Vibing On the Shoreline…
I lived in ‘the valley’ of Los Angeles forty years ago. I was in my twenties and had moved from the East Coast to the West Coast with my two cats and a few possessions, including a K-mart weight set, a Beachcomber bike, my Pioneer stereo set, and a water bed. On an average day, I would take the bus from Chatsworth to work in Woodland Hills. At the end of the workday, I’d change into running clothes, stuff my work things into my backpack, put on my Sony Sports Walkman headphones, and run home. There was a 7-Eleven at the end of the seven-mile run. Each day, I’d buy two orange Gatorades to chug one while walking up the block to my apartment across the street from the Cryonics Institute. Once home, I’d feed my cats, put on my Nikes, and walk to Chatsworth High School nearby. Most nights, I could get in a few runs before heading home.
On the weekends, I would throw on my backpack and take my Beachcomber for a ride around the valley. I had no agenda and just let my curiosity guide me. I’d usually head toward Ventura Boulevard and stop at whatever market, park, or gathering caught my attention. Occasionally, I’d jump into my car and drive through Topanga Canyon to the beaches. I’d spend the day playing hacky sack at Zuma Beach or roller skating on the Venice walkways.
Los Angeles is a tourist destination, and, eventually, I realized that I was a small part of that visitor’s experience. A guy bopping along to KIIS and KROQ while toting a backpack and running through the valley. A 20-something dude pedaling around the Valley or playing along the shoreline.
40 years later, I ride my bike along Maui’s south shore on my way to CrossFit class. In the class, I meet visitors dropping in from all around the world. Most afternoons, I throw on my headphones to walk with my labrador, Abbey, to watch the sunset. At the shoreline, vacationers gather to take photos, watch whales breaching, and, hopefully, see a glorious sunset. I sit among them listening to my music, petting Abbey, taking pictures of the sunset, and sometimes chatting with random people. As Abbey and I walk home, we pass a line of cars traveling along the shoreline road. They see a gray-bearded, overly-tanned dude, usually wearing a peace or love-inspired t-shirt, listening to his favorite ‘beach tunes’ playlist while his labrador tugs him home toward her dinner.
It feels like 40 years later, I’ve once again become a small part of another tourist experience. Not with intent. Not with any ‘main character’ energy, but just by vibing along the shore.
