I was fine enough to leave San Francisco behind. Being on the road and in such expanses of nature for so long makes cities feel like uncomfortable and unnecessarily hard places. All the symmetry and the gray is unnatural and in longer durations unsettling to a human like me who has tasted the wild.
And so, the Oakland Bay Bridge drew me northeast out of the city, and after some time I neared Napa Valley.
I wonder if it is just me of if we’ve all had times in our lives, and I think with near certainty that most of us are similarly affected, when we should have been intensely interested in something, yet weren’t. A few examples from my own experiences:
- The time our car was stolen from our driveway and I went back to bed and figured what happened had happened
- The time I should’ve attended a birthday party but feigned sickness to stay home and eat cookies alone on the couch
- Repeat the above bullet several times over but replace “birthday party” with “fundraiser” or “going away party” or god forbid “baby shower”
Some days, we just don’t care. We find ourselves not giving one fuck, two fucks, red fucks or blue fucks. What’s more is that we don’t care that we don’t care, and so on, until it becomes one downward spiral of apathy and looking back at it you thank god later that nobody was there to see you in that state of mind because they might think you an awful human.
On this day, I did not care to see Napa Valley.
Prior to arriving, I’d envisioned myself in a pretty sun dress driving top down between wineries, being the mysterious beautiful woman enjoying a glass of wine alone, meeting travelers from exotic places and dreaming with the best of them among rows of vineyards.
This would not be my day for dreaming. I drove toward town but not quite into it, then abruptly veered back toward Interstate 5. I mindlessly joined up with the catch-all freeway that connects Canada to Mexico, pointing myself toward Oregon and driving as far, far away as she, my car, my always-loving metal and leather friend, would take me.