This isn’t a travel blog, more a loosely connected set of reflections from our recent desert trip, but just to set the scene… The first stretch on the road was classic, driving through the California scenery with the familiar tunes of our shared playlist. We stopped for our first In N Out just as the lush green valleys started to fade into pale red desert. Music turned to podcasts, our laughs to more contemplative expressions and a healthy mix of thoughtful commentary and snide remarks. Selfies, videos, and polaroids marked the moments as time lost all significance.
Catching up with friends and family, listing the places we visited, I am painfully aware that our itinerary is besides the point. Every stop, every moment, was expansive. But it’s not because the Starbucks we stopped at off of Route 5 has anything particularly special to offer. It’s because of us, the way our energy feeds off one another and combines to create a tangible joyful aura.
That’s not to say that we didn’t stumble upon truly magical oases here and there. The day we woke up at 4:45 to catch the sunrise, we found refuge at Kitchen in the Desert. Between breakfast, countless coffees, lunch and cocktails, we followed the shade with our activities in tow. Our new friend Mick saw it too, that we bring out the best in each other.
From San Mateo to LA, Joshua Tree and back again, it was just the two of us reveling in each other’s company. Pure serendipity. It’s not always easy to disengage from the onward march of time. For us, though, it always seemed natural. Time bends around us, you said, about the first night we met and every day since. I tend to describe myself as someone who is highly amenable to the people around me, often to my own detriment. Now, it feels like I am finally in conversation with myself, finally able to say the words out loud, knowing that I can face any obstacle. Even the sadness, the inevitable seep of reality, is just another moment to be experienced.
Together, we walked through the forest—dense with unnamed emotion. Once the tears started, they picked up the dust of whatever was there. It’s ok to cry, there’s a lot—it’s hard, and sad. Fully immersed in it, entrenched, you encouraged me to share. It took a second but then the words replaced the water, flowing into the open desert air. The sadness, like a desert wadi, flood my surroundings before returning to the sky. The air we breathe. It’s not gone, just dissipated enough for the universe to share in the burden. In the aftermath, we soak in the beauty of the world. Together, floating—we turn the pieces of life over and over, delighting in the way they catch the light.
