As those who have been reading regularly have undoubtedly noticed, on my mind of late are death and faithlessness. I am staring transfixed at the vanitas still life set up at my worktable, and its double, the half-finished painting drying next to it.

I have been corresponding with an old and read friend who is going through a separation currently. She describes her difficulty in processing it: ‘someone who I've known and loved and considered a best friend for 15 years is now basically a stranger to me.’

Andrea and I spent the afternoon talking, laughing, and watching various baseball games. We rambled on about many things, including the transformations we experienced moving out here. At one point she looked at me, through eyes that were a bit watery with captain and diet, and told me earnestly that I am one of the most alive people she knows.

The deaths that I have been digesting, the physical presence of infidelity, both reveal something horrible that I do not want to acknowledge: the feeling of betrayal of one’s expectation of life.

Tonight I took a walk on the boardwalk at Mission Beach. I savored every moment, breathing into my life. I did transform. Sometimes it takes someone else who is witness to affirm it.