I don’t know how I arrived here. Honestly, the thought process escapes me. Was it one of those logical lists I love to make? Pro against con, this against that; purposefully weighing the scales in favor of a scenario that was perceived to be safer? Of more? More filled with promise of a job? More filled with promise of friendship? Family? A normal life? Yes that was it. More promise of friendship. Of companionship. Nearer family. Plan B became plan A. Plan A became safe haven. A fresh start.
I came close to staying in California those few days I spent in Morro Bay with the big rock jutting to the north and the long cold expanse of beach with sand dollars spit from the murky depth for wayward strangers like me to gather in small plastic bags as trophies. I came close to loving the crab cocktail. Rich in thick white slabs of sweet crab and hefty green wedges of avocado dressed with tangy red sauce speckled with fiery horseradish. I came close to loving the orchid shop up the street, taking plants with locals and greedily sucking in sweet, tropical scents. I came close to loving the mud flats south of town were the pacific flyway meets the sea and offers its abundance for migrating feathered friends.
I came close to staying where mountains tumble towards the ocean. Where sleepy shops open late and close early in spite of tourists mingling on the Embarcadero looking for ways to spend hard earned dollars on trinkets and treasures for their summer vacation.
I came close. Just not close enough.
Like being here now….
Just. Not. Close. Enough.
Or is it…
Too. Close. For. Comfort?