I'm Miles from Monterey

Some days, a song pops into your head and you just need to hear it. Immediately. Over and over. Looping, bouncing around; it becomes a ticket to another place. Somewhere new. Somewhere you've been. Somewhere you've always felt in your bones. This morning, West Indian Girl's Miles from Monterey grabbed hold of my mind and wouldn't let go. Something about its ephemeral dreaminess and beautifully subtle tensions between the male and female vocals:

On a highway...rows & rows of tired lives

Miles from Monterey

Passing cars with broken hearts

I still hear her say

I'm falling away, I'm falling in love

Come on, come on, come on, let it go

She's falling and he's telling her to let it go. "Nevermind the coastline", he says. Perhaps an ode to losing and finding oneself on the road of life.

All morning, I've been washed over by flashes of my existence in America. Feeling what it was like to wake up and live there (as opposed to waking up and living here). What about that undeniable sense of independence? Of belonging? It was about driving ahead and looking forward. Of knowing where I had been and a bit about where I was headed.

Driving. Countless early morning drives between Richmond and Charlottesville, VA on I-64, sunroof open and music filling the air.

Driving. From Tampa to San Diego in a VW Golf with 2 surfboards barely clinging to the roof.

Driving. Renting a car by myself and winding along the US1 Pacific Coast Highway,.

Driving. Passing over the infinite one-lane bridges on Kauai's North Shore in Big Blue, Steve Davis's beloved (and beat up) pickup truck, in a bikini and flip-flops, just like the locals. Waterfalls too numerous to count...

Driving. Smelling the salt air before the roads expose the open sea and sand dunes off of Long Island's Wantagh Parkway, muscles tingling in anticipation of a day of beach volleyball.

Something in the air today brought these and many other experiences whizzing back. Related perhaps to the fact that I am spending more and more time exploring London, seeking out all of the elements that make a city one's own. A favorite park. Bookshop. Cafe. Vintage ephemera shop. Shortcuts, longcuts and insider's tips.

Now that I am finally peering out from behind the books and actively considering London as a place to live (?!) instead of a short-lived educational crash pad, I am aware of just how much I have left to discover in order to reach a true level of belonging ... to make it all feel like it's mine and not borrowed. Oddly, a part of that is also acknowledging the relief I would historically find by jumping in a car and escaping the every day. Maybe those British driving lessons are a good idea after all...

"Come on, come on, come on, let it go..."