July and August have been outliers for me blog-wise, having only posted a few times during these long summer months. They’ve also been outliers life-wise. Days have been so blissful, so ripe, so *abundant* — I’d have italicized that word were not everything already so important.
We’re facing changes expectantly, maybe even eagerly. For the first time in my life I am both excited about the future and in no hurry for the present to depart. I used to be restless in the bad way, always looking ahead for something better, always dissatisfied with the present state of affairs. But these days with you are magnificent. Though I am stoked for things to come I also can’t help wishing for things to stay the way they are, if only for a little while longer.
Last Friday evening Shannon and I headed straight after work to visit family in San Rafael. Northbound on I-280 she was reading to me, a story spun with colorful characters known only to herself, transferred only to me. I felt this tearing dichotomy inside: I wanted to tell everyone about this immediate beauty but I also wanted to keep it all for myself, every last fictional drop. “It’s made up, the hotel doesn’t exist.” Her words, and still the only thing I’ll tell anyone who asks.
It wasn’t long before 19th Ave became US-101 North and lofty matte-red love stood casting sunset shadows: the sky above the bridge dozed clear, a criminal view. I could drive across this bridge forever it’s so beautiful. Her hair was flying in streams behind her at 40mph, utterly lawless, and when we finally made it to the other side we were taken by looming haunts of towering earth.
Late Saturday afternoon we headed in the opposite direction, stopping short of the bridge crossing to detour through the Marin Headlands. She knew what she wanted to show me but we had to intuit the way: “I think it’s a left. Yeah just follow this I think…” My trusty navigator.
Over a hill her hands tighten around my arm, a sign of excitement I love. “This is it!! Saaaam!!!”
Parked. A few sips of Capri Sun. “Should we bring a blanket?” I don’t know where we’re headed. “No, let’s not bring anything.” Every other breeze on the plateau smells of manure, fertilizer for parts of terrain still in the domain of humans.
We’re leaving said domain, descending, and the cliffside is steep. She’s concerned for my left leg but I shrug it off, I’m growing more excited as we approach the bottom — the walkway is narrow and I have to let go of her hand a few times so that we can continue single-file to allow for passerbys. Halfway down we think of removing our shoes, but the sand turns again to scraggly rock and we have to put them back on.
A final flight of stairs before we hit the dark sands of the headlands. Off come the shoes, up roll our pant-legs, and we’re standing ankle-deep in ocean. Everything bites: the brisk air, the crawling water, the packed ground, the glaring sun. We back out of the water momentarily to take off our clothes…
And this was the moment of 2014, of my life till now, till ever maybe. Falling full-speed into the waves wearing nothing but our undergarments, tumbling in salt-splashed exhilaration, drowning in relentless joy.