I recently celebrated my seventy-sixth birthday (76) by heading down and back up the coast to and from San Diego. It was two brief days, but I came home with some wonderful lessons.

Often, doing nothing is good for the part of you that always wants to be doing something. Anyone who knows me knows I have a tough time doing nothing. I quickly get bored, looking for anything to keep my mind and hands busy. If you don’t count the driving, a walk through a marina with the Pacific Ocean at your shoulder, a sightseeing walk through Laguna Beach and San Diego’s Gaslamp District, then I discovered I was most comfortable when I acted like there was no yesterday and not worrying about tomorrow when today is where my head should be. Water is good for the soul. Speaking of the marina at the hotel and the Pacific Ocean up and down the coast at your shoulder, I find looking out at the ocean incredibly soothing, peaceful, and settling to the beast inside of me. This is from a guy who you will never find wading out into the water, surfing, or even being on a boat (well, maybe a cruise ship). Silence can be loud, and that’s a good thing. Whether at five o’clock in the morning when I wake up or when I’m in my car, on the fifteenth floor of the hotel, or even walking out onto the peninsula next to the hotel, there was a quiet that I’ve came to welcome. Where to allow those tranquil moments envelop me, teach me that life does not always have to rush to carry you somewhere, that wherever it is, you think you’re going isn’t always as important as you think it might be. Imagine for a moment what flying birds can see from above the earth. The view from the fifteenth floor of the bay, the ocean, the silhouette of San Diego’s tall buildings in the distance, or driving up the coast and you come to a rise in the road and suddenly, as you reach the crest and there before you in all its sprawling glory is the ocean. Your breath leaps along with your heart, and you feel an ecstasy of discovery, even if you’ve seen it before. It never fails. Appreciate, cherish, and build on those briefest of moments when you meet a stranger. So the guy at the hotel’s Starbucks and I had one of those small talk moments we all encounter daily. He is from Venezuela, and his brother’s name is also Antonio. We traded stories about New York, my regret that I had lost my Spanish, and why and his being here. You learn so much about a person in those brief encounters. Although you can easily dismiss it as the rites of polite behavior, you walk away with this connection of humanity that we have so much more in common than we will readily admit. It’s cool. Everyone is not what they seem at first. There are wealthy suburban enclaves in southern Orange County and western San Diego County. I’ve been there plenty of times before. So, I don’t know why I took a particular interest in the homes and people this time. Okay, the homes were spectacular, and I could see where we could all be in awe of them. The cars that filled the streets and parking lots of malls and neighborhoods were what you would expect. The people at the restaurants where we ate brandished their shiny jewelry, designer handbags, and clothing that was obviously not bought at Walmart. Yet, there was something pedestrian about them. On a Monday afternoon, way past the regular lunchtime hour, they could have an easygoing lunch like us. Just folks who caught my attention, far from the maddening crowds of an urban environment/South Bronx.  Don’t be afraid of the dark. The birthday dinner was a surprise. Ciccia Osteria was awarded a Michelin Bib Gourmand, which is an award to restaurants that serve high-quality food at a reasonable price, and it was reasonable. However, getting there was a surprise. Once you exit the freeway, you descend into Chicano Park and dark streets with the occasional taco stand and bodega and wonder where an Italian restaurant is. You swore you missed the correct exit when there it was across from a Mexican Restaurant and next to a Latino market and up the block from the scrapyard. The restaurant was full of people, good food, reasonable prices, and playing, I swear, R&B soul music quietly in the background. So quietly it took me more than a few minutes to realize it was coming from overhead speakers. Cool. The clerk who followed us around their store would never know what they lost from never having the opportunity to know who we were as human beings. That Sunset– holy sh@t- that sunset that seemed to leap out at us as we drove up the coast back home. I mean, it was this vast, huge round ball of fire slowly sinking into the ocean to the west of me. In that moment of amazement, I realized that the ritual of sunsets that fascinates and inspires us will be there tomorrow, the day after, and the day after, for another five-eight billion years. That’s fine. All that was important in that moment was that moment. Always, and I mean always, love that you are alive as long as you are alive.