Welcome to my blog about the journey as well as the destination, which might come with gluten free donuts.

Adventures Alone: Big Sur River Inn

Adventures Alone: Big Sur River Inn

I am calmest when submerged in a body of water.  Blame it on my zodiac sign or my mother forcing swim lesson not long after I could walk.  Either way, the tumultuous nature of water soothes my anxiety, steadies my breathing.

Water reminds me: I am small, the world is vast, my problems are negligible. 

This, is perhaps, why I love sitting in the chairs at the Big Sur River Inn--feet submerged but firmly planted on the pebbles lining the riverbed.  

Not long ago, I sat in a chair on the river, finishing This is How You Lose Her, a book I purposefully savored, as if I knew it would mean something in the grand scheme of my young adulthood.  I read a chapter on a waterfront bench in Sausalito, and two chapters on my best friends bed while he combed through his iTunes collection.  I threw the book on the floor, yelling "Why can't I write like that!?"  Childlike tantrums get me nowhere, but I'm sure they're amusing to those lucky bystanders.  I read two chapters while a friend packed to move, as if reading could freeze time.  I chose the river as my home for the last few chapters. 

A three legged dog fetched rocks while couples canoodled on wooded love-seats down river.  A thirty-something with a plastic cup of cheap beer threw rocks for the dog, eyeing me, alone in the river. I imagined the beer sloshing from his cup in slow-motion, the drunk fish thanking him.  

I thought about those who lost me, some on purpose, some by chance.  The number of times I've been just out of reach, leaving the reality of a dinner table for the comfort of building volcanos out of fried rice, imagining.  The times they lost me because I decided to go.  I stopped returning calls, I forgot to email, I left a trail of half used chapsticks and a pair of old glasses.  Once I decide, that's it.  A habit I'll never learn to break.

Eventually, two women approached, hoping to take my seats.

"Is it cold?" one asked.

I looked at my feet.  I hadn't considered the water temperature.

"Maybe?" I said realizing my toes are numb, "No colder than the Pacific."

They laughed, thanking me for giving up the chairs. 

I walked back to the car slowly, my feet adjusting to the warm asphalt.  I was calmer, drifting towards center, but entirely unable to shake the truth: "the half-life of love is eternity." 

Wondering, how many eternities am I intertwined with, and how many can I handle?

And then the bathroom door reminded me:

The half life of loving yourself is eternity. 


Holy City USA: Where Trucks go to Die

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The Road to Self-Discovery is Paved in Adventure

The Road to Self-Discovery is Paved in Adventure