On Encinitas and Being Completely Alone...

Alila Maria Beach resort in T-24 hrs

I was invited to North County San Diego several months ago.

Initially, I didn’t think I’d be able to do it. As much as the farm and Pita are all encompassing, my own attachment to how things are run and the daily chores and operations are something that I’ll have to learn to ease away from. I’ll need to release a little, and accept help. Jobs that have dwarfed two people in the past, it’s a bit comical for just one now, and I find it too daunting considering the amount of work I’ll return to after just a few days away, and that’s if everything goes well.

I find strangers reactions to be one of two ways typically, when I say I live alone in a yurt, on four raw acres in the jungles of Haiku; Total shock and disbelief or laughter because they simply don’t believe it.

After days of sweating over the proposition of potential spa days and upscale dining whilst running outside in the pouring rain to use my composting toilette that lives some 20 meters from my tent in said jungle I scampered back inside, wet as a dog, and fired off a simple and easy one line email response. ‘‘I accept.’’

Day dreaming of indoor plumbing, dishes someone else does (most likely indoors as well), and having my meals prepared for me, even if only for 48 hours I bought a flight and confirmed travel dates with a swiftness. I’ve spent the last two months since frothing over their ‘‘experiences’’ card, drooling whilst peering at their dinner menu, and fantasizing about oversized bathrobes, plush with a softness the washer and dryer on the back lanai of my gutted shack could never achieve.

The truth of it being that I’ve lived in cities and towns my whole life but also that anyone who’s moved off-grid in search of solitude or traveled for extended amounts of time abroad in places so remote only the wildlife kept you company, knows that eventually we all want hot showers, delivery, and the creature comforts only more populated places can provide. Especially us Americans. You can’t blame us in my opinion. We were raised with everything we don’t need at our finger tips. That kind of access messes people up, and as much as I’ve worked to shake and shed the layers of my own cultural conditioning, I’m well aware that after several months in a Spanish speaking country with no kale or salad greens to be found I’ll be booking a Spirit flight to Fort Lauderdale just to buy a lifetime supply of spirulina before flying back (true story).

That was always my compromise with Maui.

It’s hard to find places in the world that feel as remote as I do out on my acreage, but that are reasonably close to a town. Places I can still get Amazon delivered, at least within a few weeks (no, def no prime), and an international airport with direct flights to a major US city close enough by. A place ideally without visa dodging necessary. Places far enough away, yet still accessible. The only problem? Maui’s price point quickly outbids all its contenders by a long shot and pays for those Spirit flights back and fourth in spades for how much you’ll pay to live here, to own anything, and especially to do a project like the one I’ve been doing here. A harsh and cruel realization, too little, too late.

I always found that after months in those remote locations around the world I’d begin to want things I’d never even wanted whilst living in the country to which I bare passport. Quintessential American food like pizza and cheese burgers. I’d eventually break down and buy bootlegged DVD’s (I know I’m dating myself here) so that I could pop in headphones and have a quiet night in my dorm room bunk watching out of sync dubbed over Disney films by myself or with whatever other travelers were in the same homesick space that I was in.

So when I began lusting after the thought of house slippers, pools, and spa facilities, I knew it was time, and the universe had given me a sign.

Close enough to my family in San Diego proper also meant some time with them beforehand and afterward which swayed my decision as the final straw drawn. I hadn’t seen my nephews in nearly a year and when one of them is three, that’s a third of his life. Living far away from my family has been a way of life for me for over 20 years at this point but it never gets any easier, watching kids grow up and parents age at a distance always feels bittersweet. The inner knowing that my folks would always want me to live and be wherever I want in the world, and the understanding that that means I cash in on invaluable time with them for my own path and plan. Tough decisions with no right answers, those are the ones I battle the most.

Thankful my friends that live seasonally across the street were still on island I coaxed them into dog care and house sitting duties easily, because as rudimentary as my living quarters remain, they are slightly larger and more indulgent than the 100sq ft RV they live in whilst on Maui each season.

With the weather report scaring me every time I neurotically check, promising a high of 60 degrees and a 70% chance of rain, I keep my fingers crossed for blue skies and head to the desert. To a city I’ve known and lived in off and on for some 10 years now. To a place that houses more memories than sometimes I’d care for, and to the southern region of a state I’ve battled a love/hate relationship with for nearly two decades. Still clearly some animosity between us, I remain amicable, because as much as I’ve tried to shake my connections with this desert paradise, it’ll always have a piece of my heart, and draw me back in.