I can not put a single finger on why I left part of my heart in California.
Perhaps it was San Francisco, with her rainbow adorned colored inclusive streets, and her beautiful painted ladies Victorian homes. It could be the brisk to the bone air, that came in from the bay filled with hazy fog, that cleaned my lungs from the heaviness of humidity. Or could it be the majestic Golden Gate that literally takes your breath away upon site, or the silliness of the wild seals and sea lions dancing upon the wharf.
Maybe it was the deep spiritual awakening I had, while entering the Redwoods forest. The grandeur of the trees that also felt so protective and inviting. A place I had never been but felt like immediate home. Every branch and root with its own story to tell when I touched it. I realized that day, without a doubt, I was actually a tree hugger for life.
Could it be Sonoma, when I reconnected with an old friend in wine country? With pristine panoramic views, and stories of the land rooted in missionary work. A small quaint downtown that offered local artistry and healthily food choices.
Possibly, it was Monterey, a diamond of the coast. Its gorgeous landscapes and beaches. The patch of grass I rooted myself into the earth in, that felt like velvet. The sea life, the sea smell, the sea color, all of what is the sea…just filled my heart to the brim. Every rock on the beach I picked up felt like a song of the sea. Out of all the places, this one I promised my soul I would return to.
Then, there was Big Sur, where I could barely catch my breath. The dangerous, steep, large cliffs with the winding roads, that met the most picturesque churning sea. I felt like I was a speck of dust, in the midst of one of Gods huge creations.
Los Angeles, how exciting you are! Filled with lights, camera, action, every minute of the day. Gorgeous homes mounted in massive hills, quaint everyday restaurants holding some of the biggest names in Hollywood, and admiring the walk of fame, realizing my hands fit perfectly into Emma Stone prints. Old Hollywood and new, I became a fascinated spectator. I was completely surprised by the amount of wealth the writer of the song “I like to move it move it” had, when I saw his lavish home that overlooked the same point where the Hollywood sign is. Even in our hotel in Santa Monica, producers quietly discussed upcoming plans for various tv shows, and a confessional piece was being shot in the hotel. This city of angels ran on production which left me in awe but wondering where the people go to be real?
Then there is you, sweet Malibu. Your pristine beaches, warm people, and sunsets of a dream. The air, even though so close to the city of LA, has a slowed down pace, that lets one feel connected to self and surroundings. Malibu is like a love song filled with perfect lyrics and notes. Its lavish homes in the hills dripping in excess over looking the ocean, do not reflect the humble, grounded, sweet residents we met there (including the real Gidget). Malibu: It was a treasure I felt so excited to find.
Had I been in my twenties on this trip, I don’t think I would’ve returned east. California spoke to my being in a way I hadn’t expected and showed me a part of my country that was so incredibly different in its nature. It brought something alive in me, that was fast asleep. I look forward to returning to my west coast roots I left in the woods and amongst the ocean. A lesson learned, you should travel your own country too.
seekingup
Seeking Up 
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