California Travel
- Laurie Harmon
- 12 minutes ago
- 5 min read
Touching Grass and other Balms
Anywhere but here. That's the sentiment with which my best friend and I boarded a plane last week and left the cold, snowy weather in Wisconsin for a sunny girls' trip to coastal California. Little did I realize how much I was going to enjoy eight days in the Golden State!
My frustrations with the weather mirrored my resentment of the current political scene in America. I, like many of you, are just plain tired of the constant battle against lies, violence, and abhorrent policy. Despite the fraudulent and specious messages from the current administration, what is happening with the Trump regime is truly making America a worse place to live than it was two years ago. As a result, my constant vexation has led me to contemplate how a change in climate, whether it be physical or political, might be just what I need.
With these and other thoughts floating around in my mind, the days leading up to my trip filled me with a bit of stress, as I had to determine what baggage to bring with me. I knew that Wisconsin and Minnesota (my travel departure locations) were bracing for an epic storm, so keeping my head in the heat game -- and remembering to pack for sun, not snow, required some extra thought. When winter lasts as long as it does in my part of the country, I can sometimes become so resigned to the dreariness, I forget that green grass, flowers, and sunshine are right around the corner. Seasons do change.
It's like that with life and politics as well. A common phrase I heard from a therapist years ago and regularly remind myself of, is that "nothing lasts forever." Dealing with a difficult problem or a challenging condition somehow becomes survivable when I realize that "this, too, shall pass." I say it often these days; I have to.
It turns out traveling to California and taking time to change my surroundings and perspectives, was soul-cleansing. I hadn't realized just how much I needed the greenery, warmth, and shift in vantage, which almost immediately started to recharge my spirits.
Simply gazing at the ocean, has always captivated me. As I sat on Muir Beach, breathing in the warm, salty, fresh air and watching the waves roll in and out, I experience a sense of peace that allowed me to feel comfortably insignificant. Like so many of us, I can take myself and the world too seriously at times, and I can definitely allow current events, political turmoil, and societal unrest to become a relentless dark cloud in my mind. The ocean's massive size and power took me to a holy place. California's blue sky and ocean were just the tonic I needed, cleanly displacing the gloom and grey of my midwestern winter and the menacing musings of our country's dark direction.
I became obsessed with Thoreau's concept of "the tonic of wildness." I couldn't get enough. I scrambled to get outside as fast as I could each day, falling prey to a common vacation pitfall: travel FOMO (fear of missing out). I struggled to strike a balance between enjoying new experiences and the fear that I was going to miss something spectacular. I battled a nagging, internal voice telling me: "this may be the only chance you will have to enjoy, experience, and engage with this specific environment ever again!"
Thoreau's tonic turned into a frenzied attempt to forget the current ugliness in our country and to immerse myself in the purity of nature. I longed to see something good and unadulterated in the world, to become rejuvenated and maybe even to regain some trust in humanity.
I think many of us experience a similar phenomena in our daily lives. I recall the Seals & Croft song our choir sang at my high school graduation ceremony. The title words, "We May Never Pass this Way Again," which are hauntingly nostalgic, have perpetually re-visited my psyche through the years, and the decidedly carpe diem anthem often comes to mind when I'm on vacation, as I struggle to realize that the rather militant-sounding "seize the day," sentiment also means taking time to rest, relax, and recharge.
While my friend and I did find time to relax and recharge, our desire to see as much as possible led us to a plethora of activities.
During our eight day sojourn, we packed in: riding horseback on a Monterey Bay beach, kayaking in Elkhorn Slough with birds, seals, and sea otters; visiting the Monterey Aquarium; shopping; touring the DeYoung Museum and the Japanese Tea Gardens in Golden State Park; enjoying the breathtaking scenery along the Pacific Coast Highway; lavishing in a boutique hotel/Victorian mansion in Salinas while simultaneously admiring Steinbeck country (IYKYK); stumbling upon a quirky, obscure, yet well-stocked Shakespeare museum; marveling at sea lions in the wild; lounging on ocean beaches; gazing at the Golden Gate Bridge from multiple angles; driving up and down and up and down San Francisco's perilously delicious Lombard Street, and sightseeing in iconic areas in the city like Fisherman's Wharf and Chinatown.
Of course, sharing the journey with great people certainly adds value and makes experiences all the more meaningful. After all, the hospitality of others is a well-known tonic and calming balm. I was fortunate to travel with a close friend and enjoy the company of both her and her very generous son, whose home we invaded for the week while we cavorted up and down the California coast. Sharing life with like-minded, caring, kind people can make anything bearable.
We often forget how important reality and human relationships are. After countless hours tied to electronics and technology, (a relatively new phenomenon, historically speaking), Gen Z has pointed out that people need to  periodically "touch grass," a phrase that rings true for many of us in today's world. Essentially, we need to stay grounded, to unglue from screens, disconnect from the network, breathe in real air, and connect with nature and our humanity.
We need to unplug periodically because life's struggles are real, often unbearable, and sometimes so daunting that burying our heads in the metaphorical sand seems to be the only way to survive each day. I know that I can get so engaged in the current political turmoil, wars, deportations, cruelty, and just plain attacks on human decency, that I scarcely want to leave the house. Depression can become an unwelcome companion, and hopelessness appears with keen regularity.
Getting away, then, removing myself from my stressful environment and disconnecting from my chosen and unchosen activities was a much needed exercise in self-preservation. I am mindful, however, that travelling is never a guaranteed solution. I consider myself beyond lucky to share the occasional journey with friends or family, but I am also aware we all need to find more accessible ways to intentionally step away, recharge, and breathe in our own backyards. Contemplating our world and considering our place and role in it can be a formidable endeavor some days. Fighting for justice is exhausting, unrelenting, and altogether soul-sucking, so "touching grass" more often, taking walks, spending time with rejuvenating individuals, and hugging the occasional tree (even it it can't always be a Redwood) is not only helpful, it's vital.
I've learned that fighting the good fight also includes finding ways to remain sane, grounded, and quietly inspired by the beauty around me. When we lose sight of who we are and how we fit in our world, we lose the ability to stand up and fight for the preservation of the planet and for humanity. I wish you all the respite you need, deserve, and crave!