The last day in Cuba was probably the most perfect in terms of weather.
Fall, Winter, and Spring means that Andrew’s business is in full swing. Which is great for finances obviously, but it also means a lot of business trips and a lot more responsibility on me at home.
I’m going to consciously try and keep it going. I need one day a week to me – one 6 hour block that is mine. And Friday seems like a good one.
As much as I try, as much as I claim to be jaded and cynical, I often fail. As a friend once said to me, “You think you are, you hope you are, but you’re not.” That same friend now routinely calls me ‘innocent.’
I think I’m far from that. I think I’m very pragmatic. And I am. But at the same time there’s a part of me that believes in unicorns and magic…or in my case, spaceships and heroes. *Think Mal from Firefly riding in on his beat up cargo hauler and rescuing the girl. He’s jaded and cynical but highly idealistic.*
I guess there’s that part that hopes people have the best intentions, and hopes that people have love in their heart, and will speak their truth. To be fair, as much as that will get me hurt, I don’t want to stop believing and hoping that every person I meet will be as truthful and gentle with me as I try to be with them. I know that’s not the case, but I choose to believe and act until shown otherwise.
No mystery here. I’m an open book. I hope you come to me the same.
If so, we can get a coffee.
If not, well…..speak softly and carry a big stick.
I carry a sword.
It signals the end of summer and the return to reality. But we can all just ignore that, right?
Use it as an excuse to spend time with friends, having a cold bevy *alcoholic or not* and being a bit silly, just for kicks.
That’s what I’m doing with one of my best girlfriends. Getting all silly…I mean, er, no, we’re totally serious.
Something about sitting around a campfire with moonlight and starlight streaking down. With a lovely whiskey and good friends, there is perfection. I did that.
All I did was sit around a campfire with some people, some could say. But my love for them deepened. And I could convey a million words in simply holding my good friends hand and watching the fire burn the past.
There’s this image that bloggers, mostly fashion and lifestyle, present.
Of course, it’s the perfectly lit and edited photos showcasing the oh-so-effortlessly-chic outfit that looks absolutely perfect. Yet the reality is this. This photo above taken at the end of the day. Hair is messy and sweaty from the thirty five minutes I literally just spent biking in high heat and humidity. The braid has become mussed from the day as well. And this outfit was more utilitarian than chic.
What you don’t see is the coffee spill from rushing. Or the ketchup that slipped out and onto pants. Or the wrinkles that happen when you’ve sat and just lived in clothes. You don’t see that. Because outfit photos are usually taken before all that, or it’s photoshopped out. And you definitely don’t see such stellar, model worthy shots like the graceful one below:
I have very imperfect friends. Some overshare, some drink too much sometimes, some say stupid things at the most inopportune moments, some can be harsh …basically they make mistakes and have flaws, and are human.
All of them are well meaning, and caring, and accepting, and honest.
I can tolerate a lot as long those things are present. Tolerate isn’t the right word. A lot of things don’t bother me because of the presence of the others – that’s a better way to put it. In fact, I count on my friends being imperfect, because that means that they’ll hopefully be forgiving of my own imperfections. Of which I have many, and I try to surround myself with people who will forgive me when I say/do something stupid at the most inopportune of moments knowing that I probably don’t mean it, because I’d like to think I’m well meaning, caring, accepting, and honest.
Finding little places like this, low in a valley and hidden from the city, is like entering a secret garden.
Logically, I know that this place is frequented by many.
But emotionally, it feels like my own secret place.
Quiet and undiscovered.
It just begs and cries out for a little twirling and dancing.