Monterey Mornings

Pacific Grove, 2006

I suppose its time I write this post. It's just hard. Because it reminds me of the past, of things I've let go, and it's hard to think about. But it struck me again this morning, and my heart aches, so here it is.

There are many mornings, as I ride my bike to work in Berkeley, that I think about "Monterey Mornings." There are so many tactile things that contribute to my very vivid memories of Monterey -- one of my favorite places in the world, and a place I'm honestly not sure I will visit again.

The characteristics of a "Monterey Morning" include: fog, or at least low clouds and mist, blowing in from the ocean, a wet wind dewing up your face as you walk (or ride a bicycle); and a quiet, cute neighborhood filled with small houses with white picket fences, tons of flowers blooming and other little touches that make me think of houses along the northern California coast. There's also a quietness -- few cars, and all you can hear is the chirping of birds, and the sound of your bicycle. There's a quiet wildness to it.

 There are few places where I feel this exact feeling. Monterey/Pacific Grove is one of those places. My ride to work in NW Berkeley is another. It's bittersweet. Simultaneously heart lifting, and heartbreaking.

It happened again this morning.
Some things are just hard. There's no way around it.


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I don't want to end this blog post on a bummer note. I've been avoiding writing this post for months, letting it sit half-written in my head, and fully in my heart, until today. But you know me: I can't be sad or negative for long, especially in this place, which is supposed to be life-affirming.

So here's our affirmation for the day. One thing we can always count on is this: eventually, the Monterey Morning dissipates, and all we're left with is sunshine.

Monterey, 2011