I don't think of that as a derogatory term. He wants to trade me a painting for a massage. We'll see. 

After my encounter with that man, I felt even more like the tiniest speck of sand on an infinitely stretching beach. Complete ambiguity. Nothing definable about me. He spoke with such passion about his art and the environment and all the people he's met. This man lives and makes a mark wherever he goes. What is my mark? What am I passionate about?