Conversation Starter.

Not one month ago, my journal was used as an escape outlet.

Surrounded by a sea of people I knew but didn’t know I pulled my journal out of my purse and occupied my time by filling its pages with the thoughts running through my head that I didn’t have a face to share them with.

I’ve done this once or twice before. In an attempt to distract myself from facing the social awkwardness that often comes when I’m in a situation in which I’m the black sheep, I tear through my bag in search of my journal and relief floods through me as I put pen to paper and write out my discomfort.

All too aware that I sometimes avoid potentially incredible conversations (but most likely not since most of the situations in which I do this involve being in a bar setting and I definitely want to avoid being bombarded by a drunk doofus), I began to mull this particular avoidance strategy the other day as I sat with my coffee, writing in my journal just willing someone to come over and chat with me.

And guess what.

It worked.

In an ironic turn of events, the very document in which I commonly use to avoid social situations turned out to be the magnet that begot conversation. On top of that, it was this document that ended up being the conversation starter. A simple “What are you working on?” opened the doors and conversation about my writing ensued.

Now I wasn’t avoiding this conversation, per say, but I was nervous as to how to proceed with someone I really wanted to talk to and get to know. I’m not the greatest small talk socialite, so I did what I do best when I’m awkward and I wrote, which magically turned out to be the prologue to our chit chat.

As we began to talk, I opened up about what exactly was in these pages of mine, and I began to realize that writing is a pretty marvelous conversation starter. Here are some reasons why:

1.) You can’t exactly be on your phone and hope your crush walks over to you asking “What are you working on?” Creepy, right? But with a journal? Totally normal.

2.) It’s not a common activity practiced in society and is as rare as one reading a book or playing cards to pass the time. I like doing things that aren’t a common activity practiced in society, as you can tell.

3.) It’s my thing. And if there’s one way to be yourself, it’s to embrace that thing, whatever it may be.

By the end of our chinwag (*British for having a chat), I was beyond grateful that for once, my writing ended up not being an escape tool to awkwardly write out my frustrations at being unable to muster up the strength to talk to someone I liked, but as an invitation to get to know me.

As the gentleman stood up to leave, he apologized for disrupting my writing and I smiled to myself thinking, “Oh, but you’ve now given me something to write about.”

And here we are..

Trip Down Memory Lane.

California.

Land of sunshine, movie stars, beaches, and wine country.

Oh, and naked men standing on street corners wearing nothing but a brazen sock to cover… you know what.

Yeah, there’s a reason I don’t live there anymore.

Bad traffic, the high cost of living, population overload, and the dangers of earthquakes and fires ever present in day to day life are just a few of the reasons that I found myself drawn back to the pristine landscape of Alaska.

BUT.

California is also the land of my birth. It’s in my blood, in my family’s blood, and it will always remain a part of who I am.

California educated me, loved me, scared me even, and even though I no longer live there, it continues to be a part of my narrative.

And in this particular case, the narrative is of a vacation, one spent in the company of my favorite friend, shopping buddy, and eating and drinking pal: Mom.

My mom just had her birthday last week and while I dare not mention her age (she insists on being # of years young), she’s had this tradition of spending a week on a little celebratory vacation.

She traditionally went with my grandma, usually to Seattle, but this year, I finagled my way into the picture and insisted on being Grandma’s replacement, as Grandma could not attend. I had always watched in envy as every October my mom would jet off, spending a week eating, shopping, and drinking, and return with more suitcases than she left with.

This year though?

My turn. 😉

So I bid Alaska farewell and found myself back in California, not a year later than when I had last left it. 

Honestly, it was like not a thing had changed.

Here I was, a little older, a little wiser, but in my eyes and in my bones, it felt like I hadn’t left.

Despite feeling like I kind of still lived there, when I did play guide to Mom, showing her the routes I used to walk and the coffee shop I used to work at, it started to feel more and more like I was taking this trip down memory lane.

It brought me to tears, remembering the good times I did in fact experience in this great state and I felt myself overcome with this severe nostalgia.

And I finally understood what it felt like.

For years when my family went back to visit California, a land that both of my parents have rich history in (and is where they first met and where they married!), I watched as they “took trips down memory lane.” I listened as they told stories from their past and now here I am, a mere 24 years old, already beginning to do the same.

When the time came for Mom and I to drive eastward to this small town in the El Dorado Hills called Placerville, it was my turn to be led by my mom as she went back in time, showing me where she used to live, and where she used to work.

Like mother, like daughter now.

So it wasn’t just a week spent eating, drinking, and shopping to our hearts content (though we did plenty of the three!), it was a trip where I came into my own and began to share my own story, my history, and my past, with those who had previously done the same to me.

It’s important we keep these stories alive.

And California has given me plenty of stories to tell…