I felt great today! So energetic and stable up stairs, like weights had been removed from my ankles which were actually bare in my cute sandals. I endured a lot of walking in the heat and it felt wonderful. I was with my friend who I hadn't seen in a year. We had lots of girly chats. I had a glass of white wine on a restaurant patio... In the afternoon! I don't think I'd ever had a drink during the day, no less in the sun, but why not? This was a special occasion. I love wine, but avoid it when wobbling, asthma or heart racing are or have recently been present. How lovely it is to not have to worry about these, to just enjoy because I want to. Because I'm 24 years old and I want to hang out with my friend. I made sure we clinked glasses (in hers was beer... ew!) to mark our reunion and my great health. It was a silent toast, though.
I like to keep quiet during happy moments like this one. I'm selfish. I want the happiness all to myself! Well, it's the introspection I want to keep to myself. The awareness that I couldn't possibly convey my happiness with words and gestures. Yes, I'm often happy to physically be with friends in silence or to listen to them talk mostly -- not that my friend dominated the conversation or anything. I talked of course. I expressed my amazement that we had graduated from York over a year ago and last seen each other around that time before her move to England.
We were down on The Beach, a neighborhood in Toronto named for its -- you guessed it -- beach and the cute village street behind it. So I had not only my friend's company to savour, but the sun and the kids and dogs that occupied the beach with great enthusiasm and joy.
And I felt that joy most intensely when a boy of probably seven ran up to me and hugged me. His mom had wound a toy balsam wood plane and accidentally shot it into the direction of me and my friend. She apologized. As I told her not to worry because I played with those planes as a child and thought they were very fun, I felt some rapid thumps approach me on the boardwalk, then the boy's two arms locked my body to his, his head on my chest. I wrapped my arms around him and asked him his name. Daniel. I told him my name. Ashley. I offered my hand and he shook it firmly. His mom said I had made a new friend. I couldn't think of truer words to describe that moment. I said maybe he thought I was someone he knew, but part of me hoped there was no mistake. This was love. I was sad when he left me and we walked away. I said goodbye to Daniel and his mom and brother. Seriously sad. I would probably never see him again. How often do you feel that connection? That love? Kids amaze me with their uncensored passion and zest for life, apparently never hesitant to share how they feel. It kind of makes me want to have kids one day.
I didn't say much with my friend and with Daniel. Both experiences were great in part because I felt little compulsion or reason to speak.