Monterey Bay, California
In the early morning light, muted by drizzly, low-hanging clouds, I clip into my peddles and careen downhill towards the bay in a free-fall rush. My head is full of thoughts, always full of thoughts, the topic du jour, how much of life can I make peace with? How about peace with my own mind? And the sailboats are still all tucked in for the night as I pull out my camera and begin to fiddle. My only company is a few homeless people watching the world come to life. Our good morning exchange feels unusually sincere. I’ve taken a thousand pictures of this wharf. But it always feels different, so I’ll probably take a thousand more.
I make my way through Cannery Row, with the bones of the past still standing guard over the bay. I want to be in attendance, but my mind pulls me away, and a conflict ensues. But of course, it’s not about me, I argue. I just opened my eyes one day and saw my two older brothers staring into my crib as if my mother told them to go check on the baby. Everything was so bright and clear. I roll into Asilomar State Beach as the sun breaks through the dripping grey, cutting sharp angels of brightness, and the waves splash freshness over everything.