Happiest Places

I feel like the people I live around now have been to Disneyland more often that I have. 

Which is sad. Because I grew up an hour and a half away.

My mother isn't much for amusement parks. With good reason. She had an undiagnosed case of multiple sclerosis and so walking was difficult for her. 

I maybe went three or four times from the time I was a child. And since then? Well, I keep planning that maybe... possibly... some day...

So awesome... I sure do love the eighties...

I even have maintained my So. Cal residency in the hopes that when I go, I can get the discounted tickets. (And really, that's just an excuse. I can't yet give up that I'm not living in California anymore). 

But Disneyland isn't my happy place. No... I have a lot of happy places. I have the happy place that was the Wilton House in England. Wandering around the grounds there (Yes... they have GROUNDS in England!), I realized that maybe I was destined to live in the country. Maybe the ocean air isn't for me after all. 

I have the little apartment in Spain with the balcony so close to the beach that I could taste the ocean air. I miss that apartment.

There's the little room in our first house in my hometown. In the bedroom that was mine. With the window in the front of the house so I could spy on my brothers as they played basketball. I miss that room.

But mostly, whenever I need to be reminded of good times, I just picture my parents' house in California. In fact, whenever I feel the need to find my center again that's the first place I want to go. To find the balance again.

I'm heading back there in a couple of weeks. And at this moment, that feels SO good. Just knowing that it's coming. I'll take it.

Home: Encinitas

I often dream of Encinitas, California.

I grew up there in that sleepy beach town 30 minutes north of the airport. 

Elementary school, junior high, and high school. All of my childhood, within minutes of a beach.

We had a pool in my backyard so I learned to swim when I was young which meant more trips to the beach and lots of time in our pool.

I learned to surf when I was 12. I haven't done it since. I can barely boogie board. I prefer to float in the pool.

I moved away to attend college and I haven't been able to find my way back on a more permanent basis. Every time I fly into Lindbergh Field I think, This time. This time I'm finding a job and I will stay. But a few days later, I'm back on a plane, returning to where I live for the rest of the year. I hate saying goodbye, so as I look out the window I usually say, Some day. Some day, I'll be back.

Maybe it's the need to relive those moments, retrace my steps and start over again that draws me back. Figure out where I went wrong and how I can get back on track—wherever that track plans to take me. 

Or maybe the 92024 zip code really is the place of dreams.