I’m trying to collect my thoughts enough to write something, but it ain’t going too well. Maybe I should just write anyway.
I’m in Covent Garden at Le Pain Quotidien. My beloved Le Pain Quotidien. I don’t haunt pubs, I haunt coffee shops and wine bars. I love it as I can sit down and type away, surrounded by people.
I went to see a friend this morning for a back treatment, then we ended up sitting talking by the Thames in the windy sunshine. After that I walked here, after here a haircut and then a production meeting at my member’s club. I treasure days like these. So simple and filled with what I love – writing, directing and people.
It reminds me of another time. I was over in London from LA, just after Easter. I was sitting in this very cafe, writing. Probably about a boy. I mean it’s always about a boy isn’t it? Whether he exists, or not. Whether he is a figment of my imagination, or a reality. Whether I truly care in that moment, or not. Whether he is a dream for the future, an unknown face, or a current reality. That particular boy from long ago, whatever he was, or is, he taught me many things…“…the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” Funny how love works. Funny how we learn what we want to learn, so if the person does nothing. We just learn.
There is a grain of sand. The sand doesn’t do much. It’s just…sand, but if I look at the grain of sand for long enough, if I study how the elements move it, how it is shaped, it’s weight, how it behaves…I’m sure to learn something. And maybe that’s what life is like: we set out to learn things and somehow we teach ourselves by our interactions with life.
It’s funny – looking around on this crowded square you see men that feel cool because their hair is combed in a certain way and their Raybans give them a certain look. Yet, underneath it…they are naked. When life tosses them about, they are naked. Standing in the midst of what is presented. Then, I guess all you have is your heart and the love you have showered on others. The love that then returns to sender. Even in the midst of the eye of the storm when they have nothing but themselves. No Raybans. No credit cards. They still get the love, the return to sender.
Love means so much to me and it’s really strange how I’ve managed to avoid it. Not avoided feeling it, but achieving it. Too scared I wasn’t worth it, couldn’t have it. Too scared by my past to move into my future. Too hidden behind credit cards and Raybans trying to be seen as being someone, rather than just being. To scared when looking around at the people who found the candle, but let the wind extinguish the flame…the ones that didn’t keep love alive, I guess it scared me even more.
I used to blame my love life on the men. Even though I took responsibility for my own choices by the end of the day I still blamed them somehow. On another trip to London I remember thinking: “I came all this way and you didn’t even try it you bastard. You never even lit the flame, so how will we ever know? You closed your door before you ever opened it. And I will have to live with not knowing.” Of course people’s choice are up to them. With an open heart you just move onto find an open heart. Yet in this instance, even if he would have tried, I would have killed it. I didn’t trust it, I never do. And yet, I love so much.
I don’t know how to trust love, as it’s always gone wrong. I guess I will have to start living in it. Living in love. So I feel it and know it. Know when someone loves me too. Not just heart to heart, soul to soul, but the dedication to that connection. I never fell for those men. I fell for cowards like me. I may cross the Atlantic, but to open my eyes and show my love…to trust them with my love…I would never even reach my hand across the table and mean it. I mean, I would mean it. Deep down inside, but that wouldn’t come across. I would be scared. I wouldn’t trust them, probably for good reasons. You are drawn to your beliefs. And so I would ruin it.
“How does it feel to be on your own…like a rolling stone…” The street musician is nailing it. I’ve finished my walnut bread sandwich and hot chocolate. The wind is blowing to the point of moving umbrellas and shaking the tables. My heart is opening. One morsel, or sip rather, of hot cocoa at the time. My ex used to say hot cocoa. I remember that from when we first met at the tender age of 17 in the French countryside. I believe I told him, standing outside a church that I’d love to get married there. Just not to him.
I don’t know how to finish this. Maybe because I don’t know how it will go…maybe one day, maybe one day I will taste love again.
“…and I’m free, free falling….” The street musician finished it for me as he moved onto: “find a girl settle down…there’s a way…” Time to move on. With an open heart.