[This personal essay is by Silicon Valley SMART participant Matthew Frazier, a reflective storyteller and nature enthusiast based in the South Bay Area]
During my years at Almaden Valley Nursery, my lunch breaks became cherished moments of solace amidst the chaos of life. Midday and early evenings found me at Almaden Lake Park, a tranquil refuge where Canada geese glided gracefully upon the water, and a multitude of local birds entertained me with their vibrant displays. Yet, it was the gulls-the lake gulls—that intrigued me the most. It was a daily ritual to observe their gatherings, a phenomenon I would fondly refer to as “the gall of gulls.”
Every day, as I settled down with my lunch or dinner, I was captivated by the sight of these birds. They congregated in scores, eventually swelling into the hundreds, all sharing the same waters as I savored my meals. In those moments, they served as a distraction from my relentless routine of heavy lifting and bustling activity as a nursery salesman. The demands of the job were intense, the hours long, and the pace often exhausting. So, I sought out these serene distractions—both in the form of the birds and the surrounding flora to keep my mind occupied. “The gall of gulls,” I would muse, reflecting on the high spirits they seemed to embody.
During this time, my brother frequently joined me for our midday meals. Our conversations ebbed and flowed, oscillating between trivial daily affairs and deeper discussions about life—the kind of talks that linger long after the sun has set. We often delved into what a potential recovery journey might look like for me, filled with dreams of commitment and transformation once I felt ready to embrace change. All of this transpired as the anguish of the geese echoed in the background, and the gall of the gulls brought a strange harmony to our discussions under the mid-morning and evening sunlight.
These were the days and evenings when the birds not only congregated but also shared a sense of community, a shared existence that felt almost akin to what I sought in my own life. The gall of gulls became a metaphor, a representation of resilience and continuity—irony threaded through their cries. Their presence was cathartic, offering a momentary respite from the torrent of emotions I grappled with daily. I often found myself lost in thought, contemplating the years I had spent as an indie gore film actor here in the South Bay and the Bay Area. Those experiences had equipped me with a rich emotional arsenal, but there were still overwhelming moments when I felt buried beneath it all.
In this reflective state, I would listen intently to the cries of the gulls, their unmistakable squawks resonating through the air. It was as if they were calling out to me, facilitating a dialogue between my heart and the universe. I would sit there, eyes closed, letting the sounds wash over me, pouring out my innermost desires for a new path—a moment devoid of wrath and filled with hope. The gall of gulls intertwined with my yearning for change, creating a poignant soundtrack to my introspection.
Time seemed to blend in those afternoons, with the sun dipping low in the sky and painting everything in golden hues. The gulls, unfazed by the subtle shifts of the seasons, continued their ritualistic gatherings, embodying a sense of unyielding perseverance. They became a symbol for me, a reminder that life ebbed and flowed, that chaos often gave birth to beauty, and that even amidst turmoil, one could find reprieve.
As I savored each morsel of my meal, I internalized their graceful dance on the water, their communal cries echoing my struggles and aspirations. In the end, they served as reminders that while I grappled with my journey, I was not alone—just as the gulls flew freely above the lake, I too could rise above my challenges. It was the spirit of the gulls, woven into my own, giving me hope as I walked the path towards healing and renewal.
