I first met Dennis after sitting on a park bench at San Elijo Lagoon. Before I go on (and on?), let me tell you that Dennis is 73, I am the opposite of his age at 37, and just between you as the reader and me as the writer, Dennis and I were a pair to behold sitting in that lagoon.
I only wish I had recorded our three hour conversation to transcribe it, as those were the loveliest 3 hours I have had in a very long time. I laughed harder than I cried, and for a sunburn’s worth of time we stared at the lagoon and out into the ocean, then squawked with each other.
After that conversation with Dennis, I didn’t feel like crying into my sheets anymore about work or my personal life. Instead, I felt like being brave and strong, like I already was and just like Dennis. I felt grounded about the future and present with life.
Dennis reminded me over and again that this little Bird’s life has only just begun, things are just getting better (or even best). He reminded me I have a sum of lovely friends and family who are wanting, willing and able to help if I need that kind of support. They love me, as I love them.
Dennis was love. Though I’ve never met him before yesterday, he sat there and conveyed grace and compassion for the human experience as only a wise 73-year old angel could. He reminded me that I am more than OK right now, I am loved, I am love, and I am only making this wide circle of friendships expand as I write to the people I love write now.
Is that “you, love”?
I’ll probably talk a bit more about Dennis in the future since he and I became fast friends. He’s a good soul and I have good intensions and even some training on how to be a friend (to the opposite sex) and so does he.
I think and feel that everything is going to be OK with Dennis. I even feel safe around him. And the cherry on top of this sugar, he said I could write whatever I want about him and whenever I want. He doesn’t care because he trusts me, or he doesn’t care what people think.
Either way, in those moments yesterday with Dennis, I also confirmed that this writing thing doesn’t really matter. It’s about where I allocate my time in the present. He’s right (about write), and I want to be his friend presently with hopes of an agape friendship.
Loving what is, I want to allocate some of my time to hearing more of Dennis’ story this Sunday when we have dinner at 4pm. Perhaps in that “free time” he can teach me a game or two, or I can teach him a sour game of cards. Games will be fun with friends.
And, “mother may I” tell you one more story about love?
I hesitate to write about people that I really adore more than words, but Dennis wasn’t the only person who helped me yesterday. My friend Jim and several of my friends are really stepping up after that old crazy Scorpio full moon burst my life into billions of shiney pieces.
James or Jim? He happens to be one of my best because he can handle when things get emotional. I don’t mention him much here because I feel a little embarrassed sometimes to write to, or about, my closest friends. Often wondering what they will think and whether I embarrass them with my side of these stories. My friend Brian is like that too, and my friend…
fill in the blank of friend’s name(s) here).
If you are out there, you have a “name” and “you” are reading this now…
huMan, thank you for being a friend. Feel free to shoot me a message to tell me to remove your identity or change your name or even your story @Birdanity. Either way, named or nameless, “you, friend” astound me with your wit, grace, humor and kindness.
And Jim or James, specifically? Though we’ve only known each other for _____, on my side of that story and for every day I’ve known you, you’re one of the good “guys”.
If it weren’t for “you”,
I wouldn’t be “me”.