I just drove across the country. Well, actually we just drove across the country. I have to get used to using the plural pronoun because now, as it turns out, there are two of us on this little adventure. This is a bit of an adjustment, but one that is infinitely exciting.Adventuring solo is easy. Yes, showing us in a new city where you barely know anyone, let alone how to get a doctor's appointment, can be a little scary and a lot exhausting, but it's also a test of character and an incredible personal challenge. Which is perhaps why it's so rewarding when you've finally figured out how to use the bus system and where to buy groceries- you've done it, and you've done it all on your own.
So now what? Now that's there's another person along for the ride? What does it mean to adventure as a pair instead of solo?
Well, so far it means expanding my musical horizons to listen to lots of Metallica and Kitsune, compromising on what kind of bread we buy, and attempting to stomach slices of Kraft singles.
It also means being perpetually entertained, laughing until my stomach hurts, and knowing that I've got someone right by my side as I embark on this next step.
In short- it's fun. I've always wanted to have a partner in crime; someone I can travel the world with and who won't drive me completely crazy after 10 days in a car.
We made it here in one piece. Upcoming posts will delve into the ridiculousness of driving from San Francisco via New Mexico and Dallas, but for now, coming to you from our new home and in a Lost in Wanderlust first, Matt will officially introduce this period of adventuring a deux with a guest post about his time in San Francisco.
Check back soon for posts on returning to Los Angeles, staying in a retirement community in Sun City, and skirting the border on the way to floor seats to the Dallas Mavs game.
And now.....Matt speaks
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It was over two decades ago, but the memories of my first trip to San Francisco endure. To set the scene, picture a chubby four-year-old boy with snow blond hair and a raspy, Brooklynese accent. I was on a road trip with my family. Little did I know that I’d soon learn one of the most crucial of life skills: how to tie my shoelaces. Unfortunately, this new achievement of mine came at high costs.
It’s early January 2010 and I have decided to leave London and move to a new city with my girlfriend. Our relationship history can be written on a post-it note but we don’t care. Our detailed minds took care of the logistics and February came and went. Kristen had moved back to the Bay Area for the time being and I was left to tie up my loose ends in London. Time marched on and the big day arrived, 25 March. I condensed my life down to three bags of varying sizes coming in at a combined weight of 37 kilograms. That’s it. Oh, and a round-trip ticket to San Francisco. (Often misinterpreted as an escape plan, but it was the cheapest fare I could find, honest!).
I have been awake for 16 hours and it’s only 3:30 in the afternoon, local time. After a long trans-Atlantic flight I have touched down in SFO and negotiated my way through US Customs at pace. It has been nearly eight weeks since I have seen Kristen. My excitement to see her again was profound but I won’t delve any into it any further than that. I was about to cross a relationship threshold that most shudder to think about; meeting the parents.
Back to my first trip to San Fransisco and the ‘high cost’ of becoming a self-sustaining little boy who can kit up in his new Nike Air Force 1’s (size 3.5, all black). My favourite toy at this age was a simple baseball. Not the seamed hard type but the soft nerf type. It was regulation size and colour though. Leaving fond memories of San Francisco behind my family and I set out on the 101 Northbound and traversed the famed Golden Gate bridge. Mid-way across this huge spanning marvel disaster strikes! My brother throws my baseball out the open window down into the Bay below. My most cherished toy is gone in an instant. The last thing I recall on this trip is screaming at my Dad to stop the car so I can go fetch it, but he drives on. Three long days of driving ahead; new shoes, no ball. Those that were there won’t contest, it was an unpleasant three days.
What does this have to do with meeting my girlfriend’s parents, you ask? Nothing really. They were wonderful and gracious hosts. I can certainly see now where Kristen gets her charm and quick-witted sense of humour. The story of the lost ball is more than just a scarring childhood memory. It is a reminder to me of two things. One, expect the unexpected. It’s a cliche for a reason. Good, bad, or somewhere in between, things happen. Whether there is a reason behind it remains to be seen but either way we are forced to react. Two, protect what is most important. My second trip to San Francisco involved the opposite of loss. I met my girlfriend’s life, head-on; her family, her home, her friends, her city. Thanks to lessons learned from San Francisco past, I will not let this new great thing in my life escape out the window down into the Bay.
