Ahead of the AAHPM Annual Assembly, I return to San Diego for a much-needed stretch on my own - my first solo trip since October’s overnighters in New Hampshire, and May’s trip to Andalucía before those. Travel, recently, has turned into intensive bouts of family time; meaningful, to be sure, but very different than relaxing and expanding into a space to call one’s own. When Jane and Jordan and I travel, inevitably I’m in charge of the plan and the itinerary and the driving there, the packing and re-packing, the documenting it, the getting on with it. Not to mention some large portion of the parenting and disciplining and boundary-setting and feeding everyone. On my own, things are different. After a relatively busy January and February at work, I’m trying to find a pattern that I can sustain. Atypically, I’ve shown up in San Diego with barely a plan except to check into the hotel and melt into a puddle until I feel right. I’m joined by my co-fellow Lindsey, this being our long-deferred conference in San Diego, exactly six years after the pandemic smashed its thumb down on the world in March 2020. After a significant amount of melting, we head out and explore with her parents, and on our own. We also meet up with my mom on a wildlife-filled day trip to La Jolla Cove. In between, there’s a lot lounging, reading (The War of Art by Steven Pressfield), napping, journaling. Lots of journaling. To go with the journaling, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking this week, which is good. In the mornings, after breakfast, I run to the water from the quiet, utterly deserted Gaslamp District and do miles up and down the waterfront. It feels good to be moving quickly again, and oh-so-warm in the balmy California sun; I develop a bit of a tan. In the afternoon (post-siesta), I look at the map and pick a random spot to reach by city bus or trolley at dusk, exploring different neighborhoods and continuing to experiment with my Evening Walks project. San Diego is a quirky place in the evening, with its Spanish colonial architecture and neon accents, its recognizably Californian suburbs that are at once familiar and a bit new. One of my favorites from the week is the photo above - a sidewalk snap near Old Town that reminded me vaguely of Ansel Adams’ Moonrise Over Hernandez when I passed by.
The conference is underway now, although per usual it has devolved into a motley mess of coffee dates and catch-ups more than actual time spent conferencing or learning anything. My obligate introvert social battery is sitting somewhere near 0% - but so, I suspect, are most of the other conference-goers'. These are my people, after all. After a week of just being and engaging in all the patterns of care and expression that I’ve built over the years, I’m beginning to feel a little more grounded in space and time. Something is crystallizing. Admittedly I don’t know what it is. But I suspect I have it just about figured out.
