On Monday I left Glendale, AZ and made it as far as San Bernardino before my eyes and mental capabilities began faltering. The astounding silence of this 2,200 mile journey unveiled some of the rawest, truest thoughts I've ever noticed within my own mind. But upon arrival in San Bernardino I Priceline'd a $50 room at the Hilton, opened a bottle of vino (courtesy of my AZ godfather, Tony), soaked in the tub and promptly passed out. It was barely 7 p.m.
I woke up at 4 a.m., handled my unruly hair, which seems to curl even more senselessly in high altitudes, and headed for Concord. The 6 hour drive became a 7.5 hour drive as the interstate was already at a dead stop at 5:50 a.m. If I'd been on a Kansas interstate I would've been honking furiously, angered and impatient. But I was so excited to be in California that I turned up the radio and danced with my arms lunging in sporadic directions. The traffic jam dance party was interrupted by a sudden lump in my throat. I looked up at the sunrise and realized, I'm here, I've made it to a place I've dreamed of all my life. I made it to California. I've been crying at the strangest moments on this trip. As I'm not much of a crier in general, these moments catch me so off guard that I find myself entirely unprepared to handle them. It's not like a funeral, when you know it's going to hurt. Or a celebration for someone dear to you, where you know you will, inevitably, experience a sense of joy for them. These tears are tears of pride and gratitude. They are the tears I didn't cry when I was hurting, broken, aching, lost. A decade's worth of tears keep falling from my eyes and my heart allows it because I'm stronger than I've ever been. Sitting there under than Pasadena sign, the speedometer reading "0," I felt pride for working so hard and finally, finally, finally accomplishing a goal of my own.
Once traffic lightened up, I passed through Tejon Canyon where the hills are smooth and soft, wrinkled like a Sharpei's neck. The rapidly changing altitude pushed my tiny Kia (whom I've affectionately named Sonny) to its brink. The air in the mountains changes as rapidly as the elevation. One moment the air smells like after shave, the next, green onions; and as I passed through the gently rounded mountains I realized It's no wonder mankind thinks they're God. Look at what they forged through. Hands built these roads. Man conquered nature and yet left so much beauty in tact. I was so happy to see natural water sources along this route. There are so few in the Midwest and only 1 in Kansas which to me always meant, human beings shouldn't be here. At least, I shouldn't be here.
Hours later I was barreling down I-5 on the last leg of my trip. One moment I was admiring the orange groves and vineyards, the next disdainfully frowning at the desolate farm land that reminded me of Kansas. I could use a break from reminders of the Midwest but life won't allow me to forget all that made me who I am and that includes what it takes to sustain life. The rough hands and leather necks of farmers doesn't change no matter what part of the country you're experiencing. I smiled when I saw two men standing in a field, next to a dented, rusted pickup, their hat bills rolled down, Carhart's zipped up- just like the home I knew for 14 years.
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