It’s Monday morning at 11:33 and I’m juuuuuuuust waking up from this monster of a weekend.
“This weekend needs to be over,” I said repeatedly the past three days, hoping if the universe heard my cry it would speed up time and plop me down to right now, Monday at 11:33 in my bundle of blankets with strawberry cheesecake ice cream and a novel I actually have time to read.
The future is now.
Isn’t it fabulous?
This weekend I worked full-time, well full-time plus, really. I also wrote about a bajillion articles, so many at once that my computer shut down not knowing what to do with all the open tabs.
I prepared a church lesson. I never got more than a few hours of sleep. Oh! And the internet was down for half of it.
Improbable as it may seem, some people do not love Malibu as much as I do. In fact, several people have told me “No one loves Malibu quite as much as you do,” which seems ridiculous. Am I somehow an outlier in what should be the norm of celebrating this stunning coastal town?
What is wrong with everyone?
One of the reasons people dislike Malibu is that things are always shutting down here. Cable. Internet. It’s hard to get services around these parts, the internet is always on the fritz, and, well, it’s just not as convenient as living in the Valley with all the suburban advantages at your fingertips.
(I will never live in the Valley. I will gladly drive 30 minutes to Target the rest of my life just don’t make me live in the Valley.)
We choose our problems, this is a theory I’m operating under right now. Obviously, there are some huge exceptions to this–health concerns, unexpected tragedies. Things that no one would ever choose for themselves.
But I’m not talking about those. I’m talking about a lot of our day-to-day problems. I think many of those are of our own choosing.
I choose to live in Malibu and it’s rather inconvenient most of the time.
I choose to date Rob and I deal with the problems that come with that particular relationship, just like you deal with the problems that come with your particular relationships.
I choose to write.
Sob sob scream scream.
Many of my problems are of my own choosing, which is one of the reasons I wouldn’t want to switch lives with anyone. I know they say we live in the time of comparison and people read blogs and see Instagram pictures and feel terrible about their lives, but I don’t, most of the time.
The closer I am to a person the less I want their life. Like my best friends. Love them all! Don’t want their lives. I’m sure they would say the same of me.
We choose different problems.
When I see distant, filtered lives, I don’t obsess over them or feel bad about my own too often, because I know if I got closer I would see why I don’t want their lives. I would see their problems.
And they aren’t mine.
I choose Malibu and Rob and writing and gosh sometimes it’s hard but they’re my choices.
I’m saying that fiercely in my head right now: they’re my choices.
This got really off course.
I was going to tell you about this crazy weekend and how in the midst of the no-internet, workfest 2015 I found myself at 1:00AM on Instagram.
So let’s go there then, shall we?
This weekend, in the midst of the no-internet, workfest 2015 I found myself at 1:00AM on Instagram obsessing over this account.
Present Beck. Cape Cod.
As much as I adore Malibu, as much as I defend it and apparently love it more than anyone else, it is second to Cape Cod.
One of the bajillion articles I wrote this weekend was about the most beautiful travel destinations in the world and I put Cape Cod on the list along with the caption, “America’s crown jewel.”
I meant it, go ahead and fight with me, but you shall not win.
I love Cape Cod in an irrational way, especially considering I’ve only ever spent 15 days there. 15 blissful days, but 15 days nonetheless.
Actually, if we count my time watching Dawson’s Creek I’ve spent a significant portion of my life there, but I guess I can’t count it because the show was filmed in Wilmington.
Never mind, I’m counting it because they tried to make it seem like Cape Cod and I believed them.
I believed the beauty and magic and charm.
Saturday morning I browsed through this Instagram account for hours, looking at every single picture. I screenshotted the best ones and sent them to Rob, “Do you know where this saltwater taffy stand is?” “What about this beach?” I mentally decided which pictures needed to be prints on my wall, which ones would serve as the base for my glitter/paint project I am surely going to take on soon. Which ones would be hung in my future home.
Ugh I want to live on Cape Cod. I feel it in my bones, I know it the way you know about a good melon.
I belong there.
Saturday morning I bumped into my roommate.
“I did something very bad,” I said. ”Instead of writing, I spent all night looking at Cape Cod Instagram accounts and I really just need to move, something there calls to me in a deep way.”
My roommate gasped, “Last night I was looking at Nashville Instagram accounts!”
And we laughed together.
For this is late 20s, I think.
It’s daydreaming of owning our own homes. It’s daydreaming of getting to the places we want to get to, of the days when our lives are a little more like our lives should be than they are now.
It’s realizing we know what we want.
Or know more of what we want.
It’s learning to get fiercely, fiercely excited about and protective of our choices.
Because they’re ours.