Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine myself doing something that involves no one but me. Like a dream, a picture forms of me smiling while talking with people. I’m behind a beautifully decorated table full of flowers, selling my soap on a cobblestone street. I have a huge, fragrant flower in my hair and I’m dressed in flowing, comfortable and beautiful clothing.
Sometimes, I’m at a cafe, sitting outside in the sun writing or reading a really good book with a positive message.
Sometimes I’m dressed in well-fitting athletic clothes – capri pants and a tank top and barefoot on a yoga mat in a perfect downward dog, fit and flexible and beautiful.
Sometimes it’s evening light just escaping from the sky and I’m perfectly high, singing songs for a small crowd at a funky, cool coffee shop.
Sometimes I’m surrounded by children and stacks of books and fluffy pillows at a library, strumming silly songs that make all of them smile, and clap and dance.
Other times it’s morning and I’m walking along a beach, combing for treasure that I later take home. Sitting in a room with the ocean out my open windows, I create something unique and wonderful with shells, and glass, and paint and glitter.
Other times I’m making amazing cakes and pies, just like Keri Russell in Waitress that I proudly serve to the people I love with good, creamy whole milk and coffee.
Or I’m in a new place with no time restraints at all and I’m exploring the town. I walk into shops and browse, gaining inspiration and maybe a colored glass bottle for my window sill or a lovely dress that fits just right.
Maybe I’ve just taken a sweaty hike and I come upon a spring. I strip down to my panties and take a dip, relishing in the beauty of nature.
Or I’m at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that happens to serve up amazing pasta and the perfect, sweet-enough glass of wine. I eat the whole thing myself and order a moist chocolate cake slice for dessert. I float out of that place on a food high and walk back to my cute hostel or hotel and watch a romantic comedy that makes me cry and laugh, sprawled out on my bed in a lovely dress I found for 8 bucks at a thrift store the day before until I fall asleep.
In this “sometimes realm,” I wake up the next morning and drive to the airport. I happen to love airports, so I go inside and wait at a restaurant bar where I consume a strong breakfast beer that makes me dizzy and chase it with a homemade scone I picked up on that cobbled street where I vended my soap. Soon enough, I see him. Ecstatic at his arrival, I run to meet him and throw my arms around him, spilling forth all of the stories of my adventures. Because really, in the end, what matters most is love. And lucky for me, I’ve found that.