Where Have I Been?

I skipped a month. For the last eight years, I have posted on this blog at least once a month. I did so because I enjoyed it. I loved crafting my thoughts and feelings into words and phrases. I still do. But for the last several months, perhaps even longer, I have been struggling to maintain my streak of monthly blog posts.

My burnout is not exclusive to writing on my blog. It’s been difficult for me to post on social media and to write the essays and fiction stories that I typically love. 

I’m working through this burnout. Perhaps I just need a break, or perhaps I’m lacking motivation because I’m not getting the opportunities I’m looking for. Or maybe I’m just too busy doing other things—getting outside, going for drives, exploring the world around me—in which case, I’m not mad at it. 

A few weeks ago, my mom and I took a drive to Stinson Beach. It was the longest I had been in the car since we moved to Vallejo a year ago. It was also the first time I had seen the ocean in nine years. 

After driving down Highway 101, we got off at Mill Valley and drove through the fragrant, towering eucalyptus trees until we got to Muir Beach. We parked on a cliff overlooking the ocean. I sat there with the windows and doors open, taking in the salty air and glimpses of the Farallon Islands on the horizon. A halo of sunlight had created a spotlight in the middle of the ocean, the eye of a storm passing through. 

I got out of the car and stood on a patch of grass, my bare feet touching the earth. It was cold and wet, but it felt good to push myself, to stand at land’s end. For a moment, I almost didn’t feel sick.

Then my legs lost their strength, and someone drove by staring at me as if I were taking a piss on the side of the road, so I got back in the car and lay down, my legs weak and achy. 

While I was recovering, my mom went for a walk with the dogs, Pixie and Squirrel, who were on the trail of something (or perhaps something was on their trail). When they returned from their walk, I looked across the road and saw this . . . 

“Is that a wolf?” I said.

My mom told me that they had found a warning about coyotes, and sure enough one had stalked them back to the car. Luckily, we got the dogs in the car before the coyote could cross the street. 

Then we drove up the coast, winding along the cliffs until we descended into Stinson Beach. It was getting dark and the storm was ramping up again, so we quickly drove through the village, gawking at some of the eclectic multi-million dollar beachfront houses.

The fastest way home was to retrace our route through Muir Beach, but that would have meant getting back on the highway, and I didn’t feel like doing that. So we took the long way, driving up to Point Reyes and across to Novato, passing Nicasio Reservoir along the way. 

It was dark and stormy when we got home, and I was exhausted. I crashed a bit that night and the next day, but it was worth it—seeing the ocean, putting my bare feet on the cliffs above it. I don’t know when I’ll do it again, but like so many things that I push myself to do, I was glad I did it when I could. 

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