Late at night last Friday. Some swanky tunes were playing, I believe Natalie Cole or Yvonne Elliman. Rain was on the way and it seemed like Fall was finally showing up. It was in this moment that we made a decision somewhere between striking and relenting: we shall vacation, if even briefly. Won't just doing so make us feel better? Well, in today's world, worries never really leave, do they?
The drive to Santa Barbara has all the same signposts: the 101, north of Oxnard, going along the ocean. Passing Ojai and the mountains. You pass Carpinteria and Summerland, and you know you're almost there. Then it narrows (because you MUST have traffic) and just as it opens, there are all the familiar streets. The familiar foliage and architecture. What was not familiar was the thing that brought all the feel good crashing down. All it took was one view of State St. We knew that the street was closed in-between cross-streets, and restaurants had spilled out into the streets. While that seems like a good idea in theory, the practice is another matter.
So for the first time since it all went down, I sat at a table, on a sidewalk, adjacent to a heat lamp (in midday, this being SB in the fall) and tried to relax as much as one could in-between seeing folks walk with the old "chin mask" (and some "The Dumb and The Maskless" - weekdays on CBS). There are just so many things outside your control that it used to be Dumb Mouthbreath would only be in your way, or cause a minor annoyance. Does it just seem like they multiplied?
It was supposed to be a relaxing time, but it was all making me depressed: I knew it wouldn't be the Santa Barbara I remembered, but the endless store closures drove it home. An area that was once vibrant was near-death. I tried to think about how that was good - we have more space to ourselves, right? But we all know why we do, and it didn't make anyone feel good.
Remember that restaurant? Closed. Oh there was a good store that-- Closed. Can we walk down that path to-- Closed.
The wharf is still there. So is the beach. So are the sunsets. And riding up and down the coast on the bike was bringing the familiars back while creating new...and it was then that I began to realize that's about all you can ask (or hope) for when trying to break away in 2020 and beyond. Once I began to keep that lens, the "survival" mode was still around, but the glow buoyed the good times. Or maybe it was the hot tub, looking up at the post-sunset sky, palm trees quietly swaying.
Yet the next day, back we went, and when we did there wasn't the melancholy of "damn, it's over." There was a whole other "we made it" vibe on the return. It had only been an overnight, but upon returning, we all said we felt like we'd been gone a week. (Some of us packed that way, too...not calling out names) Refreshment was delivered, even if the comforts and safety (such as it is) of home were as welcome as a gold-framed vista.
Making it Happen used to have one meaning. Those still trying to make a go of it in Santa Barbara now have given it a whole new definition.
