Re-Definitions

I’m lying on the sand, atop a beach towel that’s not quite long enough for my tall frame (they never are), staring at the John Hancock building. And, for the first time in a week and a half, I only feel a twinge of sadness. Numbness would be the accurate term for what I feel at this moment. I’m still wondering if I’ll ever get an eight-hour night of sleep again, but I'm slightly comforted by the fact that my waning appetite has helped me lose nearly ten pounds.

It’s about 6 p.m. There are only a couple of hours of sunlight remaining. I’m at the beach alone, but that’s okay. This gives me time to get comfortable with being alone again. No one bothers me, aside from the occasional ogling eye. And really that’s all I want right now, in this moment—-to be left alone. I am taking time to reevaluate. The world. My life. My outlook.

I have been foolish enough to be a romantic; an idealist. I realize that anyone who’s read my blogs could have pinpointed that in a heartbeat. But I have always envisioned myself as a realist. Practical. Not to be taken by flights of fancy. After all, I always disparaged the Transcendentalists because I felt they were too often idealistic. But I learned the hard way that I was lying to myself. Deep down, I've been what is sometimes referred to as a "silly heart."

The sun is retreating and the shadows of high rises stretch up the backs of my legs. I feel their coolness, juxtaposed against the heat of my upper body, still basking in the sun. I take it in. I just want to feel that contrast, to feel my aliveness. But I wish that the sunshine wouldn’t fade so fast.

As the sun recedes, I move closer to the lake, prolonging the rays of sunshine until the shadows overtake me. I lie there until, inevitably, the light fades behind the buildings and I am left lying in shadow, with goose bumps erupting like waves across my skin. I am reluctant to leave, to let go. Of the daylight, of love, of someone with whom I'd gotten used to sharing my life. I feel the tears spilling out from behind my sunglasses, and I wonder that there’s any liquid left in my body after all these days of crying.

But even as I retreat from numbness back to sadness, I allow myself to become distracted by the gulls as they patter about, leaving webbed prints in the sand. I find myself grinning at their movements. I think to myself that they are both cute and funny-looking. But then I realize that they wouldn't look so cute if they shat on your head. And the thought of one of those birds pooping on someone’s head is so hilarious to me, that I start laughing. And as I'm lying there making myself laugh, I suddenly realize that idealists (yes, I am one) need not fear sunsets and shadows—-they’ve got plenty of sunshine within.