4/16/2013. - Day 21 - Discovered by the Germans in 1904, they named it San Diago...

Orange Ave., Coronado Island

4/16/2013.  - Day 21 - Discovered by the Germans in 1904, they named it San Diago...

My first day in San Diego is hardly productive, or maybe it's just as productive as it's supposed to be.

I sleep in, way in. But it was needed. Later that afternoon I explore Coronado Island for a little sun and shopping. I loved Coronado during my first visit there over a year ago, but didn't have a ton of time to explore. Today is different.

 As has been custom throughout most of this trip, I stash the truck and set out on foot. A random meeting at a crosswalk finds me face to face with Jo-Ann and Beverly, who turn out to be kindred souls to me.

The crosswalk sign blinks a warning not to cross, as I wait in the middle of a four lane road. There is no ongoing traffic in sight. Two ladies wait with me on the median, all of us having made it across the first two lanes. I make a comment to no one in particular that I think we should go for it. We have all hesitated by now though, and likely missed our opportunity, which Jo-Ann quickly points out. She is right. The cars have smelled our fear and are beginning to approach. But the seconds of waiting fly by as we strike up a conversation and continue visiting after we are safe on the other side.

Jo-Ann and Beverly embody true friendship in every meaning of the word and this is blatantly evident in just the mere moments we share together. Decades together has brought them through trials and tribulations, and the experiences they have shared seem to encompass more than one lifetime, as if they have traveled through time itself and managed to live a thousand lives together in just a few decades--all the while supporting and encouraging one another. We chat about everything--from youth, to traveling, jobs, motorcycles, trucks, adventures, boys, and friendship. We cover an entire lifetime of subjects as talk as though we are all old friends. These women inspire in me the strength that was waning a little the last few days, and the assurance that I'm not alone in my endeavors.

Beverly owns a home in Montana, and Jo-Ann, a place in San Diego. They find time to visit one another and have maintained a solid friendship that has stood the test of time and the stress of the busyness of life. As we talk, I wonder aloud if I am a one man wolf pack. Most females have their, dare I use the term "bestie"--and I have begun to worry that I have missed the boat on that. There have been few people who have made it to a status of being "my person," quite a strenuous job, and they have tended to fade away into the distance after a period of time. It's a demanding position, being a "bestie" or someone's "person" and there is a lot of pressure that comes with it.  Also, I don't know that one person is enough to handle all of my randomness and excitement and serious discussions about nothing and silliness. I don't honestly know that I could ask anyone to do that.

I rely mostly on myself and my faith, and a network of friends rather than a single soul to lean on. Still, I see the strangeness in this divergence from mainstream behavior, and I suppose it would be nice to have that one person you could always count on. Perhaps this is why I strive so particularly hard to always be available for my friends in times of need, whether it be night or day, at home or at work, busy or not. I try to always at least be there to listen and offer whatever I can at whatever moment they are in need, because that is what I would want others to do for me. My entire life I have always wanted to be that one person who always says the right thing when you need them too. I want to be everyone's everything in the moment they are in need.

In typing this out, I see several flaws with this quest. The first being that while I always have thegreatest of intentions, I am usually the person who says the worst thing by accident and then feels horrible about it forever. I try too hard, and I am extremely sensitive, always wanting to do the right thing and going around getting my heart broke over silly things. Maybe this blog is a lesson: As I pour my soul into the letters on my keyboard, I am seeing as if for the first time, a bigger picture of my story. I am not meant to have all the answers or give them, nor am I supposed to expect others to always have the answers when I need them. Perhaps, I am supposed to rely more on my Creator rather than turning to human comforts in times of need and remembering only to beg for God's help in times of crisis. It's possible this sudden reflection is a reminder that my faith comes first, and if I can manage that, my troubles and fears and hardships will be taken care of. And ultimately I will devote less time to worry and more time to sharing the joys of life with my friends in lieu of the time we tick away agonizing over the hardships we all encounter.

It sounds so simple and it's great in theory but it's very hard to find the courage to not only believe in this, but to then live it.

Hotel Del Coronado

I make my way to the historic Hotel Del Coronado. When I first saw it, over a year ago, the view was at night and I mistook the festively lit building for a carousel. I was extremely excited as I approached it from afar, anticipating a grand old carousel rotating vintage horses and smiling riders, and boasting old music and the smell of popcorn and the carnival. I was only slightly disappointed when I came upon the hotel and saw it for what it was, because the building itself is truly majestic. On my second trip, it is still light outside and I watch the lucky guests carry their luggage up to the concierge and disappear into the building. It may not be a carousel, but I still find it a bit magical.

From here I drive to Imperial Beach, another favorite from my first trip. I find a place to walk down to the beach and watch the surfers catch the last few waves of the evening as the sun descends, bathing the waves in golden streams that reflect off of the waves like a sparkling chandelier.

Imperial Beach. My favorite <3

I have enjoyed these moments on the trip where I truly have no plan, nowhere to be, no one to meet, and no specific direction. I simply made a spur of the moment decision to come to the beach and sit. No one is waiting for me, no one is impatient and wanting to leave. I don't know if I had a bestie how they would take this unplanned, unstructured, freedom. I also do not know how my future husband is going to cope with my randomness. I pray for him. Well, I pray for him sort of. Sometimes I pray he has enough patience to stand me, and sometimes I pray that he is just as random, whether or not that is a nice to thing wish upon him. I hope he is at least ok with the occasional side trip to the beach to just sit quietly and do nothing but feel the sand between our toes and bask in the last rays of warmth before the sun dips below the surf. I also hope he actually exists and is not in fact a cat.

This blog has now turned into a rom-com. Woof.

 The only other event worth mentioning was an evening trip to Target, and not just any old Target. This was a two story Target. It's official--I've got to live here. Target is really all I need to survive.

Two. Stories.  Two.

I don't know if I have a Jo-Ann to my Beverly. I don't know if I am destined to have a bestie, or "hetero life partner" as my cousin has penned the position. If I am, perhaps like my crosswalk friends, I am supposed to meet them later in life. Or maybe I have already met them but have not put my faith in God, in myself, or in them and allowed them to be there for me. Or maybe I am best with a collection of "bests." I am content with my assorted network of variously talented and unanimously kind and caring friends. I mean, I also hope that someday I run across a man I can tolerate and vice versa; but having truly great girl friends is invaluable. Husbands and boyfriends are useful, but the worth of a good girlfriend cannot be calculated.

In spite of us needing each other, as humans who were not meant to walk alone, I am also embarrassingly proud of my independence. I know that life demands a balance of independence and also allowing others to help us in times of need. But I also think that we have to be completely comfortable in our own skin before one can add all those other characters and steps that make up our ever changing lives. We should be complete individuals in our own being, and then supplement our lives with all the rest of that stuff. That's a hard thing to do because it can be very uncomfortable being alone and just trying to figure out who we are. I think a lot of people try to skip that and look to others to fill in the blanks. But it's a quick fix. As usual, the hardest, most challenging way is also the best way. Kind of like how it's harder to eat vegetables than chocolate but vegetables are better for you? Such a cruel reality.

In this trip, I've had a lot of time to really be uncomfortable in my own skin, find out where my limits are, push them, and then sit back and wait until the uncomfortable turns into the comfortable, and the fear turns into experience. And in these tense moments, I can choose to have faith that things will iron out smoothly, or I can worry and fuss over the wrinkles and make a much worse go of it than necessary trying to straighten everything out.



In the end, I'd rather just go along with the whole thing, wrinkles and all. The journey has sometimes been on the path less traveled. I've had more than my share of wrinkles and even had to patch a few holes along the way--but I think it's better that way. After all, I can arrive on time, prim and proper and neatly pressed--
or I can arrive a little late, a little wrinkled, with a few smudges from unexpected adventures, and have a bit of a story to tell about how they got there.