Waiting for corn chowder

I'm at lunch alone on a Monday afternoon. I stopped by one café and when I wasn't satisfied with the soup of the day I turned around and moved on to another restaurant serving up my soup of choice: corn chowder. It's overcast and wet outside here in San Diego, but my heart is quite the opposite.

A friend was sitting in my room yesterday and crying tears of deep joy and relief when she articulated the words with a soulful push, "I can feel that things are changing for us both, and I'm just so happy we're finally going to get what we want."

I fell in love with her even more in that moment. When she opens up it unmasks this profound human side of her that I long for in all my friendships. My body seems to pulsate with the heartbeat of the earth when I have conversations that come from the very vein of emotion running within people. Our conversation left me warm and beyond hopeful for this next stage in my life.

While at lunch and waiting for my corn chowder a memory came to mind. Years ago I was sitting in a restaurant in Bend, Oregon, with my best friend and love at that time. We both agreed we would visit that café as a trip-tradition.  I was sure that we would both experience that moment again and again throughout our lifetime. It's not going to happen, and I'm so happy it's not. I was overwhelmed back then by the love I felt for him, and now I'm overwhelmed with the love I have for life and I'm sitting in that feeling of love right now.

I'll pass up a relationship and a bowl of soup until I find exactly what I want, even if I go hungry for a little while.

I am where I am, and I love it. I'm alone eating lunch on a cold fall day, unattached, and living with a knowledge that all the possibility in the world is staring me in the face. 

Xox,

Sarah