I’ve said it so many times before. Wake, rise, shine – it’s a beautiful day. Each better and brighter than the last. This is the mantra I’ve come to know. However, Hollywood can’t be forever and it’s time to be moving on.

Head out with quiet goodbyes in the early hours of the dawn. Filled with so much gratitude and love. Thank you Hollywood, now, for the beaches. Santa Monica pier seems like a good place to start, then work my way south. I’m on the highway early, so not much traffic, foot, wheels or otherwise to be heard of. Again managing to skirt around the infamous L.A highway standstills.

I drive until I see the ocean again and turn into downtown Santa Monica. Find a parking garage and hit the pavement. I’ve seen this pier in so many films and shows I hardly recognize it in real time and the light of day. I walk down concrete stairs towards the long boardwalk with the sun beaming against my face while a smile from my soul reaches the curve of my lips.

Tourists, weirdos and wayward travelers walk alongside me as shops and stands just begin to open. Indulge in a few small keepsakes, bracelets and such, and pass by the roller skating guitar guy.  Rad. Walk to the very end of the pier and breathe in the salt and sea smells next to fishermen and passerby. Another check on my mental list of tourist to do’s.Gratification in simplicity.

Tool around downtown and find an Irish whiskey bar to plug into the inter-web. If I have to tap back into the grid and read all about our country’s latest catastrophes I’ll need whiskey. Type a few pages, reach into the day to day for just a moment and shut her down. There’s so much more to do today.

Santa Monica is a fun pit-stop but I’ve been dreaming of Venice Beach since the day I picked up a guitar, grew stars in my eyes and heard the call of the west –
the vast, formidable Pacific beckoning me nearer. It’s so difficult to make it as an entertainer or even a writer with the better part of Southern California all after the same things . But here I am, testing the waters.

Twenty miles and some self-speculation later and I arrive in paradise. Holy mind-blown Batman, I’m here.

I’ve traveled the better part of the Midwest, East Coast, south of Pennsylvania all the way to the Florida Keys, Hawaii and the Virgin Islands, and now a decent stretch of the west. Venice Beach is something else entirely. This is where the dreamers, whacks, wannabes, up and comings and everyone in between go to make a move. Now it’s my turn.

Time to have a little fun. Not that the last four weeks’ vacation hasn’t been a ball.  I park round about a half mile away from the beach. Throw my shoes over my shoulder and head off. Bar hop and beach walk with senses overwhelmed. I don’t even know where to begin, so I start with an IPA.

It is early afternoon and I see the Venice skate park, skinny boys and skater chicks kick-flipping in and out of the concrete bowl.  Make my way north and just drink it all in. I was born on the east coast, raised in the Midwest and am reinvented in the Pacific sun. Everything I’ve ever wanted. Freedom tastes like salt and hops, dusted in sunshine and deliverance.

Scrape the surface of this place and meanwhile get a text from an old acquaintance. Drinks in downtown L.A? I’m in. My kingdom for a beer bar but as always – end up at the club, completely under-dressed. They let me in anyways and friends are waiting at the door. Up to the rooftop we go and drinks with the city laid out before us. Conquerors of the night.

Catch up, chill out,rooftop drinks to toast the night. Thanks for the insight Autumn, adieu and good evening.  Or… rather, last call shot of Jamo at a beach bar back in Venice. And going with the latter, then of course make fast friends with a local – Jimmy, and party at his beach bungalow until the sun rises. So much for sleep.

Slip out quietly in the moments of the rising sun and hit the hot sandy pavement, bare feet to sand and sidewalk. I’ve woken with the birds and I may as well greet the day.

Venice beach and all of its strange, abstract beauty begins to fill up with its equally beautiful occupants. Surfers in wet-suits paddle towards the horizon, skaters hit the bowl on four wheels, kick flip, ollie, skid to a stop. Tourists smile and point and spend and spend and spend inside little shops, no shirt, no shoes, no problem.

Converse tied together over my shoulder, I walk the main strip about a mile in either direction. I don’t know why or when I caught ocean fever and felt the pull of the tides like a siren’s song resonating within my core, but this feels like home. Like everything I’ve ever wanted and dreamed of and I’m standing in paradise right now, with no fear, nor worry, nor single dark cloud amongst my thoughts to damper this feeling. This is euphoria and I need to bottle it up.

“Get down to the heart of it, no it’s my heart you’re shit out of your luck, don’t make me tell you again, my love love love, love. Only thing I ever did need, only one good thing worth trying to be and it’s love.” – Sara Bareilles

Strip down to my new black swim suit and lie on my towel over the hot sand. Listen to the waves crash behind me and the gulls cry overhead. I shut my eyes and think of everything. Literally. Everything. My brain bounces from love to life and hopes and dreams to plans and gears set into motion mere minutes ago or in another life. Sending verifiable, measurable energy out in positive waves into the universe to manifest where God’s plans needs take root to nourish and grow into existence. I don’t ever want to leave this place, but I’m probably getting sun-burnt.

Stand and dust the sand off of my arms and stomach. My feet feel like wandering. I’m debating a direction when a guy flies by me on an old fashioned Razor scooter and skids to a stop.

“Hi, I’m Josh.” And he offers me his hand. Just like that I’ve got a partner in crime to conquer the night. We take turns scootering down the sidewalks, ocean on our left, hustle and bustle and laughter to our rights. He had been hitchhiking and walking all the way from Colorado. It showed in his dark, sun-baked skin, shoulder length hair bleached blonde by the warm golden rays, waving in the ocean breeze.

Eat a little, drink a little. We talk and scooter until we’ve exhausted ourselves. Two strangers are we no longer. Now two friends sit on the beach after dark while I strum my guitar softly and sing songs lost on the wind.

Eyes heavy and finally and end to a perfect day. Josh walks off to find soft grass to rest on and I retreat to the van. Open door, fall onto mattress, and I’m out.

The sun is well overhead when I wake up. I’ve slept in and certainly needed it. Day three no shower…Oh well, clean underwear and shirt at least, jump out of the van and see Josh walking up in the distance. Perfect timing.

Coffee and sustenance mission. I’ve been hitting it pretty hard and feel wholly alive and drained at the same time. Banana, bagel and lox and a dirty iced chai tea. Revived, surf the inter-web and part ways with Josh again. I walk towards the beach and realize this might be the last time I ever see him, he doesn’t even have a phone. What an interesting world we live in and thank goodness for Facebook.

I’ve traveled so far and gotten exactly where I’ve always wanted to be. For once I just sit down and give in to the soft grass near the skate bowl. No singing, skating, hiking, drinking or adventuring. Just an easy rest amidst a swirling world of color and chaos and noise. Let a few last rays sink into my sun kissed face and shoulders and say goodbye to Venice Beach and all its fabulous freaks. If I didn’t have sunburn before I sure as hell do now.

My mom’s childhood best friend Jeff Decker and his partner John live in northern L.A in Glendale. My parents have been split up for thirteen years and they avoid each other like the plague. But, my old man went so far as to post under one of my mom’s comments on Facebook about going to see Jeff.

“Go see him. You will laugh until you pee.” My father typed.

It that’s not a cosmic sign from the universe I don’t know what is. Jeff texted to tell me I’d better get on the road to beat the traffic, but I’d been lucky so far, Until now. As always, my aimless wandering has gotten me losing track of the days and I realize just now that it is Friday nearing rush hour. Idiot. I’ll spare you guys two and a half hours’ worth of infuriating near standstill traffic details to go a measly 23.7 miles, curb my frustrations and get back to the good stuff.

Finally, I pull up to their apartment, throw the van in park, and ring the bell. Hello, hi there, nice to meet you plus a couple of cocktails later and we are all in stitches, telling war stories and listening to tales from “back in the day.” Well, Jeff’s and my mom’s day anyways.

Mom did what when she was a teenager? Blew cigarette smoke in Whacky Jackie’s face? (That is what we affectionately call my grandmother.) This stuff is priceless and I can’t wait to remind my mother or quite possibly blackmail her when I get back to Wisconsin. If I ever go back.

Meanwhile their fluffy sheepdog looking mutt Murphy (I can’t quite remember the breed) licks my feet and lopes and jumps around me in that way that only gangly, awkward large breed puppies can do. It’s adorable, besides the licking my feet part.

We’re getting pretty hungry and should probably eat something before we fall off our kitchen chairs. I insist on a quick shower, I’m looking quite the vagabond. And then we’re out the door.

Drive to a really great Mexican place and chow down on fajitas and sip on sweet margaritas and Mexican beer. Eat and drink fit to burst, then head back to the apartment for an acoustic session and a nightcap on the outside upper patio.

I play Jeff and John a few good tunes and talk awhile more in the surprisingly warm night air. Then again why be surprised, this is California. These guys feel like family and I wish I’d known them all my life. My dad was right, Jeff is a trip. When we cannot drink , nor laugh, nor or sing any longer, they show me to the guest room and say goodnight.

I can’t believe I’m leaving L.A in the morning. I have come all this way and I still don’t know what I’m looking for or whether or not I have found it. I do know that I want this feeling to last and if the ocean calls me back from over 2,000 miles away, with its mere echo in a conch shell then I will come. I’d bet my first edition, holographic Charizard Pokémon card from the second grade on it.

So surreal, yet these have also been the most tangible, real experiences I’ve ever had.

“Who are you? The questions just echo, echo. Trapped by these sandcastles, needing to let go. Can anyone hear me now? Can anyone hear me now?”- Wookiefoot.

Lights out and see you on the morrow, San Diego…

Open my eyes to the sun streaming in through the giant, east facing window. I’d neglected to shut the curtains – I live to be woken up this way. Stretch upwards and outwards, joints creaking but so refreshed after a night in a real bed. Not a bunk in a hostel, not the unrelenting yet tranquil earth beneath my sleeping form or the mattress pad in the van, but a real bed.

Jeff has got to head out early for work. Thank you so much, truly glad to have met you. Before he goes, leads me into the kitchen to witness Murphy standing guard over my dirty Chuck Taylors. He knows there is still a visitor in his masters’ house and is keeping a vigilant watch to make sure my shoes have not yet vacated the premises. So. Adorable. Then Jeff is gone, but John is taking me out for breakfast.

Cruise through Northern L.A’s Glendale with the top down in John’s convertible. The former mayor of the town, an operator in the film industry for many years and also a teacher of political science, John has a wealth of knowledge and insight  to divulge as we roll through the hills beneath the San Gabriel Mountains.

He tells the story of the fire that swept through the mountains near the Crescenta Valley in the fall of 1933. Then came the rains that would wash down through the recently cleared of vegetation mountainside on the brink of the New Year, December 1933 and January 1994 to flood the city below. I’ve been gifted a first rate tour guide.

Breakfast at a local little gem called Jeremy’s. John and I chat about everything from politics to family to our silliest whims. We get interrupted often, as every city worker, citizen and waitress seems to know him. Not that I mind, it simply adds to the mystique that is John Drayman.

This has been the bees knees, all that jazz and more. I am blessed with good company and good tidings and today is a beautiful day. My journey however, is not yet over and feels far from it. Close our tab and head back to the homestead. Pack up and almost forget my guitar of all things. Hugs goodbye, thanks for everything, until next time.

Infinite smiles and then I’m driving into the afternoon sun, away from the place I thought I’d find everything I’ve ever wanted. Except three minutes later I realize I went the wrong way and hit a concrete barrier and dead end. I laugh out loud and get myself turned around. My life feels so far away from a dead end the air of irony is palpable.

I need this, this hope, this love, this dream on the western edge of the world, or edge of  my world anyways. Before the coast burns up or the earth’s tectonic plates shift and dear California falls into the ocean, I will return and try my luck.

“This ain’t no disco, ain’t no country club either. This is L.A. All I want to do is have a little fun before I die. Says the man next to me out of nowhere.”- Sheryl Crow

Bye for now Los Angeles, may we meet again.