Sitting on the Dock of the Bay
Go
Fly
Roam
Travel
Voyage
Explore
Journey
Discover
Adventure
When my East Coast client asked me to get on an airplane for a West Coast job without thinking I said yes. To date I had never made it past the Mississippi, really the Great Smokey Mountains. The famous lyrics of Peter, Paul and Mary were running through my mind,
“This land is your land, this land is my land,
From California, to the New York Island,
From the Redwood Forest, to the Gulf Stream Waters,
This land was made for you and me.”
Somehow I forgot I was going to need to get on a plane all.by.myself fly across the country, land on a Friday AFTER dark I would share a Uber with perfect strangers find a hotel I booked online in a city I had never been. Not knowing a single.person I woke up Saturday morning embarking on my adventure. (My contact was East Coast bound until their Monday morning flight.) I realized that my 42-year-old self hadn’t traveled alone in a very long time, typically I have multiple people with me, granted most of them are under the age of 14, but somehow it fools me into thinking there is safety in numbers. I have often heard that courage isn’t the absences of being afraid, but going forward in spite of fear. I was testing that theory with every step of the way on this journey. I traveled to Muir Woods seeing the redwood trees that were on this planet when Jesus walked makes you take pause, the smell of the woods just outside of the bustling city is a little reprieve. Then there was my little adventure to Half Moon Bay, based on the recommendation of the concierge at my hotel and a quick google search, I decided this was the perfect spot for my first view of the Pacific Ocean. The word the concierge used in describing the coast was spiritual, I couldn’t agree more. Maybe it was the wind, or the view, or the fact that I was alone. I made it back to my hotel recharged; realizing that being scared isn’t a reason to not go on the adventure. If I had succumb to the fear I would have missed beautiful sunny COLD California.
The Coldest Winter I Ever Spent
Was a Summer in San Francisco
~ Mark Twain
