Knowing When it is Time to Leave

Undoubtedly you have all been there, the moment when you realize you are doing something that just isn’t working.  What you do in this moment I think determines whether you believe in free will, it certainly determines what you are willing to accept into your life.  You could stay right there, waiting, thinking, “Whatever life has in store for me is clearly supposed to be here somewhere”, or you could say, “Sorry, not working, I choose to leave.”  By now, you know which one I invariably select.

Thus, despite having just decided to stay in Palm Desert for a month, I chose to leave.  Being back in Seattle wrenched my heart more than I anticipated.  The combination of dear friends, high thread count sheets, bone china, wet streets, and the plethora of people under sixty convinced me that I needed to return home as soon as possible. 

But not before enjoying some much needed friend time.  

Oddly, two out of my three conversations with friends involved bi-sexuality.  Life, apparently, would like me to deal with sexuality right now--these talks coming so soon after my education about polyamory.

The second conversation reminds me of why I don’t write fiction:   I was out with a friend and had told him about Nick.  For those of you who don’t know Nick, Nick is the name I have given to my next life partner (along with a long list of requirements, let’s face it I am pretty spoiled.)  Bi-sexuality came up due to the adorable waitress who, despite me trying to get my friend interested in, seemed to be more interested in me.   It really is too bad (particularly in this case) but women just don’t appeal to me.  I realize that if they did, my chances of finding a suitable partner would increase dramatically. 

In due course we left Adorable Julia and headed to another venue.  Shortly after arriving, our new waitress came up and said, “Hi, I’m Nickie, I’ll be serving you tonight.”

I mean, come on, that is just one hell of a perfect moment in time.  My actual life reads better than most fiction.

Later that night, enjoying a scotch and my glorious city view, I simply could not believe I had to leave.   But fly back I did.  I cancelled the rest of my stay in Palm Desert, packed up Beagle and the noses and hit the road.  We left yesterday, everyone heaving a sigh; Opus and Wurzig’s were laden with resignation, Beagle’s and mine with anticipation and River’s with joy.  No one lives in the moment better than River and she loves nothing better than a comfy bed in a moving car.  About an hour into the drive a feeling of complete euphoria came over me—I was free again and had no idea where I would be for the next three weeks.

Driving on one of my favorite sections of California highways, 101 just north of Ventura, I looked to my left and saw a camper next to the ocean and knew that’s where I wanted to be.  And that is where you find me:  Sitting in the Emma Wood State Beach campground just outside of Ventura, California (site pictured above.)  Both of Beagle’s doors are open, the ocean breeze is blowing through, I can see the waves breaking out the back door and the sun shimmering on the water out the front.  This is why people flock to California.  What is not to love?   As an added joy, this campground is blissfully empty.

On our morning walk along the coast we were entertained by a seal, then a crane of some sort and then kept pace with a pod of dolphins on our way back to Beagle.   I had a moment of longing for Seattle where a lady greets me every morning by listing the animals she has seen along the shore.  But I doubt I will rush back up as planned (if you think I change my mind a lot on the blog, you should see what goes on in my head.)   With adventure back on the table, sunshine in my eyes and the anticipation of Christmas with family only three weeks away, I might just decide to hang around for a few weeks.

-K

PS:  Palm Desert did teach me two things:  (a) I learned that saying, “I am going to lay in the sun” provides all the accomplishment I need in order to feel good about lazing around for an hour; and, (b) I firmed up the age at which I will exercise my right to leave Earth and check out what is behind Door #2.  The ultimate expression of free will.  To which Sam would reply, “Not if you die first.”  Determinists are so smug.