Dear reader,
As this letter finds its way to your inbox tomorrow morning, I’ll be driving down an interstate somewhere in California and on the way to one of my favorite parts of the country. T. will be at my side and we will be in the van, which is also where we will be mostly living for the next ten days.
It is our first time sharing this many sleeps together in a row. Pray for us. It will also be 11 degrees where I have decided we absolutely must go, which is honestly questionable because I don’t like the cold. Pray for us again.
This week’s letter is a little bit different than what I’ve been sharing lately. My friend Taye recently sent me scenes from a roll of film she shot in October, and it inspired me. I started writing, and I’m so grateful I have a place to share it here. Today there is no life-lesson, no unpacking inner turmoil, no trying to navigate anything. Today it’s just me, my friends, a pink dress, and a disco ball. Thanks to Taye for the photos. Thank you for reading.
In October I threw a dance party at the ranch to celebrate turning 33. I once read that people experience more joy anticipating an upcoming vacation instead of actually during the vacation itself. I feel similarly about my birthday this year. The party was great, but after all of the coordinating and preparation, the most special moments for me were the bookends.
I picked Taye up from the train station the day before my birthday. I had not seen her since late May when I left her in Las Vegas after sharing a four-day drive through mainland Mexico. Our first stop before heading back up to the ranch together was Costco. It was fitting, as Costco had been our last stop in Mexico before crossing the border back into the United States. The errand was Taye’s only request during that trip — it’s more affordable to renew a membership down south apparently. I indulged her, but I insisted on staying behind in the van that day, too busy dissociating from the special kind of hell that had been our drive through the desert.
At the time I was a Costco virgin — I had never set foot in one — and after months of living in Mexico with only a suitcase and a surfboard, I was even more determined to hold out from big-box consumerism. Taye had other plans. Hellbent on hazing me into my own membership, she called me from inside the store and promised that I’d be grateful for the discount on gas once I was settled back in California (she was right, of course). Begrudgingly, I obliged. I met her at the entrance of the store, had my photo taken, and walked back to the van.