"On soft spring nights I'll stand in the yard under the stars - Something good will come out of all things yet - And it will be golden and eternal just like that - There's no need to say another word."
-Big Sur, Jack Kerouac
Sometimes I think I had things better figured out at 14 than I do now (though I'm certain I have a dozen family members who will assure you that's just not true). In either case, I'm delving back into my roots of Kerouac, Thoreau and, ahem, Incubus. Driving through Big Sur in September brought Kerouac's novel, named for the stunning coastline, to my mind. His writing is so organic, so alive. If you've never read On the Road, pick it up and experience my adolescent handbook (read: my personal Twilight).
We camped at Half Moon Bay on our way out of San Francisco, and our night went eerily well. We pulled up to our campsite, set up our tent and were roasting marshmallows within less than ten minutes. We slept like babies, woke up to a beautiful sunrise and some cookies saved from Tartine Bakery for breakfast, and began the drive down the coast.
And it was gorgeous. All of it. Miles and winding miles of cliffs and blue ocean and sky.
To once again borrow the words of Jack Kerouac, I felt
"Happy. Just in my swim shorts, barefooted, wild-haired, in the red fire dark, singing, swigging wine, spitting, jumping, running--that's the way to live. All alone and free in the soft sands of the beach by the sigh of the sea out there."
I am landlocked in Utah and feeling homesick for the sea (I guess that's seasick for you). I've never craved salt water and salty skin as badly as I do now.
I could write a book of love letters to the ocean.