When I left aboard the ferry on Sunday morning, I still had to shake the sleep loose from my eyes. Though I’d been awake for hours and wanted to go riding, I wasn’t exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Some days you just aren’t “on.”
After loading into the belly of the beast, I went up stairs and stood on the back deck of the boat. The shoreline slipped away in our wake. A man and woman stood close together at the railing. As they talked he kept reaching towards her, his hand brushed across the small of her back, his fingers moved along her arm – they shared a deep connection.
She was lovely – golden blonde hair swept back in a carefree way, loose strands dancing on the breeze. Her skin was tanned like honey and her green stripey sundress fluttered in the wind. The two of them flashed smiles at each other as though no one else in the world existed. I felt like a voyeur observing a secret held between the palms of two perfect people.
Watching them made me feel lonely. Nine o’clock on a Sunday morning is way too early for those types of feelings. That sleepy residue that was hanging around seemed to amplify everything I was feeling 10-times over.
It was hard not to want a taste of what was shared between those two people. Instead, I stood alone and staring, burdening myself with doubt. Rather than feeling like a superhero about to embark on an adventure, in my riding clothes I was dirty and man-ish and gross when I just wanted to be the beautiful girl in the stripey green dress. I believed in the green dress.
Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile that you can’t be the girl in the dress and the girl in the dirty superhero riding suit at the same time. But as much as I lamented wanting to be that beautiful girl, I’d made my choice long ago.
Full tank of gas. Wandering heart. Pretty dresses will have to wait.