It is Saturday, June 26th and I type this inside an Ocean Beach coffee house
(where the WiFi is strong and clear). Meanwhile, outside swinging, wooden doors, Newport Avenue has been overtaken by street vendors hawking corn dogs, coolers and cheap mementos. On this day, mass consumption has been wrapped up in the guise of community.
Over 70,000 people will drive, walk and commute to today's fete, looking to celebrate summer's sweet embrace while reveling in our shared revolution around a great fire in the sky. Music will play, some will dance but very few will actually meet. Eager to fulfill a deep, insatiable human need for contact, touch, communion and celebration, thousands upon thousands will flock to the annual gathering, secretly hoping that this will be the year when a long lost love will be rediscovered, a new acquaintance met, an old mistake put to bed and a full day of pure merriment enjoyed for all. However, a meager few will actually reach across the great divide of popcorn, pennies and pomp and into one another's immediate space, demanding a hand and a name in exchange. Only some will request that which they are seeking, which is to reach out and connect.
Instead, the empty dollars will be spent and the full bellies will be stuffed. The miraculous hours will be whittled away, perusing knick-knacks, contemplating purchases and following the throngs of thonged feet - down one side of the street and then the other, secretly hoping for something, more.
More laughter, more tears, more joys, more sorrow, more life lived in the deepest throes its bittersweetness. More drama, more scares, more almost happened and could have would have should haves. More you more me more us together touching hands, sharing names, exchanging smiles and acknowledging presence.
More presence, in lieu of presents.
