I actually had been at a cafe in Paris, pondering the bad news surrounding America and wondering how I'd manage once I was back. I discovered the greatness of Spain and got high on a Mediterranean cowboy who left me with a smile that still comes back whenever I tell our story. Now I'm back in the States and finding myself "California Dreamin'" with the Mamas and the Papas which isn't all that cliche considering the leaves are very brown and the sky is grey here during these final winter days in Michigan.
If you search Google for songs about California, not only will you find music in homage to the great state, you will also find blogs, essays, and articles on the subject. California--the great mythic wonder! It's silver screens, mountains, sunshine, and freedom. Beaches, bikinis, and reefer. Bitter hippies smelling like Jesus, strung out on the songs of the 60's that still ring true of our lives today. Porn stars, mustaches, and classic corvettes continuing the 70's California (without the bushy pubic hair). Brooding filmmakers high on cocaine and shopping at the "Rock and Roll Ralph's" of 80's L.A.. Girls in high-waisted shorts, cropped tops, and fuchsia lipstick reminiscent of Clueless and Pauly Shore of 90's L.A.. All mixed together in seven steps by a bearded and suspenders-wearing "mixologist" at the latest hipster bar filled with people trying to bring back the cocktail hour of the 50's.
I still don't know if I'll ever move back to California but I can't deny its hold on me. It's one of the key places where people go when they have big dreams. The entire state serves as a playground on which we bring our fantasies to life.
As a child, this great land represented everything I didn't have back home in the suburbs of Michigan. My father grew up in San Francisco so it had become a second home for me. My parents would pack up our gold Station Wagon (no joke) and set off on road trips out west with Rand McNally road atlases and coolers of ices (we didn't have air conditioning then). My mother didn't like to fly and at that time gas was cheap enough that we could afford such long road trips. I had been in 41 states by the time I was 13.
Despite humble beginnings growing up in a trailer park in the country, my parents nurtured a sense of wanderlust in me. At 6 years old, my father and mother took me by the hand and unlike children in the suburbs of Middle America, I had to walk up and down those hills. My mother certainly wasn't going to carry me through San Francisco. At that time I didn't realize I was being conditioned to appreciate cities you can easily walk as well as public transportation. Things the suburbs often lacked.
Though I had been to many other states, California represented everything in a nutshell. I laugh and joke with my parents telling them, "It's your fault," whenever I set off on another trip like the road trip I took alone around America as a young woman after I graduated from college. "You made me this way."
This way isn't so bad either but it doesn't always make sense in this world, even for me. I've been thinking about this as I prepare for my next trip to California.
Since I've been back from Europe, I've taken two road trips. One to Asheville, the other to Minneapolis. Afterwards, I thought, that's it. You're not allowed to travel anymore. Must get job. Must get house. Must get life partner. Must do something normal.
Still no job, no house, no life partner.
The last job I applied to that I really wanted had assigned a sample task as part of the application process. "Free work" as my mother put it. Everything about this job would have made me feel normal and solidified. I would've settled into one place for a while. Maybe even dated one person for a change. Hell, I would have actually dated.
Then my friend asked me yesterday, "Helena, when you had to do the assignment they gave you, did you enjoy it? Did it feed your soul?"
"Absolutely not!"
"Then aren't you glad you didn't get it? Could you imagine having to do that full-time?"
I couldn't. In fact, that wasn't my plan. My plan was to get my foot in the door of the adult world and to work for a while. But eventually, I would leave again. In this sense, whoever has been getting the jobs I haven't--those big kid positions with benefits--have deserved them more than I have.
This realization has had me tangled in emotional knots. I feel pressure. My parents tell me to not please them. Friends tell me not to worry about what people think. But the issue is that society's voice has become my own voice. Go to school, get degree, find job using degree, then have family--the American Dream is what I grew up with.
Fortunately I was exposed to something that didn't exist in the American Dream. I was exposed to road trips and artists selling their creations on boardwalks. My dad and I having philosophical discussions about life and recycling. My mother taking me to see every movie, even the R-rated ones, that she saw--covering my eyes during the sex scenes. I think this exposure and a more European rearing made me who I am today. Over wine at their kitchen table and Clam Chowder from the Wharf, my parents made me a dreamer and a drifter.
If I could meld all my dreams together and make them into something tangible, it would look like California. Unlike my hometown, California was the place that whispered in my ears as a child, see that door, open it. And I didn't just open them, I kicked them down and continue to kick down life's doors with the same eagerness to know what is behind them that I had then.
At 16, my dream was to hop in an old muscle car and drive to California to go to art school--wind flowing through my hair and my middle fingers directed to everything and everyone I would leave behind. Those fools who told me that life had to look and feel a certain way, their way. San Francisco, at 2,393 miles away, would wave at me every time I looked West. That grand state sent messages with the wind just as the Native Americans my father would tell me about had. And those messages told me that all my dreams were possible. That I was possible. The person I had dreamed of becoming a reality was not only possible but I would become her in California.
My life course went in a different direction and though it was extremely difficult at times, it was exactly what I needed to do. But now I'm back in that place of trying to figure out what is next. The same insecurities and frustrations that filled me then bother me now as I try to find my place in a world I never really understood or liked to begin with.
I spoke of this confusion through tears to my father recently. "I just don't know what to do," I told him.
"So go on some road trips. You're happiest when you're on the road."
"But I need money." I desperately retorted.
"Yes. Yes, you do. So do what you do. Work, save money, then leave. Come back, work, save money, then travel some more."
But that's not normal. That's not using my degree. The idea of being a barista of grocery clerk at my age so I can travel more is starting to make me feel ashamed. Not because I believe those are embarrassing jobs, I've done those jobs and those people work harder than anyone. But because, it's not stable and not in tune with my ultimate goals... whatever those are.
It never gets old. People are always telling me how envious they are of my travels. These people with 401 (k)'s and steady, good-paying jobs envy my life and yet, I envy theirs. Travel wise, my life is great. But I have never held a serious job nor have I ever been in a healthy, serious relationship. The serious relationships I did have weren't healthy but looking back now, I'm pretty sure I chose people I knew it wouldn't work with because I knew I would eventually leave. I wanted to leave. I wanted to be free. My love was elsewhere. West of the Mississippi.
And in many ways, I want those things. Retirement funds, a place to call my own, a career, and a family to share it all with. It's like decorating an apartment and being unable to choose a theme or style to go with. French Country appeals to my romantic nature. Bright and Bohemian appeals to my creativity. Cozy Mountain Cottage appeals to my adventurous spirit. Lavish and Contemporary (which I'm not even sure go together) appeal to the days I want to lounge around in fur and drink champagne for breakfast. Ikea appeals to my wallet.
But unlike a few purchases and scours of the Goodwill, life choices are much bigger decisions that you can't decide you don't like and return within 14 days. Some return policies are a little more relaxed but you still can't get too attached and take the tags off. I happen to love stores with excellent return policies. I also change my mind a lot so that's probably why. Forever 21 drives a hard bargain but still manages to get me to shop there. Luckily they're cheap.
If (or when) I do ever create an online dating profile it will read: I like anything cheap that doesn't require commitment.
Hmm...
Maybe not.
Fuck the American Dream, I'm going to California. I'll see you all in a week!
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