Full

It was under the warm light, tucked in the corner of a little restaurant in Old Town, the original part of San Diego.  Two young ladies carrying on a tradition of homemade.  It was if they inherently knew how to make their hands do what they needed to do to create those flour tortillas whose goodness the rest of us were marveling.  When I asked, "Do you mind if I take some pictures?"  The one girl replied, "Why?" as she shyly looked away from me.  My answer was simple, "Because this is beautiful."  She said, "Ok, take pictures."  And, then she went right back to doing her thing.  All I could think was, I have to figure out how to capture this moment, this way that I feel while watching these ladies fulfill their tradition.  Because, it's that feeling, the feeling of knowing that you love what you do, that I want to remember. 

 

There was hauntingly powerful music coming from somewhere.  As I browsed the little shops in the cool night air, I kept hearing that music.  The music was definitely being performed live, that much I could tell.  Finally, I had to just stop and went searching for the source.  I found it.  Two men were performing in the corner of the open part of the market.  Quite the audience had formed, standing there in awe watching these two produce sounds from their instruments unlike anything we usually hear today.  But, it was as if the two men were alone.  Alone in their music.  That same feeling from the night before, the important reminder to love what you do, came creeping back into my being.

 
Then, I turned around and saw a sketch artist who had set up shop under the sprawling over hang of an old established tree paralleled by the sparkling lights of a new Christmas tree shining next to it.  He was completely engrossed in his work, and I felt the pull to go and talk to him.  So, we started chatting about him being an artist and how I was just feeling that I need to remember it's not what you do that's important, it's how you do it and even more important, how you feel while you are doing it.  Then, I asked him on a scale of one to ten, how much did he think he was living the dream?  He replied, "A nine.  I'm a nine."  So, then I told him he should write that for me and he should pause his hand every once in awhile so I could capture it.  Then, he told me, "You're kind of bossy."  I said, "Yes, yes I am.  I own that."  So, he did what I wanted him to do.

He wrote what I wanted him to write and he paused his hand when I wanted him to and then he decided he should just draw me.  So I let him. I kept talking and bossing and finally he said, "Where are you from?"  I filled him that I am from North Dakota and he just started to laugh.  A big ol' laugh.  And, then he said while shaking his head, "I'm from Fargo, North Dakota."  I replied, "Well, shut the front door!  Turns out we have the some of the same flowing through us."  And, then he said, "You know what?  I think North Dakota girls have to be bossy because the guys up there are just way too quiet and laid back to ever get anything done on their own."  I laughed.  And, after visiting some more while he sketched, when I walked away from him, I felt full.

When we went to leave the market, I spotted this church across the street.  And, because it was a Sunday, there was mass going on inside.  It was a beautiful thing.  A perfect little ending to the feeling of loving what you do.