“The apparent ease of California life is an illusion, and those who believe the illusion real live here only in the most temporary way.”—Joan Didion
We went to San Diego last week for a conference R was attending. We drove down, breathing in the scent of citrus blossoms on the 5, complaining about the insanity of LA traffic as Google Maps navigated us across so many freeways I lost count. We listened to playlists, sat in silence, talked about life, groused about reckless drivers. We had fun.
We love a road trip. There’s a lot of time to talk on a drive from Sonoma to San Diego, time to let conversation wander as your mind wanders over the horizon, over the Joshua trees and the windmills. Time is expansive out on the road, demarcated only by pit stops or playlist changes.
It was good to get a change of scenery, an opportunity to explore somewhere new. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to San Diego; I must’ve been a kid, going to the zoo or SeaWorld (both of which need to be dismantled). I didn’t know what to expect, and was surprised to find out that San Diego is even more expensive than Sonoma County, which is saying A LOT.
We walked through the Gaslamp District, admiring the old architecture that’s still standing. We meandered down the marina near the hotel, walked through the tourist trap of Seaport Village (there is a Ben and Jerry’s shop there where you can get a single scoop of ice cream for $10.75. A cone is extra. Obviously we declined, both the scoop and the cone).
One day while R was in the conference I walked along the paths of the Embarcadero Marina Park North, which extends out into the water and where you can watch the boats go by, where people walk their dogs and fish from the rocks. It was the last day of our stay and of course the one day it was finally sunny and warm, and I listened to locals remark about what a nice day it was, listened to the beat of heavy footsteps as countless runners pounded by, saw a sweet little Dachshund in a red bowtie keep pace with a stroller.
I breathed in the sea air and the scent of something frying, the brine and the fat. I felt the sun on my face and the ground beneath my feet. I was somewhere else, and the world continued on.
The boats docked in the marina were spotless and extravagant, burnished chrome and reflective white, and I spotted a Trump 2024 flag fluttering in the sea breeze. San Diego is an interesting place. It has beach town vibes but is also the eighth-largest city in the US, home to a large military community and people from all over, where 26.5% of the population is from another country and 41% speak a language other than English at home (sandiego.gov). I couldn’t quite figure the place out.
On the drive home from San Diego we stopped in Pismo Beach for the night, walked down to a Moroccan restaurant for dinner and then downtown to the pier in search of ice cream (that was NOT $10.75 a scoop!). We listened to a saxophonist butcher “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” by Frankie Valli, looked at peoples’ dogs like we always do, and watched the sun set over the ocean.
It was cold so we headed back as the sun dipped behind the water, laughing because the hotel concierge had recommended we drive to dinner instead of walk, making it sound like we’d be traipsing up a steep hill, when there was barely an incline.
We could see the ocean from our hotel room window, and we listened to the waves as we fell asleep.
On the drive home we talked about the trip, the land. About how many different Californias exist within this one state, how there are so many microcosms within this vast place we call California. We talked about topics from the conference, what we’re looking forward to, what we want for ourselves in the coming months.
As the road unfurled, so did our senses. R kept coming up with funny anecdotes and details for a potential children’s book; our thoughts expanded from the immediate to the future before circling back to the present. Time felt loose and luxurious, nowhere else to be, nothing to worry about. We were almost home.
At one point, R asked me what’s been getting me through this time. I thought about it for a minute. I shared the usual things, like reading and practicing yoga. Having a routine that keeps me grounded and gives me (someone whose sun, rising, and moon are all air signs) some structure. Writing of course, which is always something I look forward to and helps me make sense of the world. Spending time with the dogs because we only get so much time with them and the time with them feels like the most meaningful time I can spend.
And though I didn’t say it at the time, the road trip helped, too. The open road, the new city, the food we ate, the people we talked to. The trip itself was what helped, not exactly the experiences, as they were not necessarily momentous or special. But they also didn’t need to be “special.” The walk in the sun, the dinner with one of R’s colleagues, the smell of the ocean. All these little things helped.
The talking with R did, too, the conversations away from home and from screens, just talking about what arises as you’re looking out at the endless horizon.
The Friday Finds
Action. Two items from Indivisible:
Listen. “What Is Going On?” by Hannah Jadagu. Dreamy, thoughtful indie pop. And I think it’s so cool that Jadagu “records and produces her music all through her iPhone 7” (from Bandcamp)!
Watch. We just finished season 2 of The White Lotus on MAX and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Mike White’s show is, as always, visually stunning and filled with quippy dialogue and interesting relationship dynamics, but what is it about? What is it trying to say? That rich people are stupid/depraved? Too simplistic of an argument. That money corrupts? I don’t know that we need a seven-episode season to explore that. All this being said, we’re still going to watch season 3, lol.
Read. Our Share of Night by Mariana Enriquez, translated from Spanish by Megan McDowell. A sweeping, spellbinding novel that is equal parts intoxicating and haunting. When Gaspar’s mother dies, he and his father embark on a dangerous journey to his mother’s ancestral home. What unfolds is completely unexpected and utterly engrossing. I was fully immersed in Enriquez’s richly detailed world of horror and beauty and had great difficulty disentangling myself from the book’s exquisite claws to rejoin reality. A mysterious, slow-burn novel about power and identity.
Thank you for being here. See you next time.
In solidarity,
Emma
Beautiful.
Love it. Love knowing your joys, experiences and love of life. Oxo