Woke up near sunrise on Saturday morning, hoping to get some surf. It was supposed to be decent size, but the wind was already on it so I decided to go for a hike instead. There is a place called Manchester Preserve not too far from my house that despite being so close to the city still feels far enough away once you get going. There’s a couple mile loop that I do with two lookout points along the way, each with a bench at the top. The second one is in the middle of the preserve and has panoramic views. But my favorite view from that one is in the direction the bench faces – South/ Southwest. On clear days you can see down over San Elijo Lagoon and towards the ocean.
As I approached the top of the second lookout, I noticed there was a man already sitting there. He was probably somewhere in his late 60s or early 70’s, and seemed to be just staring off into the distance (to the S/SW). He was big and wore an old hoodie with the hood pulled halfway over his head. It was faded at least two shades lighter than its original dark blue, the kind of fading that comes from exposure to sun, salt, and wind, but mostly exposure to life. His hands rested on his thighs, big like him and weathered, and no doubt experienced, like his hoodie.
I was about to pass in front of him at the apex of the hill and intended to just say “what’s up” by way of greeting. But as our eyes made contact I could see he was crying. The silent kind. His face was passive, but there were tears down each cheek. I don’t know, nor would I ever know, why- perhaps the recent loss of a spouse, a relative, or a pet he had to put down. Or maybe he was just remembering. In the split second our eyes met his said, “This is the way I am right now, and I’m OK with it.” And mine said, “All good man, all good.”
I kept hiking and he kept staring. It really is a great view.
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