It’s raining. Mist surrounds the top of the evergreens, the moon is shrouded in clouds and the sea is broiling, churning and refusing to rest. I love it. I love the way the elements meet, dance, come to rest and begin again. It makes me feel so alive, so excited to unveil the next mystery. If I get really lucky it will thunder and lightning. Thrilling.
For three weeks I have been on the road, doing what I love to do. The people are so wonderfully amazing. I try to notice how they offer their love to the world by being of service, by paying attention to the details. We all need to notice the love that is around us everywhere it just isn’t always delivered in a package we have come to think means love. Love is someone’s drive for excellence, regardless of the socially important label of their job. The man who brings the firewood cuts each piece so it will easy fit in the fireplace, the local bakery makes the best pizza we have ever had, a restaurant we discovered creates gourmet food that rivals anything I have ever had in Los Angeles or Manhattan.
I love the places that I journey to. I try to appreciate them as if I will never be back.
There are so many worlds to see, so many kind, generous, good people to meet. To retrace my steps has no appeal. So each one I meet is of total importance in the moment. Everything needs to be said now. There will be no tomorrow, no “see ya,” no “I forgot to say thank you,” or “I think you’re great,” or “you cook wondrously.” There are few real do-overs, part of loving ourselves is to cherish this life, to appreciate the place, the beauty, and the people.
I love this place, its beauty, its grace, the next surprise around the corner, yet, I will never travel this way again.
