It takes exactly 7 minutes to walk from my house to Swami's beach. I love the walk. It is through a pumpkin patch, an orange grove and then a quick hop across the train tracks, Pacific Coast Highway and voila! Swami's!
Today, it takes me 15-minutes. I feel dead inside. I don't have a desired outcome. I don't have an ideal format. At least I am prepared. I have printed both our emails in case he wants to discuss them. I have also printed the California Child Support Guidebook and Calculator. If he is out, I want to be sure he has this information so that he can make a financial plan.
I am early. I sit on a bench facing the ocean and close my eyes. The sun feels amazing. He slides in next to me. I don't have words. I find them.
"How do you want this to go?"
"I'm here. I will do what you want."
We walk down to the sand and sit. He’s better looking than I remember and it feels so normal.
We talk about divorce, depression, loneliness, fear, judgment, fear of judgment, communication, our needs, what “all in” means, what “space” means.
I swear, it is a 10-minute conversation and we are good. Clear. On the same page.
We go for a walk on the rocks. We go downtown for coffee. I show him the old schoolhouse and the “Ship” apartments. We talk about trivial things. My writing. Krav Maga. Yoga. His business. My work.
We go to my house. We keep talking, laughing and getting to know each other. It is a great day. We clarify what “space” means and negotiate something that works for both of us. We decide to work on a friendship since we've obviously nailed sex. We decide to connect Wednesday after my doctor’s appointment and to see each other next Sunday.
Sunday is back.