Wil skateboarded down some of the roads and I followed in the car, behind.
We jumped a fence to get onto the beach and I jumped in, getting tangled in some bull kelp in the process. We watched the surfers for a while. The most memorable person was a lady strolling the shore, talking on her bluetooth ear piece and carrying a Disney Princess-style hand-held mirror that she would periodically use to check her reflection.
We grabbed some beers and Will skated a bit more. We watched the sunset from a point so high, Malibu looked like an ant community. It sounds so simple, but those are the best, right?
Visiting the place where Jim Morrison went and thought was "super chill", a.k.a. like totally amazing! I've been a huge Doors fan since age 15. It felt bizarre to be there.
Me and Wil invented a joke about Malibu Barbie which runs similar to the jokes revolving around Chuck Norris.
"Malibu Barbie always drives in the left lane." "Malibu Barbie got plastic surgery in Mexico and now she's Maliboo-boo Barbie."
The following writing is from a journal entry last night. I hope you enjoy.
Then, I feel it with the force of a booming, canyon voice. It begins in the back of my shoulders and creeps over my arms like dark hands from behind me. The hands lay heavy against my chest and then are inside, ringing my lungs like wet towels. When I was younger, I would cry in this moment. I could not bear loneliness. My lungs would empty out of my eyes and my surroundings would enter inside of me. I could feel the air swirling in my arms.
Loneliness was once my boogyman. I hid for too long on men’s beds because I was too afraid of loneliness grabbing my ankles. I have wasted so much time with people because I could not bear to be by myself. One of the things that scared me the most about leaving Fairbanks and traveling alone was coping in those moments of loneliness. I imagined myself like a heroin addict sobering up, clawing at my covers in pure physical angst.
I have struggled with feeling deeply lonely as long as I can remember. I was alone a lot of my childhood. My parents say I was “self-sufficient.” I got used to it. But I remember feeling completely and tragically torn between wanting to be alone and wanting to be loved. The lack of love reeked havoc on me until I grew old enough to destroy myself.
Nearly successful, distant family I had never met took me in and saved me. They loved me. From then on, I was not lonely in the same way. They fed the little girl and taught her how to feed herself. From that point on, I was furiously independent. This is something I get complimented on. But, it is a skill that was born from emotional poverty. I had to work harder, but I was more determined to achieve independence.
I’m not nearly good enough at this to brag. I'm just excited that I sometimes forget to be lonely and I don't cry when it happens.
I make mistakes. I let people influence me, usually men. I fight those thoughts of “I just wish I had a partner” and “I wonder if the perfect person is out there?” I meet people and choose to see only their potential or how they make me feel right then. I put myself in situations that I know are not healthy for my heart and spirit. What keeps me optimistic and pushing forward, alone into the darkness is that I am determined to grow, to learn and to thrive. I will not be held down by anyone, including my own negative thoughts. I am self-aware on a deep level. I usually don’t make the same mistake twice, though I do seem to make many once.
Sometimes, I watch the sunset and I can feel the hands creep up my back. I feel the coldness of a solomn heart - a traveling loner sitting quietly with her thoughts. Sometimes I look to see if anybody is there. I touch the warm dirt or fiddle with a leaf in my hand. I close my eyes and thank the universe for providing for me. The universe whispers, “I love you, Rebecca. You are beautiful.”
I am thankful for my loneliness, because it beckons me to continue moving - searching.
I am speeding down a cliff in Malibu, behind my only brother, the person I love the most in this world. We are so young. We are in some ways, drifting around this planet like tufts of desert grass and for this moment in time, we are bound together. This thought fills those cavities in my body like warm syrup. As I watch him on his skateboard, freely living in his perfect way, I too, am perfect. We are here, as individuals, and as two people who were born together, forever bound by the tiniest and longest of strings.
We are embracing the scary and sacred infinity of being alone.
(Currently on top volume, right now.)