Tomorrow, bright and early, I need to get back in the car and travel east. Toward Colorado. Which is not a bad place. Nor is work bad. Exactly. But you know. Today would be a day in San Luis Obispo. Doing my own kind of things.
Walking the Labyrinth
My day in San Luis Obispo would begin at the Monastery of the Risen Christ, where I planned to walk the labyrinth. Walking the labyrinth is a spiritual practice which harks back to the middle ages. You slowly tread around a circular pattern of paths, moving slowly and purposefully, saying a prayer or mantra. Although the circle is not huge, the many paths you have to take mean that you spend a long time walking, not in circles, but in curves and reverses and longer curves, going toward the middle and then out toward the edge, again and again before finally finishing in the middle of the labyrinth. Walking slowly, taking a step every two or three seconds, it took me a half hour to finish.
As I walked, I thought about my problems, my hopes and dreams. I tried to ask God for help with all this. How could I face my challenges, how could I bear my burdens and successfully perform my responsibilities? How could I stay out of trouble! I thought about loneliness. “Better alone than in bad company!” I told myself. But you know.
As I walked, I thought how life takes you on so many turns. You think you’re just about to the end of a situation and then you have to turn around and go back another way.
I was not alone on the labyrinth. Although I was in the middle of a farm field, I saw wildlife — two mallards, a duck and a drake. More than one ladybug. And two lizards. I took some pictures. As I reached the end, I heard a steer bawling from the other side of the road. I choose to believe the message is: We are not alone.
Starbucks at the Corner of Chorro Street
I stopped at the Starbucks on Chorro Street on my way back to Morro Bay for lunch. Here I found a lot of college students. There were so many of them, all dressed in shorts and pony tails and things like big magenta puffy slippers. I felt so out of it. With my peers, I am considered quite stylish and smart, but with these young people — well, let’s face it, I am a grandma.
I ordered a 16 oz Pike with soy milk and two sugars, my regular, and a chocolate croissant. It took even longer to get the order than the Starbucks in Bakersfield. What is this, I wondered? Is Starbucks turning into the new McDonalds, with billions and billions of coffees served? Or course, McDonalds never took this long.
I struck up a conversation with a woman whose shoes I admired — they were, she said, really comfortable. Sofft is the brand. She told me she was a Bible teacher. She gave me a card with a verse from Timothy on it. JW.com it said. I smiled to show her that I felt no ill will.
Later, when I thought I’d left my phone in the Starbucks, and came back, 15 minutes after leaving, she was there sitting with her friends and saw me again and said “No no, you had your phone. It’s got to be in your car.” And she was right. It was behind the seat somehow. She was a pretty lady, maybe 45, and I told her I admired the way she could just come up and talk to people. She said she’d always wanted to be a school teacher, but never quite got there. People tell me that a lot. It makes me wonder. Should I be more grateful for my job than I’ve been?
Sycamore Hot Springs and Spa
Well, I just *had* to go to this place and get in a private hot tub to soak. The hot tubs were like the jacuzis everyone was getting back when I was in high school. It had jets and a constant temperature of 104 degrees. The tubs were ranged over a hillside, and every one was private, with double doors in the front like a saloon, but higher, and a six-foot tall lattice wood barrier around the tub and deck. These were two person tubs, designed perhaps more for a social occasion than for a solo visitor. But I made the best of the opportunity, including the opportunity to get undressed outside.
I took pictures of the beautiful oaks curving overhead. I decided that 104 degrees is not quite warm enough for me. Still, I enjoyed the jets and the open air. The gift shop was full of various curios, including books about happiness and how to heal your relationship problems. I wished I had something really clever to say on these topics so I could put it in this blog. I wondered if I read all the books, if I would know something I don’t already. A young couple were ahead of me in line and I looked at them, wondering what the future held. I try to be optimistic.
Bob Jones Bike Trail
There is a trail that goes from the hot springs resorts (the other one is Avila Hot Springs) down to the town of Avila Beach. About two miles long, I decided to travel it on my bike after the hot springs experience. There’s a nice parking lot at the trail head, and you can, according to signs, ride no more than 15 miles per hour down along a creek and through a golf course and over a bridge over San Luis Obispo Creek which is quite wide here, maybe 100 feet, down by the beach. There’s a hill that overlooks the golf course.
When I got to the beach, I found there were two piers, a restroom/bathhouse, bike racks, shops, and people playing with kids. It was a friendly beach. Not the most pristine or the finest sand, and driftwood was scattered along the strand, but a pleasant spot. To my irritation, I forgot my phone, though I’d brought my whole backpack. I have no pictures.
Loneliness Strikes Again
On the way back, so many people seemed to be with someone … family, friend, spouse … that I began to feel left out. I rode the bike to the top of a hill, and then went on an extra gravel stretch that was higher still.
I looked down and let the bike fly. There weren’t too many people out on that specific stretch, the trail was a disused road, and wide, and soon I was traveling very fast. Nineteen, 20, 22 miles per hour. I felt better then. Pedaling madly along, breaking the speed limit, remembering riding a running horse, I felt as if I’d regained my equilibrium after forgetting the camera and being alone. I would go faster than anybody else, I was that person. My sense of self returned. My sense of the Greek virtue, seeking of excellence or Arete. Which I’ve been leaning on for a long, long time.
Arete is where it was and is at …
Sometimes people ask me how my family survived our hardships. One way we did that was to emphasize arete, excellence. “Always be the best and hold your head above the rest,” I would say. If you couldn’t be the best, at least you could be your own best self.
I can still lean on this awareness to pull myself out of a funk, which might be brought on by the end of a vacation or by realizing that I’m alone and others are not. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to be the best by breaking the speed limit, but I’ve always had a problem with rules.
I’m a work in progress I guess.
When I got back to the AirBnB, “Barely,” the host, was there and wanted to take my picture for the guest book. “You aren’t wearing any makeup,” he said as he held up the camera. “That’s okay, you don’t need it.” I smiled for the picture. What else was there to do?
And tomorrow I have to go home. And more will be revealed.
