I grapple with the whole experience of America, adulthood (?), the “system”, van life, the inner workings of my brain, and give a funny little run down of the coast through my eyes (rant about the Big Sur bridge included).

I looked at the auto shop.

I looked at the van.

Both dwarfed by the mountains surrounding. Everything felt very big, I felt very small.

Whisps of my hair floated in the wind, sifting through my field of vision. I watched as snowflakes fell around me, I was bundled up in the warmest clothes that I had but still the cold mountain air nipped at my skin. Time stood still.

What the fuck.

Back to the van I went.

Bury your face in your hands and you are awake.

And so I let go. I had already started planning it the night before.

He’d said I’d feel better once I got out of the Salinas valley, he was right.

It doesn’t all have to be good for it to beautiful.

He smiled

He didn't have anything

He looked me in the eyes

He told me that when all else fails to just breathe

My running shoes flew out of my roof box which half opened on the freeway in LA. The van was in fact infested with little black ants for the entire duration of this experience, they were literally everywhere and we couldn't figure out how or why. At one point, during an especially hot day, while I was feeling tired and extra grimy we went to get a shower at a campground where I found it to be literally full of bees. It really seemed like the cherry on top at that point (I was able to find a shower with minimal bees). I think the whole "we exist in the now" thing came about because I was often internally spiraling about my future and what if my great American dream that I'd set out to achieve failed and I had to go home early, empty handed. I literally have no idea what I was talking about with regards to the dirt mountains. And finally, loops had become a theme and running joke.

I may just be speaking for myself, but I think each of us came down looking for something, or with a goal in mind. Before I left Canada I was feeling a bit lost, burnt out, and uninspired. I knew that I wanted to dedicate a good chunk of this winter to trying to get barreled, and I'd also had a bit of an epiphany of sorts shortly before leaving.

I cried when we hit the California border, it was unexpected and I still don't entirely know why. I took it as confirmation that something significant was to unfold.