I had my morning coffee on top of the pier at the end of the Malecón this morning. Alyssa and I had walked there to take photos of the beach under the morning light.
A little into taking photos I noticed there was a man floating on his back in the ocean right below me. I watched him for awhile from the pier. I couldn't help but watch him. He just looked so peaceful drifting through the water. He had his eyes closed, his mouth slightly opened, basically no clothes on, and I caught myself envying the moment he was having.
He looked free.
Free from worry or suffering, commitments, responsibilities. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he thinking at all? I wondered if he was visiting Puerto Vallarta or if he was from here. Did he do this often? Or was this his first time in the ocean? I watched his wife stand on the shore, feet in the water, and yell for his attention, but once she realized he couldn't hear her, she started taking photos of him with a little grin on her face.
It was as if he needed that moment, and it felt like she knew it and I knew it and he knew it too. I felt connected to him in some small, weird way. Of course, I'll never know his name or his story, but I know for a fact that he was exactly where he was supposed to be this morning, and so was I.
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