CALIFORNIA

What did I do in California? you ask. 

A whole lot of unlearning.

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The short of it is this: I traveled to Newport Beach with my incredible friends, including Laurie at Great Artist Mom to check in on a girls only trip and with the fine lady at LIMERICKI. (More on that front, obv.)

The long of it is this: I traveled to the other side of the country to see there’s no such thing as the other side of the country. The country doesn’t flip, after all.

We do.

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Here’s the first truth:

A month before the flight, I learned about the trip they’d been planning for months. Planning came for me quickly. I was suddenly free, and the importance of finances was so big, and the timing of it all felt serendipitous, natural. Too unreal.

Was there space in my schedule for a weekend trek? I wondered.

Was there space in my heart?

And so I left for California, feeling full, energized.

I packed at the last minute – a blur of distraction – only putting in my bag what I thought I needed in the way of linen tees, sandals, rosewater spray. My shoulders felt the release of too much as I threw my weekender through security, the last one on standby at the gate, onto the last seat on the plane.

The luckiness matched my already cheery spirit.

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So then, day two in Huntington. We wake early, still giddy, still cheery-eyed. We walk to the beach for breakfast, readying ourselves for croissants and conversation. We smooth our sun dresses and sit down on a quiet, breezy cafe to order orange juice, fruit. We read through the menu, chatter along about upcoming mission visits, trips to other countries, a visit to the seamstresses. We rave about our love for gelato, for chocolate. We make plans to see Fashion Island.

Walking along the beach I find a paper cup. Printed on the outside are these words:

A cup can never be empty, as it is filled with space.

And in a single sentence, I realized it all. 

My spirit wasn’t empty. It was simply making room for something else.

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I’ve always operated under perceived scarcity. Is there enough time in my day for this? Enough space for this? Do we have room for that? Is it essential, necessary? Are you sure?

And yet, abundance exists. There is enough time to go around, enough space for us all.

There always has been.

A cup can never be empty, as it is filled with space.

As the weekend progressed, smiles were given and gifts were exchanged. Lunches and second lunches were served, dinners and second dinners were enjoyed. 

Another gelato? Here, chocolate.

The California I visited was rooted in community, in generosity, in abundance. There was one answer and one answer alone to the question, “More pizza?” and to tell you the correct answer, I will show you my post-Newport waistline. (No I won’t.)

At the beach, you say yes and in the sand, you say thank you.

Yes, I’d love to dance with you. Thank you.
Yes, we’ll be here for you. Thank you.
Yes, we can help.

Thank you.

Yes, yes, yes.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

And for all of the work I’ve done as an adult to learn how to say No, I must say: Yes was a refreshing change of pace.

—

Saying no has become a badge of honor in our culture. Minimalism is the new black! we cheer, and we pride ourselves on living a life of routines, in time and money management. I KonMari my closet. I seek deeper relationships with fewer people.

We call this being responsible. We call this self control. We call this wisdom.

We call this editing our life.

The most Important Lesson I Learned in California, And Why It Matters.

“But life isn’t something that should be edited. Life shouldn’t be cut. The only way you’ll ever discover what it truly means to be alive and human is by sharing the full experience of what it means to be human and each blemish and freckle that comes with it.” -Iain Thomas

—

I pride myself on saving time, on protecting my space.

But is it really my time, my space?

A cup can never be empty, as it is filled with space.

Or is it everyone’s?

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There’s a Hindu proverb I read in the middle of a crowded airport in Los Angeles, and it is this:

Help your brother’s boat across, and your own will reach the shore.

Here’s the second truth, then:

I have, for many years, given reason upon reason that I cannot help my brother’s boat.

I’m in a busy family season with small children.
I’m under-qualified.
I don’t have the time.
I don’t have the energy.
I don’t have the resources, the skills, the talent.

But a cup can never be empty, as it is filled with space.

Things are never as they seem.

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Cali taught me the art of abundance. Of generosity. Of depleting yourself, of emptying your cup, of trusting that it will be filled with the precise amount your community will need.

Not filled with the precise amount we will need, of course.

Filled with the precise amount our community will need.

It’s not really about us, is it?

It never really was.

And I suppose that’s what traveling does to you. It’s an act of surrender, of abandon – an acrobatic exercise. You fling yourself into a culture so unlike your own, and you grasp onto tiny truths that land you safely into a new perspective. Your mind flips.

Your heart does, too.

—

I don’t know how I’ll live out Newport’s lessons in my own life, in my own little family, in our own little apartment. But I know there’s room for a somersault or two.

I know there’s space.

I know there’s a thin tightrope we walk between independence and selfishness, between minimalism and wastefulness, between intention and rigidness.

Sometimes, the tightrope wobbles just beneath and we lose our footing.

Other times, we string it taut between two boats – yours and mine – and we help each other to the other side.

I nearly said No to California.

And if I had, I would’ve missed the boat entirely.

  

To Olivia for these amazing photos: Yes, yes, yes. Thank you, thank you, thank you.