Of Whales and Lighthouses and Flowing with Traffic
Marika and I have been exploring new places along the coast. Sometimes we take our trips in Marika’s car so it’s faster, more economical and easier to maneuver around a town. Other times we take the RV so that the dogs can hang in comfort while we’re out adventuring.
Last weekend we had reservations to tour the Point San Luis Lighthouse a few miles south of Morro Bay. We took the RV and made a day of it.
We turned onto Avila Beach Road, a two lane stretch of road that curves around the wide C that is San Luis Bay, then dead ends at the Port San Luis Harbor. We got there early, before ten o’clock, so that we could find a parking spot for the RV and have time to explore and relax before our 1pm Lighthouse tour.
Since it’s the end of summer, we didn’t expect too many cars. But four days ago, humpback whales were spotted feeding in the bay and the crowds have been coming ever since.
So we parked in the first spot big enough along the road and started toward Dog Beach. But there were too many people and dogs already on the beach so we took a short walk up a hill, then piled back into the RV and drove back into the actual town of Avila Beach just down the road to explore. But the streets were hilly and narrow and the public parking lot said NO RVs, so we returned to the beach road, found a place to park closer to where we needed to meet the Lighthouse Tour bus and had lunch.
The dinette window faced the expanse of water, still smooth and gray like the sky. Anchored boats bobbed in the water and a few pelicans glided overhead. Kayakers and stand up paddle boarders moved through the water, all watching for whale activity.
We watched the cars, bumper to bumper, driving in and out. As soon as one car pulled out of a parking space, another pulled in. People set up beach chairs along the narrow sidewalk, sat in the backs of their pickup trucks, leaned against their cars, watching and waiting.
There was no unusual bird activity, no gathering of thousands of pelicans diving for fish like they had reported days before. Still, people came with cameras and binoculars and lined up along the road, watching. I wondered if they were noticing anything else – the kayakers, the dogs running on the beach, the subtle changes in the sky – or if they were only looking for what they wanted to see.
The fog rolled out, revealing the curve of land on the other side of the bay, and the water turned blue to match the sky. And still the cars drove in and people stood and watched the water.
At 12:30 we walked down to the Lighthouse meeting point and got in the van that took us onto the private property of PG and E, up a narrow, winding, single lane road through scrub oak and cyprus trees. About half way up, the road hugged the steep edge, revealing the water below us, shining and spectacular in its bigness and blueness.
The tour was fun and informative. We learned about whaling in the area in the 1870’s and saw the original Fresnel light, long since replaced by an electric light and now housed in the old fog horn room. The tour bus driver said that the whales had been feeding on giant schools of sardines and anchovies, but they had all moved further north. Too bad no one told all of the folks who had driven to Avila Beach.
We got back to the RV around 3:30 and the traffic was moving even slower than before.
We could have felt rushed to get back to camp, or, if we’d been in the car, maybe we’d have been too hungry or tired to stay. But with everything with us in the RV, it was an easy decision to stay put, enjoy the view and hang around for the sunset.
We took a nap and read. I wrote a bit and we took the dogs for a short walk along the sidewalk, away from the flow of traffic. Marika made dinner and we dined with a view of pelicans and gulls gliding along the curve of the coast.
The sun went down behind the mountain we had driven up in the tour bus hours before. Traffic finally thinned. A bonfire blazed on the beach and a few kayakers floated on the water, now silver and rippling in the wind.
We pulled out at eight, easing into the light flow of cars. We made every light and cruised north on the 101 in the dark, all of us ready to be parked and settled. Home.
Walking a New Way
For the past few weeks, Laddy and I have been walking a half mile from the RV Park to the street that runs parallel to the beach. We follow the street another half a mile until it dead ends at the dry Morro Creek, where we turn into a large dirt parking lot and follow a sandy trail down to the beach.
I’ve watched people walk across planks over the dry creek and up to a dirt road on the other side and I wondered where the road led. But I was afraid it would be too far for me or Laddy to walk all the way from the RV.
So this morning, the four of us got in Marika’s car and drove to the dirt parking lot and began our walk down into the creek bed, across the wooden planks and up onto the other side, heading south.
Marika is a slower walker than me and she likes to bird while she walks, stopping often to scan the brush for sparrows and warblers. Mabel is happy to stop and sniff around. I am more interested in keeping a steady pace, getting a little cardiac workout, and Laddy tends to get impatient if we stand still for too long.
Often, this difference makes me resentful that I have to walk at her pace and then I feel bad that I’m not willing to just be with her as she is.
But today I was able to accept each of our ways as good for who we are. I took Laddy and Marika took Mabel and we agreed to meet at the end of the road.
It was only about a quarter of a mile walk to the end of the dirt road and we were greeted by the sight of water and fishing boats and a relatively new bike and pedestrian path that leads from the north end of the busy Embarcadero out to Morro Rock.
The morning was still draped in fog, the Rock half hidden under a blanket of gray. Laddy sniffed the bright green pickleweed as I sat on a bench perched on a small hill overlooking the bay and the boats, happily waiting at the fork in the road for Marika and Mabel to join us.
Marika wanted to continue on the pedestrian path toward the rock so she could watch for otters and birds. I wanted to explore the docks. Again, there was a moment where I thought we should stay together, but we easily agreed to go in our preferred directions.
Laddy and I walked along the Harbor Patrol offices where a giant sign welcomes boaters to Morro Bay, a state and national estuary. People stopped, as usual, to comment on Laddy’s size, his beautiful coat, his unusual pedigree. “He’s a little something tall, something gentle and something smart,” I always say.
We walked along the docks where fishing boats would return later in the day and unload their fresh catches. Laddy smelled the white spots of bird poop on the wooden planks and I breathed in the cool, damp bay air, both of us utterly happy. At the end of the dock we turned around and headed back onto the sidewalk, intending to walk further along the Embarcadero.
But the sidewalk ended and too many trucks were moving in and out of the roadway so we turned back toward the pedestrian path, then took a detour down into a small sandy inlet where the water gently curled onto the short beach. Laddy found a stick and carried it back up to the walkway as we headed back toward our meeting point.
I sat on a bench watching the gulls bobbing on the water, the mist rising around the base of the rock. Laddy laid down near my feet, panting, sniffing, watching people walk by.
We met up with Marika and Mabel, then headed back along the road at our own pace, across the planks, to the car. The dogs were tired, thirsty and happy. We all were.
The Pause of a Comma
I am here. And my life is everything I have envisioned it would be for all of these months/years: My days are filled with lots of walking, cool, clean air, writing, working virtually with my Mac clients and delicious bounties from the local farmers markets.
But the voices in my head keep asking NOW WHAT?
At first, I felt the pressure to get on with things, to find a rental house, to re-create the life I left behind in Phoenix.
But I realize the voices are not screaming, “NOW WHAT!! Hurry up, let’s move on to the next thing!” with demanding exclamation points.
They are merely asking, with the pause of a comma, “Now, what?”
What do I want to bring more of into my life?
How do I want to connect and serve?
What else would make me even more joyful, happy, glad to be here?
And honestly, I don’t really know. Or rather, I haven’t taken the time to explore the question.
But I have created this time and this space, so, in these next few days and weeks, I’ll be doing just that.
I’ll be
• walking with my eyes wide open, noticing what catches my attention
• journaling the questions and answering with my non-dominant hand
• curious without judgment
• writing a future diary, as If I am already living it, not knowing what it will reveal
• paying close attention to what thrills my heart
• creating a new vision board or dream altar
• following the energy
• allowing myself to imagine the wildest possibilities
• encouraging myself to live beyond my routine, to explore at least one new place each week
• asking for guidance from the Universe
• staying open to possibilities and ideas that present themselves
I’ll be settling into the pause of the comma and asking myself, “Now, what?”
Reunion
When I left Phoenix, Marika had no idea if or when she would come and visit. But after a few days of me being here and her still being in the relentless heat, she emailed me and said that she and Mabel were coming for a three week visit.
They arrived yesterday.
After a few tail wags and some butt sniffing, it was as if we’d been together all along.
We’re all settling into sharing and moving in the space together, just like old times, with Mabel hogging every available sleeping place and Marika and I playing musical chairs between the various options.
It was a clear blue day yesterday. Marika and I drove to the Strand where we used to always camp and watched pelicans divebombing for fish just a few hundred yards from the shoreline. Then we drove into town and walked along the Embarcadero and had mediocre salads with crab and prawns.
In the evening the four of us walked on the beach and it was so fun to watch Mabel running, running, running…
This morning it was gray and foggy so we went food shopping at Albertson’s and stocked up on pancake mix and real maple syrup, cans of beans and frozen corn for chili, quinoa pasta and sun dried tomatoes so we can eat more meals at home. Today it was salad with farmers market veggies, smoked salmon from Giovanni’s fish market and sourdough, also from the market.
After lunch I napped and Marika took the dogs for a walk, and then got started putting her new seat covers in her car–something she couldn’t stand to do in the heat. Now she’s gluing a carpet onto the ramp that Laddy uses to bypass having to jump up the RV steps. Hopefully it will give him more traction and more confidence to take the short jump in.
Tomorrow we’ll head over to Baywood so I can share my favorite bay walk, then check out the afternoon farmers market for more fruit and tomatoes.
I love having them here. I enjoy their company, the laughing, the singing, the way Marika challenges me to be my best self. I am constantly reminded that, no matter what I might think is best for her, she needs to decide for herself, in her own time.
She says we are very different from each other. I agree. I also think that we learn more about ourselves when we are around people who aren’t just like us, who aren’t just reflecting back what we already know about ourselves. And that, it’s when we accept and embrace the differences, and allow others to be how and who they are, at their own pace, on their own timetable, that’s where the greatest rewards are found.
Morning Begins In Fog
Morning begins in fog, a thick gray layer of quiet that mutes the colors and the sounds. Fat drops of moisture hang on the thick grass at the park and everything is wet.
We take our first walk before the sun rises behind the fog and the air is balmy and moist. But I put on a sweatshirt because I know that, as soon as the sun comes up, even if I can’t see it, it will turn chilly.
Some days the gray moves out before noon, revealing the colors of ocean and sky, the horizon line, the enormity of Morro Rock. Other days I don’t see any blue in the sky and only the top of the rock appears between streaks of moving gray.
This is summer on the coast. A far cry from summer in the Phoenix desert, where it doesn’t cool below 90°, not even in the middle of the night. Where it’s already 100° at noon, and sometimes as high as 115° by the peak of the day. And the temperatures are measured in the shade.
It is no wonder my body is so happy here. I can walk morning, noon and night without breaking a sweat, without rushing to find a spot of shade. And I can challenge myself to walk further because the heat isn’t limiting my activity level.
Laddy is thriving too. His coat is thick and full and, even though he’s still shedding, he’s shedding much less. He is enjoying the increased activity as much as me. There are new plants to smell, new bushes to pee on. He watches horses saddle up for beach walking and he’s meeting dogs in the RV Park and at the dog park.
As the sun goes down, the fog rolls back in, creating a haze around the big lights at the park. The rock has disappeared, the ocean is gone. I can only see a thin line of low surf rolling onto the sand.
We settle into the RV after a last walk and I close the windows against the chilly night air. The surrounding trees are bathed is a gentle mist and I pull down the blinds for an extra layer of warmth. The best part is getting into bed under a thick blanket and sleeping long and deep.
Luck Has Nothing To Do With It
Luck is winning the lottery. Or making all the green lights. Or getting the perfect camping spot with an unobstructed ocean view. Living out a vision that you’ve been dreaming about for years is all about intention, effort and taking actions that may mean you give up one thing in order to get something else. But it has nothing to do with luck.
When I tell people about my new lifestyle, that I’m living and working in my motorhome two blocks from the ocean, often their first response is, oh, you’re so lucky. Or worse, they respond with envy.
I want to sit them down and tell how long I’ve been working for this dream, how much I’ve invested in my business to get it where it supports me virtually. I want to share some of the creative tools I’ve used to keep the dream alive.
And I want to offer them hope and a starting place so that they, too, can begin manifesting their own biggest dreams.
The first step might be to take the energy that you’re investing in envy and jealously and use it to get clear about what you dream of doing with your life. Never mind the voices that say, “I could never do that.” Instead, ask, “what if I could, what would I really want to do?”
You have to have a destination first, if you’re going to create a road to get there.
You may not know HOW you’re going to do it, or when, but if you begin with the vision, the desire, the intention, you have the most important piece of the plan- your WHY.
Your WHY is your heart speaking. It is your deepest truth, your guiding light, and it is often connected to how you can best serve others. Your WHY is the unbending compass that will keep you moving forward on your path.
The where and the how and the when may change, but your WHY remains constant and strong, so that, when you are faced with the challenges of making it happen, you can come back to the heart of the reasons WHY you’re sacrificing, WHY you are working so hard, WHY you want to do this big thing. And you’re able to take the next small step toward making it happen.
I met a woman last week who spent summers in Morro Bay as a kid and she’s always dreamed of living here full-time. She’s been working extra hours at her job in Phoenix, living on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and only going out when someone else picks up the tab. She’s been willing to make these temporary sacrifices so that she could save up enough money to not be stressed about finances while she is here for two months, renting a temporary house and checking out the local art scene to see if she can support herself with her artwork.
So what dream is you tucked in your heart? Are you ready to take it out into the sunlight and claim it?
Maybe you’d like to make a vision board or dream altar so that you can SEE your dream everyday and keep it in your daily consciousness.
Click here for a guided exercise and instructions to help you get started.
Affirmations For My Right Big Toe
There is a philosophy in the healing arts community that our toes are great indicators of our deeper selves. The study of toe reading, or foot reading, explores the idea that each toe is connected to an emotion, an element and a chakra, and that the left toes have different meanings than the right.
For years, I’ve had a thick callous on the outside edge of my right foot that needs regular trimming by a podiatrist. As I’ve been walking more, I’m noticing that, while my weight is evenly distributed front to back, left to right on my left foot, I walk with most of my weight on the outer edge of my right foot and not equally balanced between all of my toes. In fact, when I am acutely aware of my walking, my entire right ankle turns outward and my right big toe bears very little of the pressure of walking.
And so I wondered what the big toe on my right foot represents in toe reading, that I might need to pay attention to.
According to the toe reading experts, the big toe is about self-expression. The left big toe is about sorrow and the right big toe is about joy.
This makes sense to me—for the past few years I have not been very happy where I was living and I was so focused on working and not really experiencing much true joy.
And so, with this new information, I can consciously choose to step with more joy, toward more joy.
I have been reciting these affirmations as I walk every day. And with each step I shift my right foot in my sneaker to bear the weight of my body more equally. My ankle is not turned, there is equal weight across the balls of my entire foot. And I can feel my big right toe fully greeting the ground, literally stepping with more joy.
(Next, I will focus on my pinky toe that curls under, hiding from the others. The chart indicates that the right pinky toe has to do with fear, but I’m hoping that, as I walk with more joy, the fear will begin to dissipate on its own.)
For more information about toe reading, check out this video http://www.ustream.tv/recorded/770038
or this chart http://www.serenapowers.com/podomancy.html
On Any Given Day
It is my second Monday on the road and already we have a regular morning routine. Laddy stands at the foot of my bed sometime between 6:15 and 6:45, awake and ready. I pet his happy head, do my morning hip stretches while I’m still lying flat, then get up and make my bed. He’ll either jump onto the bed or return to his dog bed under the dinette while I go to the bathroom, brush my teeth and throw on some morning walk clothes.
With my phone, keys and a pooper bag in my back pocket, we head over to the nearby park for a short leg-stretching pooper walk. The grass is thick and green and damp and there are usually gulls and ravens on the softball field. We are usually the only ones there, though twice, I’ve seen city workers pull up in their trucks for their fifteen minute breaks.
Back in the RV, I feed Laddy, pour my own cereal and check my email while my single cup of coffee drips.
Beyond that, the routine ends. Some mornings I’ll shower, others we’ll take a second walk along the beach road or down across the sand to the water. Or I’ll sit and write, or ready myself for a client call. Some days we drive over to Los Osos for a lunchtime bay walk. Other days I have been meeting new friends and trying a new local restaurant.
I am intentionally trying to go with the flow of energy and desire.
Every fourth or fifth day I dump and fill the tanks. On Mondays and Thursdays I go to one of the two nearby farmer’s markets to replenish my pantry with fresh picked lettuce, tomatoes, strawberries and nectarines and whatever else looks delicious and ready to eat.
And in the afternoons, I may nap or write or watch an episode of Downton Abbey on Hulu Plus. And in between all of that, there is always another walk with Laddy, and then another before and after dinner.
This is everything I had envisioned for myself as I was packing up my Arizona life: to walk every day, and work and write and enjoy the cool, clean air.
But as much as I am enjoying all of this present moment beauty and joy, the do-er in me feels the pressure to hurry up and move on to the next phase, to rush to what’s next. I hear a voice in my head that says I should start looking for a house to rent, connect with the local Apple store and work with new clients one on one and start living my next real life.
But then I realize that this IS my life. I’ve worked so hard for this, to be able to afford the luxury of being here, at the beach, on my own schedule, working some, writing every day. And why should I give all this up for what I think I SHOULD be doing next?
And this is where my deep work is.
To stay right here, right now, to embrace what is, to stay present and appreciate this wonderful, simple life I have created, and not feel the need to be anywhere but here.
Saturday Not in the Park
The Morro Strand RV Park offers free wifi, but the signal goes out at least once a day, often for several hours at a time. This would be fine if I were on vacation and ready to unplug. But my business can only support me if I have reliable internet access.
So this morning I drove to the Verizon store in Los Osos, an easy five miles down the road, and purchased my own mifi hub. Now I can connect my iPhone, iPad and laptop and be assured that I will always have fast internet access.
It would have been so easy to just head back to the park and hang out in the motorhome, relaxing, watching the hubbub of activity of families and dogs, surfing the internet, even getting some work done.
But my intention for today was to get out, explore, maybe even take myself somewhere I haven’t been before.
I parked on the dead end street at the back bay in Los Osos where the narrow sandy trail winds around the inlet. The tide was lowing and egrets and avocets and curlews waded at the water’s edge. A cool breeze blew in from the water and I could see wisps of fog rolling across the bright green succulents. The air smelled sweet and fishy at the same time.
Instead of walking the trail around, Laddy and I played in the packed sand. He found a thick stick and I tossed it in the opposite direction than he expected, giving him more running room and less leaping opportunities to protect his back right knee. He wandered and sniffed the plants and the grasses while I did modified sun salutations facing the sand spit across the water.
Back in the RV, I made lunch, a tuna sandwich on rye with a side salad of spicy lettuce and a most perfect tomato from Thursday’s farmer’s market. Laddy laid in front of the screen door, unphased by the cars that pulled in around us, both of us enjoying the breeze and the beautiful bay view.
As I sat in the familiar beauty of the back bay, I realized how challenging it is for me to venture beyond what I know. Back in Phoenix I used the heat as my excuse to not go out. But now I see it was just that, an excuse. An easy reason to not try something new, or go someplace I’ve never been.
Here, I could use the excuse of being in a vehicle that’s too big to park but I am quick to see that it’s just another limiting belief that is holding me in my comfort zone and keeping me from exploring what else there might be.
I knew that I’d be going to Costco since gas there was $3.89 compared to $4.29 at the stations in Morro Bay. But I’d even been to that Costco before, when I was here in April on my initial house hunting trip. And so I made a commitment to myself to find one new place to explore before pulling back into the RV Park.
The road to Costco is an easy eleven mile drive past farms and ranches and rolling hills, some green, some the color of dried wheat. I passed cyclers in the bike lanes and the Los Osos Oak Reserve where I remember exploring with Marika and our previous pair of dogs.
Then, just on the other side of the hills is San Luis Obispo, with its manicured apartment complexes and fancy script letters on the street signs. Costco is just one of a hundred big box stores in this major shopping zone, but it’s a relatively easy in and out, even in a big rig. I filled the tank with $95.00 worth of regular gas and headed out of the mayhem of Saturday shoppers.
On the drive back to home base, the road crossed over a small body of water and I remembered my challenge to try something new. It was an easy left turn into Laguna Lake, a San Luis Obispo County Park. We drove through several areas where folks were picnicking at the various ramadas and dogs were playing Frisbee off leash.
I pulled into a larger parking lot close to the water where a man and a young boy had their chairs and fishing equipment set up. A gathering of geese and mallards honked as we walked on the road that circled the lake.
Laddy was happy to smell the bushes and underbrush while I watched a hawk circle over the water. But it was warm and sunny and there was no breeze, so I shortened our walk and we headed back to the RV.
I stopped at China Dragon on the way back to camp to get dinner to go, but they didn’t open until four. So I parked on the street in the back and we waited, Laddy napping, me writing and perusing the menu.
When I finally I pulled into the RV park, it was almost five o’clock. I was a little anxious about whether there’d be enough clearance for me to easily back in. After two back and forth attempts, new neighbor Richard guided me back. I plugged in, connected the cable, opened the windows and fed Laddy, then laid out my Chinese feast. It was delicious.
Snapshots of RV Park Life
I am officially COLD. It’s a little after 9 am and it is only 53° outside. In Phoenix it is already 97, on the way to 113°. I am not complaining, just reporting.
I hear no gulls, no ravens. The entire Morro Rock has disappeared under a blanket of morning fog.
New campers arrived yesterday: several families with kids and dogs, a young couple with a pop-up trailer and bicycles, a mid-century couple with two fluorescent colored kayaks attached to the back end of their RV.
The man next door is by himself in a GMC Envoy towing a 26’ trailer. I watched him back in then out several times, unhitch and level his trailer, then sweep the white aluminum sides of the rig. This morning he has already swept the steps and smoked two cigarettes.
Across from me, the matriarch of the family hoists two navy blue suitcases onto the picnic table and pulls out a small pile of brightly colored kids clothing. A young boy about seven emerges from the trailer in superhero pajamas. The woman picks up the clothing and her Chihuahua and all three of them head toward the showers.
The father of the family returns from a walk with their other dog, a young white border collie mix with a red bandana around his neck. The man is wearing flip flops, shorts, a blue sweatshirt and a baseball cap. He tethers the dog to the picnic table, pulls his green camp chair onto a small, multi-colored striped carpet, then goes into the camper. He returns and sits down with a white ceramic coffee mug in his right hand and his phone in the left, oblivious to the dog who is now standing on the steps, half in and half out of the camper.
The sun has burned off much of the fog, revealing a clear blue sky and most of Morro Rock. A gull flies overhead, calling us out for a walk.
