Some attacks are minor in that I just need to stop and take some deep breaths. Others, depending on what triggers, will require medication to help me through a more serious episode. I only had a minor one today.
I've been recovering from the flu this week, and today was my first day back at work. I usually stay late to focus on curriculum development, but I left after teaching my last class. As I drove home along 101, I noticed an older white Civic driving behind me. Although I knew it was impossible for it to be Demian (though the driver resembled him slightly), it still sent my heart racing and my hands clenched tight around the wheel. I knew it was another anxiety attack, but I caught it early enough that taking deep breaths calmed me; then the tears began flowing down my cheeks. It has nothing to do with sadness, but rather it's an immediate reaction as soon as an attack passes.
I decided to take a drive west on 92 to Half Moon Bay instead of going directly home. Within recent months I've been drawn to the city particularly its drive along Cabrillo Highway. I usually go each weekend to hike the trails between Moss Beach and Piller Point Harbor followed by a drive into Half Moon Bay. (One of these days I'll have to stop at the always so crowded Sam's Chowder House.)
The 92 west (past 280) is a beautiful drive. I wish I could take a picture, but driving along a winding road and snapping a photo wouldn't be the safest nor brightest idea. Several nurseries (and many Christmas tree lots) line the highway before ending at downtown. Main Street has its mix of traditional Americana and Art Deco; two of my favorite architectural designs. The boutiques are inviting often selling arts and crafts from local artists. I was most delighted by the Half Moon Bay Feed and Fuel where I can get my farming supplies (well, whenever I have a large lot, I could get my farming supplies) as well as equipment and feed for the chickens I plan to raise in the not too distant future. I've even taken my dog, Daisy, inside to meet the chicks just to get her accustomed to them.
I only passed through Half Moon Bay just to take in the sights, but I stopped at a trail near Half Moon Bay Airport. As I walked Daisy, I had this sense of calm pass over me as though to reassure me that everything is okay and will be. The only sound was the distant waves crashing against the cliffs. And then, I heard a sound that seemed somewhat foreign, yet familiar. Frogs. There were frogs croaking! I've been so used to urban life these past few years that I nearly forgot the sounds of nature. You don't hear that in San Francisco. They're quite scarce even in suburbia. I've been so used to hearing the Sunset Blvd. traffic and the drunken broads upstairs, that it completely drowned out any natural sound. The croaking was definitely music to my ears.
When I drive along Cabrillo, I fawn over the expansive farm land nestled by rolling hills on one side, and the serene ocean on the other. It's the best of both my worlds. The ocean and the farm.
I'm no farmer, nor have I ever been, but I think the influence comes from my dad since he grew up in the country tending to the farms as he was growing up. Today, he has is own little farm in his suburban home (but he certainly has the yard for it.) Or perhaps it was my youthful summers spent at my grandmother's house in the San Joaquin Valley; California's agricultural mecca. In a way, I'm a bit of a country girl in that I carry the tradition of farming in the form of a 4'x4' garden plot in my backyard. It's something, and I've definitely lived off "the fat of the land" so to speak. I had amassed plenty of tomatoes, potatoes, spinach, green onions and zucchini this past season for some very good breakfasts and dinners. I'm quite sure that if and when I move to Half Moon Bay, I might only afford a condo (with a teeny, tiny backyard), but being in the environment and shopping the farmers' market is doable.
My mother is an island girl from Puerto Rico, so perhaps that's where I feel this need to be near the ocean. I love being in the ocean whether I'm swimming in it or surfing it. Yes, indeed, I'm a surfer; a longboard surfer. When I lived in Southern California, most of my days started with an early morning surf in Newport Beach before heading to work. My students would get a kick out of my longboard leaning against the wall of my classroom and the sand that was still on my legs. I haven't had much time to do that now, but I hope to fit it in my schedule soon. As with dancing, I'm also happiest when I'm surfing. My smile would stretch from ear to ear each time I caught a wave for a lengthy ride. Other times, I would just stand in the ocean and let the waves past through me. It was like baptism. Only it was all the troubles and/or worries I harbored in my mind that were being washed away.
Today's really brief trip through Half Moon Bay and the drive along Cabrillo Highway put my mind back at ease and restored my happiness; so much that I smiled throughout as I typed this reflection. And that is when I realized that I belong there.
So that is one goal I've set for myself. Save enough to make a down payment for some property in Half Moon Bay. Until then, I will just have to settle for my weekend hikes to admire the beauty and serenity that HMB offers.