What I Did Over My Summer Vacation Part III

Summer is freedom.

At least this is what eighteen years of summer vacations have indoctrinated into my soul. Remember that feeling? The countdown to the final week of school, the flurry of year-book signings and class parties and studying for final exams, the warmth of the sun welcoming you to three months of glorious nothingness? And I say this as someone who did in fact love school - those summer months were perfection personified.

I suppose it helps that when I was ten we moved to Southern California where we had the blessed option of spending entire weekends at the beach or playing outside all day in the usually not too warm sun. Of course, I admit, I was always more of an indoor girl and it was often a fight with my parents to get me to even go outside. (In my mind there was nothing more adventurous and stimulating than that tempting stack of library books I could consume so ravenously. Every Saturday we would have to take another trip to the local library just so I could get another stack of books. There were times when it was difficult to even find books I hadn't yet read I was devouring them so quickly.)

But that in itself was a freedom - to sit in an air conditioned house, curled up in my pajamas all day with a new book or playing Barbies with my sisters (or house or school or "The Floor is Lava" or any other myriad of games we could imagine). There were no worries, no bills or job to think about and stress over. It was simple. Nice. Easy.

Oh those were the days.

But even now, amidst stress and work hours and car payments and rent and grocery shopping and what-the-heck-ever, there are those moments - little perfect pinpricks of time when the sun is warm and the breeze is rustling through the trees and I close my eyes to a wash of honeysuckle and fresh cut grass floating through the air - when summer can still be perfection.

In July I drove the eight hours to Mesa, Arizona to visit one of my best friends and her family. I’ve done this drive before but never by myself and let me tell you, it’s a completely different experience to do it alone. For one, it was completely and utterly boring. Mind-meldingly boring. I understand now why long distance truckers might go insane. Luckily, I had some music and the Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows book on CD to keep me entertained. I also stopped a lot more frequently than I might if I was with someone else. So yes, round trip it was sixteen hours of alone time and endless stretches of the same scenery and lots and lots of thinking (scary combination). But it was also sort of cathartic -  being out there on the road, with the windows down and the wind in my hair and the radio blasting. The freedom in that is intoxicating. It's easy to get lost in the possibility of going places and meeting new people and driving until the gas tank is empty. (Fortunately, considering the 120 degree temperatures, this did not actually happen). I had a map and a set destination and schedule but in those long stretches of alone, endless highway, it was nice to just get lost, even for a moment, in the fantasy of going somewhere completely new and being someone completely new - as if I had just packed a few belongings, jumped in the car and headed towards whatever direction felt right. Again, I didn't do this, but maybe someday.

Earlier that month I went up to SLO to visit my friend Wendy. We spent that Saturday in her boyfriend's car, driving up the coast with the top down, the wind in our hair, singing along in most cliche fashion to Katy Perry's "California Girls".  After spending some time shopping in Morro Bay and taking pictures of the Elephant Seals in Cambria we went hunting for tide pools and found all kinds of starfish and sea urchins and sea anemones. We were completely unprepared, in our skirts and flip flops, to go climbing and scrambling like little kids over rocks and boulders but we hardly even cared. As the sun began to dip lower into the Western Sky and the ocean stretched out into a deep purple horizon I was suddenly so enthralled by that moment in time. I was a kid again, playing freely and laughing and not wanting any of it to end.

Maybe it's just moments and maybe it's fleeting and maybe high tide eventually rolls in and washes it all away and sends you running for shore but why not enjoy the moment while it's there in hand? I don't want to regret letting anything slip away.

So. Summer of 2010, you've been blissful and beautiful and kind of awesome. I've breathed in deep and watched a sunset and been enlightened by the laughter of children. I've sunk my toes into the sands of the Pacific Shores, sipped smoothies and driven down the coast with the music too loud. I've danced with strangers in Chicago and danced in my underwear in the safety of my air conditioned house.  I've found new strengths and flailed with new friends and written words and shared words. I've drunk wine till I'm dizzy and listened to jazz on a warm night and talked on the phone until my ear was sore. I've traveled by plane, train and automobile and I have LOVED this summer.

Until next year.