I’d forgotten how nice it is to make friends. Just make new friends. As easily as when we were children, when all we needed in common was a swing set or a ball and we could become fast friends.
For many years now I have been very reserved about making new friends. After my bout with homelessness and the abandonment I felt from the people I trusted the most, I learned to hold my heart close and guarded. But everything is different now. I am different now.
I think I’m becoming happier.
I have less stress. I have less anxiety. I laugh more. I walk more. I have more times when I actually feel like being social. For the longest time, I could only take people in small doses or if we were drinking together. Otherwise, I became bored or overwhelmed—extended conversation was simply too much to manage.
I suppose part of that is the necessary solitariness of being a writer. After all, writers work alone. We have to. It is only alone that we can hear the voice of the muse, that we can maintain the connection over an extended period of time. The muse becomes our primary relationship. It becomes the center of our worlds.
But even the solitary, heart-wounded writer must come out from behind the keyboard eventually. And I am glad that today when I did there were new friends to have a little fun with.
|Dan and Mandy waiting for the pizza delivery boat.|
|Mandy and Dan watching the "fleet" go by.|
|Rick decides to join them.|
|Rick decides he'd rather walk ON the water!|
|I told you I could do it!|
|Going down with the picnic table.|
|Rick, me and Mandy. Having fun like kids at camp!|
|"Come on, hon, I'll carry you!"|
|"No, you won't!"|
|"I can wade."|
|Lazin' like a lizard in the sun.|