It was like he had left all angst behind him, had shed it in his divorce. Or perhaps he’d simply never learned to pick up on the subtle social cues that others were laying down to say “yes”, “no”, or “I don’t like you”.

I told stories of him to my friends, my sister, but I felt bad about it.

Like I was playing voyeur in my own life, in his. Like I wasn’t bringing an honest 100%, while he was, and that gap was a shame, a horrid meanness on my part. It was wrong.

He told me that one day I’d wake up in the middle of the night, and recognize that thing that I was absolutely passionate about doing. He said that my thing would keep me awake, I’d have that passion inside me and it’d drive me, like his business drove him.

He was right about some things. Knowing him made me want to grab a little of his hungry, bold, and unselfconscious joy for the world.