At times, travel found purchase in my life through invitations from friends. I'd wake up every morning pumped in the knowledge that there was always more ground to cover and stories to be told. If I could travel full time, I might be ridiculously happy. But, as I continue living in the same place for longer and longer periods of time, I begin to notice wether or not my own story is building in meaning as I get older.
Regardless of whether I'm writing fiction, letters of intent or these blog posts, there's a consistency I fall into when I'm traveling. Connecting the day's experiences to relative meaning is what I want. It's common, especially on the first few nights, to drive myself to sleep from writing all about what's gotten me to that night's bed. My motives shown to prove different this time around.
One must understand that a drive from Reno to the Mendocino coast with two toddlers in the car is a tough venture in maintaining patience. It is quite possible I acknowledged the reality of tantrums peppered along our trip. When a friend asks you on a road trip, not too many things should keep you from saying no. The tension from too much time in a car (6hrs) was undeniable, but my motivation to leave Reno for a few days was made clear once we left the snowy Sierra behind. I wanted to be in the green, the mist, the salt air of coastal forest. What can I say? I have restless soul syndrome.
My life has seen me in specific places over and over again. Fort Bragg, CA is somehow the yin to my desert yang. The Patten's and synchronicities that's led me there time after time are fascinating. From best friends underlining how much I would love it there, to the confidence I find myself shimmering in when I'm barefoot in the sand, there's a sense that something likes me learning lessons along the Bohemian streets and Raven filled trees. Thinking about the lead up to get there, I tried not to confuse my local arrogance with the aura of confidence I emit as a tourist, a visitor from a dry and sparse territory. Simply trusting my journey wasn't enough. This trip was about making new stories to tell. The Travelodge on Main Street was where I would explore this theme.
(Image owned by Booking.Com)
I worked my way around three gummy sleep aids and the sound of rain outside the window once we all settled in.
Savage was the ocean that tried to suck in my friend's boys the following day. Although the grey beaches and cold water complimented the sage we burned, her little guys learned the value of Pudding Creek tides.
(Image owned by Californiabeaches.com)
Something was missing, however. The discovery of an old friend's house up for sale didn't amount to much surprise on my end. Over the wet highway and through muddy back roads we drove. It had been seven and a half years since I last visited those deep green forests. We slipped from the cover of fog into an old growth meadow. The fruit stand/organic chocolate shed wasn't enough to keep me interested alongside my friend and her kids, nor was the friendly orange and white cat with the extra thumbs on his front paws. The cost for a couple of oranges and apples didn't amount to much.
It isn't enough to say, " I went on this trip to get in an adventure and outta town for a bit." Certainly freedom and travel are universal desires. I could hear the cars winding through the mountains behind us, smell the ocean and feel the misty rain on my face behind the shed as I broke away. My driving want for a moment's peace was made apparent the more I heard croaking frogs around but not nearby. Unless I could find meaning in my pull towards the hidden frogs and green meadow, all of these experiences would've lacked my natural attachment to Fort Bragg.
While I continued to bask in the perfect blend of unique sensory enlightenment, a pattern began to reveal itself for the rest of my time on that trip. Spiritual atonement. I discovered that my desire for spiritual security is a fact of life. Exploring through this driving want of a lens is apparent. I was able to revisit overgrown parks where I found messages carved into manzanita trees and recognize old drug friends coming out of tattoo shops. My desires for inspiration were instantly cured with ice cream from Cowlicks and lattes from bustling cafes.
By doing these things and making dinners for my little impromptu family in the evenings on a portable camp stove in our temporary home, I felt alive and refreshed. Some beaches were grainier than others. Some random acts of kindness even felt related whenever I thought about it. Is it so clear that I'm hungry as I walk down the street and someone offers me a bag of chips?
Meaning was provided when I found the perfect beach to spread my grandmother's ashes and mom's hair. I could set them free. I ambled around a small river to a gnarled tree jutting and twisted from the side of a cliff. It felt somehow wrong to hide my emotions from the splashing boys and defending the solitude I needed to an understanding friend. The young ones did not hide their curiosity when I lacked sufficient explaining as to why I was crying and being vague.
It cut a little close to the bone as my friend shot video of my mother's hair sprinkled with ashes making her journey from land to high tide, so I cracked a joke about the videographer'' journalist aspirations. My intention was to be funny, but it was obvious some of my stoic behavior had rubbed off on her. Our friendship deepened over lunches at the Mendocino Hotel and cliffs without guard rails. I invested time in gathering abalone shells, ocean rounded glass from Glass Beach and abandoned hermit crab homes for the rest of our time together.
When I was ready to venture out on my own, the family took a nap to let me have some more of my spiritual time. I walked for about ninety minutes along Main Street, past an organic coffee place, authentic Asian restaurants and an outdoor clothing store. I was in for one of the most jaw dropping sights I've ever witnessed. I moseyed to the Fort Bragg Guest House Museum, which was closed due to MLK Day and visited a surprising highlight. I wished my friend and progency had been there to see it.
Adjusting my eyes against the shadow of sliced wood, I marveled at what a logging company had cut through many years before I was even born. Standing on end a bolted to cement slabs stood a huge remnant of redwood that started growing during the time of the Roman Empire. The width must have been the size of a modern day studio. I was most impressive and made me feel not only small as a human but young in terms of my soul's true lifetime journey. It was no joke. I wanted to stay and just stare at it until the sun set, but didn't want to risk looking like a transient scoping out a place to sleep for the night. When I strolled back towards the Travelodge, watching the ocean spray misting off boulders in the sea, I was able to sneak in a call to a friend who used to live there in Fort Bragg; because I found the parallel in her living now in Nevada and my being there.
The last great thing on my visit to the coast didn't happen outside or even in the car. After I'd fallen asleep on the night of the first full moon of the year, bright caress and ocean air lulled me awake from a quite comfy bed and fluffed pillows. My bed sat directly under the window and at three a.m the Super Blood Wolf Moon washed my barely awake form in the most beautiful moonlight I have ever known. I settled down in perfect bliss, content with this being where the Universe wanted me to be.
We took the Hwy 1 to Hwy 5 on our way back home to Reno.
Now I prepare for my next adventure.
I will also try to get a couple pics of my friend and me in the next few days added to this post.
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