On the stereo
Listen as we go
Nothing's gonna stop me now
- Phantom Planet, California
Music has the remarkable ability to capture the essence of a place, or at least the assumptions the rest of the world has of that place. This song, and the rest of the OC soundtrack, captured SoCal for so many of us in the early 2000's. It was inevitable that I would be listening to a Pandora mix based on this song while driving through LA, passing homes perched on bluffs overlooking the ocean. Accompanied by The Strokes, Phantom Planet, Deathcab for Cutie, Oasis, and Vampire Weekend, I listened to more music in a few hours on the road than I had in the entirety of the first week of this vision quest. Meditative driving was replaced with a feeling of being transported to the summer Ben and I got married, driving around the Twin Cities blasting summery alt-pop in my car, my little sister belting "California! Here we come!" at the top of her lungs from the backseat.
I spent more time in California than any other state on this journey. After leaving Santa Maria, I continued down the coast, past LA to San Diego, and then back up to LA for the week. Palm trees began to appear in Santa Barbara, and it was clear that somewhere along the way, I had passed the imaginary boundary between Northern and Southern California. On my way toward LA, I stopped at a El Matador state beach in Mailbu, a recommendation from a friend, a member of my tribe. I was glad she had suggested pulling it up on Google Maps - I would have missed the entrance if I hadn't been watching the GPS. It was a warm, sunny day, perfect for walking along the beach after climbing down the steep staircase from the top of the bluffs.
Several little caves along the shore were occupied, a couple in one laying on their beach towel, the young man's arm draped around his girlfriend's belly. Waves crashed up onto the rocks, and I timed them so I could race across the coves without drenching my hiking boots. I took a selfie and seconds later ran giggling toward the bluff wall, attempting (somewhat successfully) to escape the wave you can see behind me in the photo.
When I reached LA, I drove through, passing palm tree-lined streets and dense urban neighborhoods. Soon I began to wind higher and higher above the sea. After seeing beautiful photos posted that morning on Instagram from a professional contact who was also in town for the same conference I would be attending, I decided to stop to see Frank Lloyd Wright's Wayfarer's Chapel, as it was only an hour or so out of my way. When I arrived, I watched a photographer following a young bride and groom through the gardens, and was turned away from the front of the chapel by a sign stating that it would be closed for a half-hour for their wedding. The grounds were beautiful, the glassy chapel rising from amongst the trees, blending with the landscape as if it had always been there, sparkling in the sun. I had dinner plans in San Diego and would not be able to wait until after the wedding to see the interior. Vowing to return later this week, I continued on my way.
The following 36 hours were a whirlwind of seeing many people in my life who I often only connect with through the internet and social media due to the geographic distance between us. From dinner in San Diego, catching up with a dear friend who treated me to a delicious dinner on a restaurant patio that overlooked the city, to meeting up with friends for each meal the next day in LA, I felt the high of social connection, re-connecting and making existing bonds stronger. I marveled at a charming 5-year-old boy, who was excited to show me his room and calls his dad his best friend. I know I'll be reaching out to his mother for parenting advice if Ben and I do have a child someday. I meditated at Marina Vista Park in Long Beach, finding myself with a few free minutes when traffic wasn't as bad as anticipated that morning, since I had left so early from San Diego. I snuggled a baby whose due date had been a few days before mine, remarking at her expressive eyebrows and feeling grateful that I was here, meeting her, on this journey. I savored those moments with her and her mother, feeling only happiness, no pangs of sadness or longing. I asked for a hiking location recommendation from my lunch date, and spent the afternoon at Crystal Cove State Park, not far from Laguna Beach.
Rising above the ocean, the trail wound through desert terrain, where I hiked in the blazing hot sun. On one of my many pauses for water, I watched two hawks above me, dark figures riding gracefully on the current produced by the wind. It was clear they were simply allowing themselves to be carried by forces unseen. After the butterflies, in the back of my mind I wondered if this too was an omen. A reminder that we can either fight the current or simply give into it and let ourselves be carried to a destination unknown.
After my hike, I still had a few hours before dinner. Knowing the infamous LA traffic, it was likely that it could take me two of those hours simply to get across town, but if I took a route along the ocean, I could manufacture another stop at Wayfarer's chapel along the way.
I arrived at the chapel just after 5, and moments before pulling into the driveway I realized I hadn't checked their hours. Would it even be open? I turned and was met with a gate. Closed. Another car was parked at the gate, and I assumed its occupants were simply too late, just as I was. But they were nowhere to be seen - except when I looked up the hill and noticed the two figures silhouetted in the sunset. I hoped no one would be bothered by our quick peek around the grounds after hours, and hurried up the steps to join them.
The sun was beginning to set, casting a brilliant pinkish glow onto the chapel. While the chapel itself was locked, I peered through the glass into the interior, a simple design that gave way to panoramic views all around. I walked around front, watching the sun fall over the ocean in multicolored splendor. It was perfect - after a few minutes my companions had left and I had the place to myself, just in time to watch the last of the sun dip beyond the curved horizon line of the ocean.
After sharing a sunset chapel picture with my tribe, someone commented that she had loved the plaque when she visited herself, which I had somehow missed. The plaque reads:
Pause for a moment, Wayfarer,
on life's journey.
Let these waters restore your
soul and nourish your
inner being.
This unknown writer captured the essence of my journey, my vision quest. I hadn't realized it before, but this was why the idea of a solo road trip was so compelling to me, after a turbulent year of the highest highs and lowest lows. I needed a pause. I needed restoration. I needed nourishment. I cried as I read these words, for what this articulated, what I needed, I was receiving.
