Blog by Yessica Maher, los Angeles Native.

She explores life after marriage, starting a career in her late 30's, relationships, breaking cycles of abuse, online dating, self care, fertility and depression. 

It's all over the place, but so is living. 

Beauty in Rough Winds and Angry Waters

IMG_0811 I headed to the beach, but today was different.  It was windy and my first views of the ocean caught my breath.  That hasn't happened for a while. It wasn't a block of darker blue beneath a block of blue sky.  I could see the white waves where the surface of the water was being pushed by the winds and breaking the normally calm sea into white crested waves.  It was beautiful.  Standing on the sand, the waves were larger and pulled farther toward me.  The violent crashes came in quicker succession.

There was something about the abuse of the wind against the waves that was beautiful and uncomfortable and it spoke to me about the storm that is my right here and right now.  As cool air numbed my hands, the winds blew away the mark of human trails across the sand.  The choppy sea looked different and picturesque.  Little waves generally shine in peaks reflecting the sun, but these waves were forced into small crests of white.  There was beauty in the chaos.  It was really cold and I left Will Rogers to check out Venice Beach.

Venice Beach is one of those places I like to see once every handful of years.  It is a mix of amazing that I really love to see and "Dear Lord, get me out of here unscathed." Will Rogers has a more natural sand line with heavier, wet sand that stays where it was intended to.  Venice was plagued with mini sand storms that flew up in sheets.  I walked along shops where I was asked if I "blaze" which I do not.  I'm boring that way.  The sun was filtering through the palm trees and I would have taken a picture, but the sand blowing cold air and the men asking for more of my time was uncomfortable. Then it occurred to me that I wouldn't really want to walk alone with closed shops once the sun sets.  I headed back to my car, watching the athletes for a while because, well, yum.  Then I headed back home, taking the streets back to PCH, then Chautauqua Blvd. to Sunset. I wanted to try something new. The sun winked behind the mountains while I was on PCH and the painted sky ushering in night highlighted the many beautiful homes I am starting to look forward to seeing on my drive on my favorite curvy street.

I suppose my lesson is that there is beauty in the chaos and storms but I have to look for it.  I have to be aware that it will be uncomfortable and painful, but if I open my eyes to look for the pretty parts, I will see what I'm searching for.

When I got home I decided to try another dating site.  My niece laughed at me and said, "good luck with that," when I told her I wanted to look for a nice Jewish boy.  I suppose for a shiksa like myself who can't even pass as sephardic, finding a purple unicorn might be easier.  Maybe that's the point.  Maybe I'm just looking for someone to hang out with so I look a little less creepy when I'm people watching or venturing outdoors.  Either way, I'm enjoying these profiles from men who are less creepy than what I had been seeing and full of humor.  I think one or two "about me" sections made me teary eyed because of their tender honesty and sweetness.  These unicorns exist!  It's the morning and my account is still active and it has pictures.  I haven't subscribed yet, and I'm not sure I will, but the looking has given me smiles and laughter and right now that might be enough. It's been a chaotic few weeks but I'm finding the beauty in the storm.

Update: I'm at an appointment and a very attractive Jewish man started flirting on my dating app. It ended because I wouldn't cooperate with his sexting fantasy. He is now blocked. He wasn't my purple unicorn, but now I have a subscription. At the moment where I wanted to run out for Ben and Jerry's and maybe a good cry, (because he was being a jerk) an older man next to me started singing in Hebrew. It was beautiful and uplifting and hopeful with a heavy hand of sorrow. It was a low ballad, and when I told him it was beautiful, he sang another song to me and it was louder and it was the sweetest balm.

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