Carpinteria, California, USA

Four weeks ago I went to visit R in Carpinteria, the little beachside town he lives in that’s tacked on the edge of Southern California.

I had never been to California before this trip but I’ve seen movies about it. And isn’t it interesting that even though I’ve seen movies about it and heard about the beach and the movie stars and the palm trees I thought that was all talk? California had become something of a crystallized shimmering dream to me instead of a real place. But, wow. It’s definitely real.

The whole town seems to sit on two main roads right off the highway. One road leading to the beach, and the other leading to worldly desires such as a library, a church, a grocery store, and of course the only establishment that makes a town a “town” instead of “the middle of nowhere”: Starbucks.

The first night that I arrived, R and I ate at a little restaurant outside where I proceeded to get tipsy off one hard kombucha and then we stuffed ourselves with biscoff ice cream cones as we walked back to his house. The whole time I could smell the salt of the sea. I could taste the ocean hanging in the air.

When we finally got to the beach a few days later, I was so happy. There’s just something endlessly special about standing in the ocean feeling the waves lap at your feet and pull at your heels. I felt so human in that moment. Human and mortal in the presence of the almighty. The ocean herself. Neither human nor mortal. “Beautiful” is simply the greatest understatement of all time when describing the ocean but it’ll do for now.

R and I got to explore the Santa Barbara area, Ventura, and a huge pier with a little aquarium built right on the end of it! We also ate our weight in ice cream, slathered on our weight in sunscreen, and cried about the state of housing in the United States. Or more accurately, I cried and R patted my back.

I can honestly say I get it. Why you all love California so much. I see why there are movies about it and songs and hotels named after it. I suppose next the next place to visit is New York, who I believe rivals California in number of Americans in their fan club.

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Elizabeth, Colorado, USA

Small towns are romanticized for good reason. There’s something charming about existing in such a small space. Where everyone knows your name and your true self is reserved for just a few people and some dirt roads.

Elizabeth is a small farm town in Colorado and homes only about 1,000 people. Less than my high school graduating class.

There are barely any streetlights, plenty of cows and pigs, and rolling green hills for miles. I visited Elizabeth for the first time last year to explore the famous “The Patch at Elizabeth” to get a pumpkin with my friends, and I swear you can tell the difference between the local Elizabethans and the rest of us. Levi jeans in small towns just aren’t the same as my Levi’s. Small town Levi’s sit different on the legs. They know more stories, they hold more truth.

The air in Elizabeth is crisp. It doesn’t have a cold bite to it, but it does have a smooth edge. It reminds you what air is meant to taste like.

Magical Travel

The closest we’ll ever get to pure, honest joy and raw experience is travel. The planet Earth is so big in comparison to our tiny, little insignificant bodies and once you leave home you start to realize the vast inspiration that the world can give us.

The downside to all of this is cost, of course, but that’s why we have Nat Geo and books, and the internet, to travel to another place through our screens or our pages for a short time. Just a taste of the real world, the one outside of our hometowns, can be enough to satiate that exploration desire.

I want to always be traveling, which isn’t to say that I want to be in a plane 24/7 or go through TSA three times a week or constantly do my laundry in a 2 star hotel in a country whose language I only know 3 words of. It is to say that I want to always be learning. Always making mistakes and correcting them. Always eating foods I can’t pronounce and petting animals I don’t know the species of.

I believe this desire comes from our most natural instincts. Humans need to see the world to be in it.

Kihei, Maui, Hawai’i, USA

Hawai’i is everything that you think it is. Lush vegetation, black volcanic landscape, incredibly kind locals, and colors so vibrant you question if they’re real.

I had the humbling privilege of going to Maui as a college graduation gift a few weeks ago, and I can honestly say it’s one of the best trips I’ve ever been on. Choosing to spend most of our time bouncing back and forth between beaches, ice cream shops, and our cozy hotel, my friend, R, and I explored the town of Kihei.

Kihei seemed to have one foot in the past and one in the present. There was a comforting and nostalgic 90s vibe to the town. The font everything was written in was bubbly and bold colors. There were a bunch of shiny, old cars cruisin’ down the street. Everyone was wearing denim and listening to Hawaiian acoustic guitar on the radio. It was a shimmering dream of place.

Did you know that sea turtles just swim right up to you on the beach? One day R and I saw almost 5 or 6 sea turtles swimming near us! We didn’t touch, of course, we’d never wanna disrupt the wildlife, but they were stunning. As green and massive as they look in any David Attenborough documentary. And the crabs were… adorably creepy. And the chickens! There were so many chickens. Like, more chickens than I can even accurately describe to you here.

But what I loved most about Maui had to be the chill and friendly attitudes of the locals. One phrase I kept hearing was “island time”, which is like real time, except you don’t feel impending doom. From what I could see, island time refers to how slow everything is on the island. Driving slow, walking slow, eating slow, slow easy conversations that melt together like ice. After the rush of college life and work, it felt so lovely to be slow! We could all use a little more island time.