“Sorry,” he said, “sorry,” as he wedged himself between my window seat overlooking the sea and the wall outlet destined to recharge his phone.

He then sat at my table, directly across from my steaming bowl of clam chowder, eliciting a stern, “That man is already sitting at that table!” from the server.

“D’you mind if I sit here?”

Between his salt-and-pepper beard and worn ball cap, blue eyes regarded me with caution, narrowed against the incoming sting of rejection.

Alcohol, as they say, was a factor, but his face spoke of sadness and fear more than whisky. He held a paper cup of coffee protectively, with both hands.

“Not at all,” I said, “Where are you from?”

“El Paso,” he said, in a strong North London accent.

“I’m originally from England,” he hesitated, “between London and Oxford.” Nervous, now, looking at the table.

“Ah.” “Yeah, I didn’t hear much Texan in there,” I smiled.

Then, a rapid fusillade of explanations, trying to get it all out before he got cut off. Hoping to be heard.

“I met the most beautiful girl in El Paso; the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. She runs the family business. I love Texas! She has long hair and big…well, y’know… She’s the first Hispanic girl I ever talked to. And can you believe this? She said she really liked me! I never expected her to really like me. I really love El Paso. But I’m afraid to go back there. Have you ever not wanted to go back somewhere?”

“For sure,” I told him. “Many times. But it sounds like you need to go back to El Paso.”

“You reckon?” “You reckon I should?” He was clearly excited to hear someone validate his dream, but the excitement faded as he went on:

“But I can’t. My dad died. I was trying to get back there; I was at LAX trying to fly in…”

“Heathrow?”

“Yea, Heath… No; Gatwick.”

“A lot less hectic than Heathrow, isn’t it?”

“I was at LAX and, and I had…a panic attack, I guess. My whole body was shaking—I’ve never experienced something like that before—and I didn’t know what was happening. That’s when they took me to the fucking hospital. I told them I needed to get back; my dad died!”

“How long were you in there?”

“I wasn’t! In and right back out. I wasn’t one of those 51…10s or what ever they’re called, so they didn’t keep me. They couldn’t keep me. And now I’m here…and I don’t know what to do. Do you have a girlfriend? A wife?"

"I did," I said, "for 30 years."

"I'm sorry. Did she pass?"

“She left," I told him. "You’re a long way from LA. How did you end up here?”

“My cousin lives here. I was staying here. You should hang out with us; play some pool or some such!”

“Your cousin sounds like a great guy.”

“No, that’s my cousin’s boyfriend. You guys would get along. I was staying with Sheryl, my cousin. Maybe we can hang about tomorrow…”

The server had come by to collect the now empty chowder bowl, and I asked her to put my new friend’s expensive coffee on my ticket.

“Can I ask you something,” he said, “what’s your name?”

“I’m Jeff.”

“What d'you do?”

“Until recently, I was a professor and counselor at a college. I’m retired now, so I write.”

“What was your subject?”

“I taught psychology and sociology.”

He chuckled. “I guess I could use some psychology.”

“I think we all could, from time to time.”

A moment of silence, and he went on: “In my 42 years, I never expected the things that have happened to me. I mean, my life has been pretty crazy but nothing like this. It doesn’t make any sense; you wouldn’t even believe me…”

I looked at him, lost in his thoughts, then interrupted: “What’s your name?”

“Cob.”

“What did you do in England?”

“I was an apple grower.” A faint smile; pride, and maybe, regret?

A beat, and then:

“Let me see my phone, Jeff, I have something to show you.”

I unplugged the phone and handed it to him; there wasn’t enough room for him to squeeze back in next to me to retrieve it.

“You’ve been very kind to me so I want to give you…where is it…I had it…” A minute or so of frantic scrolling, then, “Anyway…”

He put the phone down and looked directly into my eyes. I waited.

“I’m afraid,” he said, finally.

I reached over to shake his hand; he responded with a “bro" grip.

“Listen to me,” I told him. “Cob, I believe in you.”

His eyes started to well up as I put my other hand on his.

“Remember this: we aren’t defined by what happens to us. What makes us who we are is how we bounce back. You are at a crossroads in your life right now and I know it’s scary and confusing. But I believe in you. I know that if you stay sober and put your mind to it, you will come out of this all right; you will figure it all out. You’re going to be ok.”

Cob wasn’t able to speak, tears falling down into his beard. So he just started at me; that stare that people have when they dare to hope but are afraid it will be suddenly snatched away from them. Again.

I held his gaze and his hand until I could see he believed me, then I stood to go.

“Hey,” I said, “Don’t forget your charger.”

And I walked out into the low, gathering clouds on their way to becoming the coastal fog that obscures the boundary between here and there.



I’m excited to announce that the first episode of the Hardcore Happiness podcast will be distributed on July 31st! Stay tuned and follow my Instagram feed for more info as we get closer!

To learn more about how to use these concepts or to inquire about working with me, you can contact me on the Hardcore Happiness website, the comments section on my Substack or Medium accounts or the Hardcore Happiness blog page. If you have found value in this article, follow my Instagram account for daily insights, or my X account for occasional tweets. To support this community, you can donate through my Patreon account.


- JWW