"Welcome to the revolution," he said with his wiry ginger beard twisting like storefront bamboo shoots. The overhead track shuffled from Miley Cyrus to Justin Beiber. I've waited my entire life to hear those words and unfortunately they were delivered to me at the Apple Store as I purchased my iPad.
California, however, is revolutionary in its entirety so there is truly little to complain about.
Since Ryan's arrival, "real life" has set in dramatically. The every day grind of work, the pressure of keeping a start-up business alive, attempting to push it beyond the plateau of survival and into the realm of profit is exhausting. I enrolled in another semester of college solely for the scholarship and loan refunds to cushion the blow of moving across the country, a decision I regret nightly (college, not moving). This semester will be my least successful and also my last. There's nothing left for me to learn at the collegiate level and so, though I've said it before, this will be my last attempt at a B.A. for a while. The business demands and deserves too much of my attention right now to attempt to put my efforts into anything else. Those efforts are showing though. Every day I inch my way closer to owning a bookstore, a place with mahogany shelves, curious minds and giggling children. A place where the best parts of my mother will shine through me.
When Johanna was in town, we discovered St. Francis Beach in Half Moon Bay on a densely foggy afternoon. The drive down the coast was disappointing as the cloud cover prevented viewing anything more than 5 feet away. But I did see the Pacific for the first time and it is glorious.
The following weekend Ryan and I escaped the house and traced the coast North for hours, stopping at half a dozen beaches, taking photographs and videos, marveling at the wonder of it all. We stood on cliffs with drops so sharp I felt fearful when heaving rocks into the great abyss. Our safe haven revealed itself at, as usual, the most perfect time. Somewhere between Miramar and Half Moon Bay State Beach, we dipped down the slippery slopes of tide-carved bluffs and nestled into an enclave of bliss. The rocks were textured like worn sandpaper. The wildly blowing wind rushed past this ancient sanctuary of ours. We cast aside our sweaters, opened a bottle of $5 Merlot, threw clementine peels to the seagulls and marveled at the majesty of the universe.
The moment of complete intoxication hit me so feverishly that I ripped off my clothes and jolted toward the ocean. The fearlessness that seized my heart was the same power that navigated the dangerous curves of the Rio Grande and the bone-chilling juts of the Arizona canyons. For a moment, for an hour, for an entire day, I felt nothing but gratitude and love. California possesses this capability if your heart is willing to embrace it. Somewhere, lost in the sun and the cradle of sea-smoothed rocks, I forgot that I hate my size 12 body as much as I hated it at size 26. I forgot that the damage done to my skin and my stomach will prevent me from proudly wearing a bikini. I forgot that I never felt like the other girls so I mocked them to mask the envy of always wanting to be them. For an entire afternoon I was content in my own skin, perfumed by citrus and salt water, sipping tart crushed grapes with my best friend. I was every thing I ever wanted to be that afternoon. I was free, I was happy, I was loved.
Back on the home front, we decorate with meager possessions of books and writing, as it has always been. Somehow when Ryan appears in my life, I cast aside my stringent regime of cleaning out my car and keeping the house in an orderly fashion. I lose track of time and responsibilities. I give up on the trivial efforts and remember to live. That is one of the enchantments I love about him most, the ability to make me forget that I'm trying to be something specific and instead I just live.
The poet and I continue to see one another regularly. It comes as no surprise to me that I am difficult beyond words, but we are equally matched in complications and her laughter, her Einstein and Frida obsessions, her adoration of pant suits and sudden bouts of withdrawing shyness appeal to me. She is a cavern and I am a spelunker.
Last night we got lost in the city, creating our own memories, our own fairy tale. Everything has happened so quickly that I've begun to believe there's no such thing as a timeline for the heart. People stay in relationships for years without feeling the slightest sense of fulfillment and others know the moment they see one another that life hadn't actually begun until they'd met. She and I fall somewhere in between, where the journey and the common sense intermingle. It is in this place that I am most reassured. Today she will help me chose a bike and we will peruse a local nature trail. My whole life I've hated the outdoors. It's a combination of harassing allergies and boredom, but there's something about California that beckons one to be outside. The hideous cold that has ravaged my body for more than a week is finally dissipating, so I will return to Yoga tomorrow morning and soon, very soon, surf lessons in the Pacific, a juicing diet, the finalization of smoking cessation. Tremendous personal challenges are on the horizon, but I am not afraid. Quite the contrary, I feel more alive than I ever knew possible.
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