Pursuit of Happiness

Last night, one of my best friends said I’m the happiest she’s seen me in a long time.

When’s the last time anyone’s said that to you?

I should go buy her something pretty.

Surprises

I’m not really big on surprises.

I like planning my own birthday parties because I don’t want to be disappointed. I don’t mind knowing how a movie or book ends before I watch or read it because suspense can be a gut-wrenching process. And I actually prefer knowing if any of the movie’s main characters die because then I know not to get too attached.

I’m not a consummate planner or a total control freak. I like to roll with the punches… I just like to have an idea of the direction they’re rolling.

However, I also relish being completely and pleasantly caught off-guard, whether it be a chance meeting, a spontaneous confession, a second glance, a bad night ending beautifully, or an unexpected delivery. The majority of life’s most thoroughly delicious moments happen when you aren’t looking for, planning or expecting anything.

Good Meal + Good Friend + Good Conversation

+ Good Wine and Martinis… Is there anything better??

Rock ‘n Roll Forever

There’s a classic line from Penny Lane in Almost Famous that says “If you ever get lonely, just go to the record store and visit your friends.”

Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Lynard Skynard, classic Aerosmith… they’re all my BFFs today.

The View at El Porto Around 8:30 a.m.

1) My run is over and 2) All the morning surfers are stripping off their wetsuits in the parking lot, calling it a day just in time to avoid feeding the meter at 9. Life is good.

Hagrid

I’ve been running in the morning at Manhattan Beach, Calif., for the past 1.5 years. I love how I feel after a two mile run and even more after making it the entire four miles stretch of strand. Most mornings, I come across a tall, big-boned, wildly hairy, sun-weathered homeless person who I’ve dubbed Hagrid, from the Harry Potter books. He’s usually wearing wornout flip-flops, a dirty grey t-shirt and shorts, and carrying a plastic white bag. He’s always either walking on the strand or sitting on a bench looking at the ocean. He seems very peaceful, harmless. He doesn’t seem too dirty, which is probably thanks to the showers at MB, and he doesn’t look starved. We’ve never had any contact, but nonetheless, I smile to myself when I see him. I’m happy, if not relieved, he’s still around although not happy for his circumstance. 

When I lived in Paris for six months, there was a homeless man I would see every day at the Cluny-La Sorbonne metro stop on my way to and from school. I think he was Asian. Shoulder-length hair. Dirty. Sometimes digging through the trash; other times just sitting there rambling in French. Again, never exchanged words. I may have given him centimes at one point. The first time I saw him, some young punks threw leftovers at him, which he went chasing after and devoured. I was somehow comforted by his daily presence. When I returned to Paris two years later and again four years after that, he wasn’t at the subway station anymore. I like to think he somehow made it off the streets or just settled down at a different Parisian metro stop… but my heart says he probably died.

Flying Over the 405 Freeway

Seeing the red and white lights on the 405 means the flight is 99 percent over and I’m about 20 minutes away from my bed…