My entire purpose of heading south before veering toward Minnesota is to attend a yoga workshop at Esalen in Big Sur, California. My perfect plan was to have a personal retreat at Esalen before my workshop started. Well, when they informed me that they were booked, everything else in Big Sur was booked. EVERYTHING. So I left Santa Cruz early on Friday morning hoping I would get a walk-in campsite. Nope. Booked with long waitlists. Fancy resorts? Booked. A ranch? Booked. My stomach started cramping as I went into fight or flight mode. What if I can't find somewhere to sleep for two nights? Do I hide somewhere? Find a beach? Rearrange my belongings to sleep in my Subaru? It was an unnerving feeling, yet I knew everything would be okay.
One nice state park ranger, after telling me I was number 12 on a waitlist for a few campsites, told me to check out Ventana Spa's campground. "They just reopened the campground this year, there will probably be room," he said. Ok, ok, I got this. Deep breath. NO VACANCY. Ahhhhhh!!!! Because Ventana is a private campground I knew that they would have more fenaggling room than a state park. I pulled my puppy-dog eyes out. Yes, I did it out of desperation. I told the camp manager that I'm homeless, I have an itty-bitty tent, I'm low maintenance, I'm a nice nurse from Minnesota, and so forth. He gave me long stare and told me to pull over. He went on his walkie talkie. "What do you think about someone camping in 37B tonight." A female voice spoke back, "It's up to you." Yes, Yes!!! A home! Jim, the amazing camp manager that gave me a home, explained that 37B was going to be a true campsite, but that it flooded a number of years ago. He said he would give it to me for half-price at $25. A steal! A room at the spa starts at $1000. And, you know what? My campsite is dreamy. It is everything I need and then some. I am in heaven surrounded by ancient redwoods.
Finding a home was a sigh of release. I could focus on other necessities in life, such as food. Since my campsite was so inexpensive and because I wanted to support Ventana for their generosity, I ate at their fancy restaurant overlooking the ocean. It. Was. Amazing. And when I was bumming around town earlier in the day getting ice, I discovered that singer/songwriter Laura Marling was playing at an intimate outdoor venue later in the evening. I know some of her songs and my life has been lacking live music, so it only seemed fitting to go. My fancy dinner and concert were a celebration of having a home and of my journey thus far. I've been feeling extra grateful lately. I'm living out a dream. I'm lavishing in solitude.
This life is really something else. It's magical.
Sidenote/more magic:
Last night I went to Big Sur Taproom to write and read. Well, I didn't do either. Perhaps I needed some interactions with humans after spending a nice chunk of time in my own world. Perhaps that need led to a lovely evening in the company of two men, one being a camp attendant at Ventana, and the other being the producer and bass player of the band Grizzly Bear. Who knew that we would be talking about First Avenue in Minnesota (Grizzly Bear has a star there!), movies, hikes, and the best places to write. And who knew that I would unabashedly lose in the most serious game of Connect Four. We all came to the taproom alone. And although I wasn't expecting conversations to happen, I didn't turn them away. I delighted in them.
I've had numerous interactions like this on my travels. They come to me. They feed me. Most times, I'm slightly changed by them. I rarely exchange numbers or plan to see these people again. For me, it's allowing the experiences in and then letting them go. It's not wanting more than what the interactions give me. What they give me is enough. They are actually more than enough because I am never expecting them to walk into my life in the first place.
One nice state park ranger, after telling me I was number 12 on a waitlist for a few campsites, told me to check out Ventana Spa's campground. "They just reopened the campground this year, there will probably be room," he said. Ok, ok, I got this. Deep breath. NO VACANCY. Ahhhhhh!!!! Because Ventana is a private campground I knew that they would have more fenaggling room than a state park. I pulled my puppy-dog eyes out. Yes, I did it out of desperation. I told the camp manager that I'm homeless, I have an itty-bitty tent, I'm low maintenance, I'm a nice nurse from Minnesota, and so forth. He gave me long stare and told me to pull over. He went on his walkie talkie. "What do you think about someone camping in 37B tonight." A female voice spoke back, "It's up to you." Yes, Yes!!! A home! Jim, the amazing camp manager that gave me a home, explained that 37B was going to be a true campsite, but that it flooded a number of years ago. He said he would give it to me for half-price at $25. A steal! A room at the spa starts at $1000. And, you know what? My campsite is dreamy. It is everything I need and then some. I am in heaven surrounded by ancient redwoods.
 |
| My home!!! |
This life is really something else. It's magical.
 |
| A good morning hug. This beauty is 30ft from my campsite. |
Last night I went to Big Sur Taproom to write and read. Well, I didn't do either. Perhaps I needed some interactions with humans after spending a nice chunk of time in my own world. Perhaps that need led to a lovely evening in the company of two men, one being a camp attendant at Ventana, and the other being the producer and bass player of the band Grizzly Bear. Who knew that we would be talking about First Avenue in Minnesota (Grizzly Bear has a star there!), movies, hikes, and the best places to write. And who knew that I would unabashedly lose in the most serious game of Connect Four. We all came to the taproom alone. And although I wasn't expecting conversations to happen, I didn't turn them away. I delighted in them.
I've had numerous interactions like this on my travels. They come to me. They feed me. Most times, I'm slightly changed by them. I rarely exchange numbers or plan to see these people again. For me, it's allowing the experiences in and then letting them go. It's not wanting more than what the interactions give me. What they give me is enough. They are actually more than enough because I am never expecting them to walk into my life in the first place.
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