And then there are the days you wake without pondering. You rise naturally, not too early nor too late. You drift to your corner of balcony and look across building tops to a blue sea. Your eyes linger among windows—hundreds of them—sprinkled up high rises, carved into squat, stucco houses. Today you are not perplexed by the multitudes of lives they must contain. Just simply, pleasantly curious.
For breakfast you slice a fresh-grown mango that a cherished friend delivered earlier in the week, the same night in which new words, good and true ones, came out of your pencil and the pencils of others. Those words assemble themselves in your mind now but you resist them a bit longer to linger in the fresh sun on your face.
Because you recognize it, already, as one of those days you’ll float among good feelings. You’ll remember last weekend’s fiesta, when after all the daylight hours passed, you realized you hadn’t once caught yourself feeling like an outsider. Not taking things in, observing, but part of them.
You’ll remember your recent trip to the family farm in Ohio, and still be able to conjure that palpable feeling of love, the kind only people who have loved you all your life can make. The smell of your father’s beautiful flowers will still be in your nose and you won’t feel guilty or sad or yearning like you did when it was time to leave and your niece’s depthless eyes held all of the confusion we call modern life. Instead you’ll be grateful for experiencing the moment she conquered her fear and jumped from the same boulder upon which you played as a child.
You’ll wander down Calle Loiza that teems with Latin life (flora, fauna, folks) all the way to the sea and lie there upon the sand. The palm tree above you will wave it’s greenery against the sun. A slight smile will crest your lips in anticipation of tonight’s festivities, jazz on the waterfront, more good times with good friends. But yours now—of life, of love, of freedom—is a private celebration.