Tonight I find myself cozied up in the back of the Dream Wagon,
once again, under layers of fleece and an old sleeping bag. It’s familiar and homey— like spontaneous beach nights in California. Only this time I am in a new place, and I am alone.
My skin is a little clammy from getting cold and wet at the beach then trying to warm back up in my sweatpants. I let out a sneeze and my nostrils are still burning a little from the seawater earlier. I’m sure I smell like salt, and there must be sand in places I haven’t discovered yet. I am in Westport— a sleepy surf spot on the Washington coast. My senses are hyper aware of the quiet and stillness inside my car. The aloneness hits— It really is just me tonight, huh? I do my best to let that sink in and feel good, rather than let lonely-prone-emotions get the best of me. Introverted as I may be, it’s quite challenging being totally solo. But it’s good for the soul once in a while, and I sure do like a challenge. And okay fine— I’m not entirely alone here. For safety and sanity I took up a friend’s recommendation to drop in on a campsite at Twin Harbors State Park. Here, there’s RV’s and tents packed with families all around. Pulling up to a number of head nods and smiles put me more at ease. Cool, neighbors. I also made sure to have some tunes playing through my phone which helped distract me and add a little ambiance. At my picnic table that evening for dinner, I watched a bunch of little kids from different campsites naturally wonder towards each other and band together to form their posses for the week. It made me nostalgic for the marinas of my own childhood. Now, cozied up after a few chapters of a new mystery novel, and a goodnight Facetime, my eyelids fall shut.
Goodbye Stranger
Earlier that morning at some point during the drive out, “Goodbye Stranger” on a random playlist blared through my car speakers. That song is already a favorite, and for whatever reason this time the hairs on my arms stood straight up as I belted out the words. Like most songs of its era, Rick Davies’ lyrics are more or less up for interpretation— mostly having to do with freedom in one night stands. The intimacy of two souls intertwined, followed by a decisive moment to either stay or to get up and go. Detaching the sexual connotation from this, something in my driving away from home with the back of my car all packed up was a very get up and go thing. But more so than that, I felt a shedding of skin. I am on the verge of my mid twenties, and have the feeling that I’m on the brink of a distinct transition in my life.
On the road between Olympia and Aberdeen,
I entered a Supertramp-backed memory of my final year in California, 2021. I was on the come-down of the COVID rollercoaster, graduation, and heartbreak as I mulled over what love is supposed to be and what makes friendships work. I was painfully emerging from unhealthy patterns in my life, with a very loose sense of belonging. I gave myself time to flounder for a bit, detaching from old routines by taking myself on little road trips all over the Southern California coastline. I guess I found freedom and solace in taking myself on a drive.
Those solo trips always made me feel as though I was on the brink of adventure and a new chapter, but it was just out of reach. I believe it’s because even though I was giving myself some cool experiences, my head wasn’t in the present moment. It was an act of escapism; always wishing for the day I’d be making these trips as a whole person, maybe with a family, years down the line. I made myself feel so lonely that way.
That year— it’s stamped in my life as one of the most transformative and challenging years of my life so far, and to be completely honest, I’m absolutely sick of thinking about it, referencing it, and holding onto it at all. It is simply a time stamp that’s taken a while to shake. I left California that fall, entered into a grey area (aka Seattle), built a backbone for myself, and finally can say I’m in a new era.
Today, I feel proud of the work I’ve put into growing and adulting, and learning how to forgive and let go of a lot of stuff. Since moving back, I’ve become content in my own skin. I’ve felt so supported in that process by a lot of people around me. A new me is in order, and she’s here taking herself on a little baby road trip to a place she’s always wanted to go. She called out “Goodbye stranger, it’s been nice. Hope you find your paradise” to a former self out the window on the way here and left it at that.
Now, I’m waking up in my cozy car, with those familiar morning beach sensations, only it’s a colder coastline than before and I’m thoroughly enjoying the moment. Once again, I can feel glimpses of myself in the future, excited about what’s to come, but this time with a strong sense of grounding and contentment in the now.
Goodies I brought:
The Honjin Murders by Seishi Yokomizo
My trusty Kodak Ektar Half Frame