I didn't realize until a couple of weeks ago that I've been keeping a pretty regular pace of one blog per month on this thing. Unfortunately, once I realized that, all my attempts at updating for May failed. (I currently have three other posts "in progress" and unpublished on my dashboard, and who knows when, or if, I'll ever get around to finishing those.) Anyway, here is one last-ditch effort.
It's been a particularly drizzly month in the Bay Area. The way the local meteorologists are telling it, you'd think we were bracing for a flood the likes of which only Noah has seen. As it stands, however, we're just experiencing a bit more weather than usual. Personally, I couldn't care less -- I love the rain -- but as May bleeds into June, I find myself missing the sun.
In an effort to escape the nimbostrati* that have been hovering over my beloved hometown for the past few weeks, it was decided that a road-trip to Santa Cruz was in order. Google Weather for the area was holding steady at a sunny 73°, and although the Northern California coast is famous for being a bit finicky, we figured we would give it a go nonetheless.
We hopped in the car in the early afternoon and made our way to Natural Bridges State Beach. I'm still not really sure why they call it that, because I didn't see any bridges (natural or otherwise), but it was a nice beach all the same. After laying out the towels and getting all sunscreened up, I began my most recent library find -- Smile When You're Lying: Confessions of a Rogue Travel Writer by Chuck Thompson -- and let my mind wander. It naturally made its way across the Atlantic and wound up smack dab in the middle of the Cote d'Azur. Don't worry, I'll spare you the details of my month spent backpacking along the Mediterranean (I know, even I'm jealous of me), but I can't help but think back on that time whenever I find myself face-to-face with The Big Blue. And when I do, I start missing it more than ever. I'm not really talking about the places I went, although each was amazing in its own right (even Florence, despite the fact that it was never under triple digits, temperature-wise, when I was there); it's more a feeling that I miss: the feeling you get when you're traveling without any reservations or set plans. It's a feeling I had after graduation, when it seemed like the whole world was at my fingertips, but it's gradually begun to seep away. Now that I've completed my resume (it took me a whole week, but I did it!) and have started sending it off to potential employers, the world available to me seems to be shrinking by the hour. I started with all seven continents (alright, let's be realistic and say six...you couldn't pay me enough to go to Antarctica), but the radius has now narrowed to "commuting distance from my dad's house." Sometimes it feels like I'm suffocating in this town, which is an odd feeling for someone who had only been out of the United States once, and only for a day, before a year ago.
That little bit of mental meandering somehow managed to color the rest of my time in Santa Cruz. We headed downtown once we'd absorbed all the vitamin D we could and spent the few daylight hours we had left window shopping (actual shopping was avoided on my part, but not for lack of trying). I couldn't enjoy it properly, though. There was always this little voice nagging at my subconscious: you should get a real job before you buy anything. But what if I don't want a real job? What if I want a job so spectacularly amazing that I won't even care about buying things anymore? Well, who doesn't, right? Even in bookstores, we somehow always managed to end up right next to the travel section; Europe was literally staring me in the face. I just couldn't get away. We had dinner at a tiki bar, and all I could think about was dropping everything and just moving to Hawai'i. It's a pipe dream, sure -- I mean, what would I even do there? -- but it's been done before, and I don't see why it couldn't be done again.
I guess I'm just wondering if this level of dissatisfaction is normal. There must be people out there who are happy to just go from college to career and then work their way on up to retirement and beyond. Should I be one of those people? Or is it okay to want something more?
Am I some sort of travel-crazed mutant who needs changes of scenery to grow strong? Is the prospect of adventure my radioactive spider? (Wow, that was nerdy.)
It's all too much to think about right now. I really wish someone would just grab me by the shoulders and point me in a direction, any direction. But I guess being a grown-up means there's no one around to make my decisions for me anymore. This song, sadly, won't sing itself.
*Yes, it is a real word, and yes, I did do research to figure out a fancier way of saying "rain cloud."
