I appreciate beautiful things, or rather I appreciate the beauty in so many things. One of those "things" is what I've just been given: vulnerable honesty, the kind where you put yourself out there. I mean really lay it out there and allow whatever happens next to just unfold effortlessly. Beautiful, luscious, extravagant, decadent vulnerability.
I met a man. I saw a man across the room, and I looked at him over and over and over. He talked on his cell and typed on his laptop, and I snuck peeks over at him every chance I got.
I was there for a meeting with a friend to talk blogs, discuss marketing on the Internet, and to catch up on personal news. And behind her was this man I saw for the first time. He was dressed in black, and I couldn't help but notice how polished his shoes were when he walked by.
For two hours we exchanged glances and nothing else.
I was ridiculed when I got home and told my story. I was asked why I didn't get his name or his number, and let him know I was interested. I was labeled a chicken.
Really? I can leave a 32-year relationship and move to the mountains. I can fly small aircraft under the hood (meaning only being able to see the instrument panel) without a problem, and now I'm being called a coward because I didn't get a man's name? Really?
So, now I was on a mission. I was going to get this man's name, and I did, and so did my friend. Actually, she met him first, but the fact remains that I walked right up to him, and introduced myself. We talked for a little bit, long enough for me to want more.
Returning home, I Googled him. I found his website and read every word. I was fascinated with his writing, intrigued by his stories, and smitten with his view of the world. The one thing I didn't discover from what I read was whether or not he was available. And more importantly, if I were to ask, would I get the truth?
He surprised me. No, surprise isn't the right word. The feeling I got from his email that responded to my question of his marital status was one of awe. I read his words, and my heart blossomed open. Oh, and no, he's not available, but the way he wrote it made me so happy he wasn't until I realized what this meant for us. There couldn't be an us. Ah...well...
And then I thought about what it could be like to be his friend, what it would be like to sit across the table from him and sip coffee while we talked, or spinning a few tales while walking in a park, or looking at an art exhibit. Suddenly another world of new possibilities opened up, looking more intriguing than what I could've imagined before.
He could be my friend. How lovely it would be to just share some moments with him, learning more about who he is and how he shows up in the world, knowing full well that's as far as it would go. What a pleasant and welcomed gift. No pretenses, no anything besides lovely warm friendship.
All I know is that since reading his email the sun shines brighter and it's easier to smile. Is that so bad?