Rain falling on the ocean…

I’ve had an interesting past couple of days. Typical of my life, it was full of personal revelations that, in the final analysis, mean very little but are fun to talk about just the same…

I spoke with Rosa yesterday morning. I spoke with her because I had a non-“relationship” topic and I thought we could just talk. Okay, so I was wrong. The topic was over an “Adventure Pass”. An “Adventure Pass” is a parking pass to the national forests, which is an annual pass that allows you to park without paying a fee. The pass, however, is $30. If you hike regularly, it quickly pays for itself. Since I would be hiking on Saturday (today), I would need one. So, I called Rosa to ask her if she had one.

It was painful to hear Rosa’s complete lack of concern, her neutrality. My heart was breaking and it seemed difficult for her to remember my name. I kept expecting her to call me “Kim” or “Len” or something close but not quite there.

Anyway, I was very upset. And a storm was moving in, making it look like hiking on Saturday would be out.

So, I drove to REI at lunch and bought myself an Adventure Pass. I stopped at home and grabbed my gear. My boss let me leave work an hour early and I shot down the 5 freeway, on my way to Ortega highway and the hiking trail.

Now, why was I doing this? Why was I hiking alone? I’d always been a proponent of the “buddy system” when hiking. It’s just common sense; why was I going against that now? Very simply, because I was alone. I am alone. Hiking was something sacred to me in relation to my marriage. It was always hard to me to go without her, harder considering the few times that happened, I did it with another woman. Talk about your infidelities…

Further, I needed something tangible, some visible way that I could live without Rosa. I needed to be able to say, “Look. You might be alone and miserable and in terrible pain but you can hike.” As small as that was, it was something. This mental state worried me, and worries me, but my head is so full of Rosa, my heart so broken, that I feel – for lack of a better term – mentally constipated. I want to write but I can’t. I cannot create. Rosa turning away from me has left me feeling impotent – and I needed to show myself that it wasn’t so.

But the rain was coming. It could have rained while I was hiking. In addition, I was hiking at night. Night could fall and I could get lost out there.

I couldn’t have cared less.

I went. And I had a wonderful time because it was just me and the ground and the trees and the creek and the sky above. My feet were moving and my blood was pumping and there was no time to fear aloneness. There was no time to contemplate “out-here-ness” and “in-there-ness”, the idea that I have been left out here in a cold world without a warmth of Rosa’s sweet, sweet embrace. There was no time for that clutching sensation of doom to take my breath and catch it in my throat until I felt dizzy with anguish.

It was good. It was something that made me feel less dead inside. Not alive. Not happy. But less dead was better than I’d felt in weeks.

So, I’ll be doing more of that.

Afterwards – and, by the way, it didn’t rain on me and I drove away in plenty of light – I headed down to San Diego to see Tim. He’s been a terrific help. I always know he’ll make me feel good about myself, even when I know he’s trying for the opposite affect.

This afternoon, as I was driving home, I saw rain off the coast, pouring into the ocean. Rain on the ocean. What a terrible waste. There are drought-stricken states, empty rivers, farmers praying for the stuff. There it was, water into water.

I’ve only seen this a couple times in my life… and I think this was the first time I saw it in California. It’s a beautiful sight, almost daunting.

Rain on the ocean. So pointless. Life giving rain, falling into an ocean that doesn’t need it, doesn’t want it.

… And, as I’m sure you’re not surprised to hear, I thought of Rosa.

Rain falling into the ocean. Like love being showered onto someone who doesn’t want it, doesn’t need it – or who doesn’t think she needs it.

What a waste.

But I move over here, away from the ocean – and maybe there’s someone who’s praying for some rain.

God, if only it was that easy!

…

For those who have been writing and calling and generally tolerating me, I want to express my gratitude. This is a hard time for me, one of many, and I am grateful. If I haven’t heard from you lately, please send me a word and let me know how things are in your world.