California

I went to California to find God. My teacher told me God was my breath, and I lost mine because I realized he was right, and all this time I had been holding my God, waiting for the bad to pass. That night, I told a stranger everything, and in the morning she called me beautiful despite the flaws and I had to find a quiet place to pray for thanks and forgiveness because for a moment as I flew over things so majestic that I tried to immortalize them on my phone, I forgot that people were perfect.

Between sips of diet coke on a park bench, I think back to how liberating it was to leave the garbage behind, to come to a place where I was free to experience people at their finest. And while I do not believe these people were acting their best, I have come to the conclusion that these people were just simply the best. I came home with a determination to no longer allow those who would do me harm any space in my soul, and as a wonderful woman said to me, in a chair, between bursts of laughter from across the room — the only thing I could do for them, in any case, was pray for their hearts.

As I put my life back together — one book at a time, in the exact spaces where they belong — I find excitement and joy as it falls from pages and picture myself at five in the morning on my way to a cross on a hill rather than work — the mountain of MTA delays and potential daily disappointments are nothing when compared to walking beside models of goodness before the sun was awake.

I remember a pep-talk from a principal that lightened the load in my heart — allowing me to discard unchecked baggage as I panicked my way down a muddy slope. And when I look at the museum man who decided to stay, as we sip tea and gossip, I think, “well, you are not the Oklahoma man I was promised, but I’ll keep you nonetheless.”

And like a dream, I hold onto this tighter than memories because it feels too fragile to let go. I hang tokens of my trip like a shine on my wall to remember what being cared for felt like in case I ever forget two weeks of lessons in believing in moments of joy that have shaped my reality more than a childhood and pricey college degree. I went to California to find God, and instead, I found people. If I’m to believe anything I learned in two weeks, I found what I was looking for.

Written by Dani and originally posted on wearestorymakers.com
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