Caution: This Post Contains Sentimental Drivel
It’s my last full day at Sunset Beach, and as well as still feeling a little meh from Saturday evening’s food poisoning extravaganza, I find myself also feeling melancholy. This always happens when I get ready to leave.
Earlier today, I went over to Rose Park Roasters for what may be my second-to-last coffee there (not that I’m counting, because that number would make me even more sad). The route takes me up PCH into Long Beach, to 7th Street, then left on Redondo, right on 4th. I was already feeling a little sentimental before I left, but as I drove I became almost maudlin.
Very few things elicit deep emotions from me – after years and years of practice, and a few good role models, I’m a true expert at stuffing feelings. Fear? Stuff it. Anger? Cram that way down there. Love? Grief? That all goes in there, too. Happiness? Some days I’m not sure what that is, but maybe that’s somewhere in there too. So it takes something close to a tsunami or other internal or external natural disaster for me to notice what I’m feeling. But when I drove down Pacific Coast Highway today, yeah, I almost started crying.
There is something about the stretch of PCH from Sunset Beach, through Seal Beach, towards Long Beach, that perfectly sums up my relationship with Southern California. There is a lot of history along that drive. My Dad grew up in Sunset Beach, I stay in his mother’s house when I am here. And I spent lots of time with my Grandma here when I was little. My parents lived in the apartment above the garage for a while, and when they were expecting me, they rented a house in Seal Beach. So that is the first “home” I went home to. I was born in Long Beach.
I always feel sentimental when I drive that stretch of road, but today there was a whole new layer of feeling to it. It was as if I finally figured out what about it makes me so teary-eyed. It’s probably obvious to everyone else, I am usually the last one to the Feelings Party after all.
It’s as if every time I drive that stretch of road, I search for connections along the route. I try to reach back to a time that was supposed to be happy and fun and carefree. Maybe I wish that I could have a do-over, or maybe I am just stuck in the past. I wish I could say that was a happy time, and while I know there were definitely happy moments, overall it doesn’t feel happy to me.
Other than what kind of cookies are in the kitchen, and maybe having to do a little math homework, you’re not supposed to worry about stuff as a kid. And maybe that’s all I did worry about back then, but I have a feeling that there were heavier things on my mind, things that weren’t so kid-like, things that would be better forgotten. I’m not saying anything BAD happened to me – at least I don’t think so – I think it was more a case of having to grow up and start adulting a little before I should have. To be honest, I have forgotten most of it. Or rather, stuffed it all.
When I drive down this stretch of road, I associate this place with home. I connect with the place, my physical body connecting with the memories and feelings still tied to this stretch of the California coast. Maybe one day, I can let go of it all. Which is different from pushing it down, down, and still further down.
It is hard to even write this, it’s like, feelings and stuff, you know? Who cares about that? Repressing it all has worked great so far, right? So for now, I’ll push it away again, and think about what I could have for dinner that won’t hurt my stomach. Because after pushing feelings down for so long, they’ve all ended up there, and most days, they don’t like food. Maybe one day, I can let go of it all.