At this moment I am sitting in Monterey and watching the sun rise. It's been rising for about 45 minutes, and I've been watching it and sure enough it's still going up, up, up. I am looking out the large windows of a neat and comfortable apartment set high on the hill where the Presidio also sits and has for a long time. California's history is everywhere here far more tangible than most places, and it is beautiful. The southernmost tip of Monterey bay lies directly in front of me, the steely cobalt of the early morning sea perfectly complements (hey, I know my color wheel!) the tangerine orange of the slowly elevating sun. Birds keep flying by, like they know how perfect their lateral movements across this vista would appear to me at this moment. This is the kind of view they write poetry about. "They" being the kind of people who do a good job of writing poetry I like about things like what I am looking at right now, which is stunning. There's smoke rising from some of the trees in the middle distance, by the water's edge. I can only see one stoplight in this expansive view, surprising, but leaving the scene more timeless and pastoral than you would assume it would be.
This is, despite its awesome glory, not technically the prettiest view I have seen in the past week. I took it upon myself to get out of town, as I am wont, and accordingly jumped in my car, armed with my guitar, my golf clubs, two hats, and a library's worth of books, and drove aimlessly to Caspar, CA. Along the way I stopped many other places, including a lighthouse where the sea looked like a Turner painting and elicited an emphatic "WOW. F*CKING WOW." from me the moment I saw it. Most of the last ten days has appeared to be some grand conspiracy between Turner, Thomas Kinkade and Ansel Adams to bewitch me into never ever leaving California. It's OK, I'm not really planning on it.
Caspar is between Mendocino and Fort Bragg, if you didn't know, and if you don't know where those places are, they are a good deal north of San Francisco, and into the region I think of as northern California, really. They sold more flavors of kombucha in the local grocery store in Fort Bragg than I have seen in all the Whole Foods of the south, and in a twisted and controversial way that is symbolic of precisely why I appreciate northern California so much. However notably, though, I do not actually live there, so judge that as you will.
I stayed in a farmhouse that was built some 150 years ago and it was the perfect combination of cozy charm and eery creepiness you'd hope for in a rambly, creaky old house set in the middle of the mossy old forest by the sea. I loved it.
I also love being alone, and that was something I could revel in. Thank god. I need to balance the millions of people I live with on a regular basis with silence and solitude, two vastly underrated things. Before this gets all Emersonian or didactic, let me say it wasn't some pilgrimage of isolation. I talked to a bundle of people. There was an insightful ex-silk importer with a loud and charming sense of humor; an awkward but very sweet middle aged woman who I believe went by "Jewel" and offered me Cointreau to put in my cheap white wine; a music shop owner with a love of psychedelic rock who looked like Jerry Garcia and in fact had done tech work with the Dead back in the day and from who I got an abalone shell necklace and a list of great obscure albums to check out; a group of dreadlocked men who looked like characters from Alice in Wonderland and hit on me, but very kindly and with a good deal of earnest charm; and two young marine ecologists with a love of Downton Abbey, one of whom was one of the most talented singer songwriters I've seen of late but who may never actually pursue that talent. I hope she does. Solitude is one of the best positions from which to enjoy people, and it often affords you the choice, which perhaps is what makes all the difference.
At any rate, many more stories and adventures and I shall try to share some of the many pictures I've taken. It's been a lovely respite and a lovely start to the new year, if you're into that sort of thing. Simultaneously, it's been an appropriate-feeling send-off to last year, which was in truth the best year of my life (so far, I feel little too precocious declaring that outright). I made a resolution last year to "have the best year ever" because it was just the sort of cop-out resolution I'd actually endorse and it didn't sound like a bad idea either way. If I'd only known I'd actually make it a reality! **exclamation point for sincere effect**
Without bogging this down in too much detail (for all three of you who may ever read this), and apologizing for the pedestrian nature of this sort of paragraph, in short, last year: I went to 16 states and 2 countries; part of that being on a road trip with my dad which was one of the best things I've done, visiting all kinds of sites and cities and dear friends; became 50% of a lawyer; saw the premiere of my last feature to surprisingly good acclaim; finally started to figure out the guitar; moved to a place I truly love; saw more live music than I ever had before; met tons of fascinating people and went to gobs of events I actually enjoyed immensely; had so very many adventures all over the country; got a wake-up call from the universe that confused the heck out of me and has set me down a very entertaining path that has only gone to show how small and connected and magical the world really is if you pay attention; my hair got longer, which is objectively natural but still pleasant and true; I read some good books; and I started golfing, which honestly is a skill I haven't improved much at since but nevertheless greatly enjoy. There is so much, much more but it's obnoxious and if you are one of the three (two) people who read this chances are you know all about all of this or I shall shortly email you with further elaboration if you so desire.
It really has been the best year, and given the fact my "resolution" for 2013 has been "to have a better year" lord only knows what I, and the universe, shall come up with. It doesn't really matter, I know where I am going and what I'm about and the rest is just the part that makes it all worthwhile, because what use is achieving a goal if it happens immediately? That's not a goal, that's a purchase, and a cheap one at that. If the past two weeks are anything to go by, 2013 should be at least as interesting as 2012 and if we are lucky even better. There is only one way to find out.
The sun is up now and I can hear seals going berserk down by the water. I'm not sure what I'm going to do today, but whatever it is I aspire to enjoy it immensely. Pip pip, loves. CMG
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