I made the decision to completely change direction in life and move to Ocean Beach on a teary Friday night. I packed my kid and 2 dogs and 2 cats and as much as we could fit into a rented Caravan and we were on the road six days later. [im-puhl-siv] much?
I left my family and friends. A new love. What I thought I was a new beginning. I just left it. I had never been so sad or so confused or so broken in my life. Who cries on the way to the beach? This bitch!!
We arrived the day before my 32nd birthday. The kid was excited to see her daddy. Her daddy was excited to see both of us. I wasn’t sure what I felt. A safe place to land, maybe.
I had been to Ocean Beach before. I always thought it was a little too rough around the edges. I cringed every time a plane flew overhead. I don’t like being in airplanes, I don’t like airplanes directly above me, I just don’t like airplanes much at all. I sure do love the beach though. And I was being offered a deal I couldn’t refuse, whether I should or not.
My husband and I were separated and had been, physically, for about 6 months. Emotionally, it had been more like 3 years. We met when I was 17, we weathered so many storms, made so many mistakes. We were both tired and checked out. We took turns not giving a fuck. He stopped giving a fuck long before I did, but when I got there, I won the gold. I gave zero fucks. I did whatever I wanted. Whenever I wanted. After so many years of trying to make someone else happy, I decided I was going to make myself happy. Of course that’s not what I ending up doing. I behaved recklessly, fell back into old bad habits and numbed the pain of my failing marriage. And 6 months after he had moved into his own apartment, I found myself driving over a thousand miles to move into a new one with him and our beautiful girl…2 dogs and 2 cats…2 blocks from the beach.