Meng & Munchkins

     The first time I saw the ocean I was 19 years old. My best friend and I were on a road trip to her home state of California. There I was on the beaches of Huntington Beach, just in awe. It was perfect, it was pure and the ultimate freedom. I didn't even think it was real at first. My only representation of the ocean and sunny beaches were in movies and TV shows.

    But here I was reaching out to landscape I didn't have the capacity to imagine. It was real, a wondering scene of life. 

    In Idaho, you are surrounded at every angle of a snowcapped mountain. Block your view, North, East, South, West. It was countless trips to West Yellowstone, a national treasure. Or maybe trips to the biggest cities were four hours away. But I grew to resent those mountains, I envisioned them as a prison. Big beautiful bars, I couldn't go past. That is what living in a small town, and a past tense state gives you when you live in it for twenty-plus years. 

    It put a barrier on my mind. Something I felt I couldn't surpass. 

    I am beyond grateful for the experience that this friend gave me. She opened my eyes to a new world, a different place. It didn't matter if I fit in or not, because no one was looking. No one was judging my steps, hesitant to the sandy shore. I held myself back and wondered if the glorious scene before me, was meant for me. A simple gift, an offering of confidence and experience. 

 I remember it was my mom that took my sister and me on long car rides to search out adventures. We were weekend voyagers hoping to discover momentums. There are a few that come to mind, Virginia City, Montana, sleeping in a haunted hotel after the haunted ghost walk through town. 

My mother was devious and comedic in her attempt to make memories so frightening for little girls we would never forget them. There was also another drive to Silver City, Idaho. A place is so desolate that the warning signs were biblical. First, the locust lined the road, painting it with their large bodies for a few miles. Then the hovering vultures, rotating in formation above our heads as we entered the small city. Once stepping foot into the only hotel, not a soul would greet us. Though the bar was full, we believe they were all ghosts and reminded us we really shouldn't be there. 

It is places and scenes like these that make us remember the sense of discovery is a tiny seed. Planted and grows with each step in the unknown. 

Photo by Nadia Jamnik on Unsplash