As I sit here typing and looking through these photos, the beauty of San Diego leaves me feeling breathless. Yet, somehow, I am suffering major heart pangs of nostalgia for my home back in the Pacific Northwest. The pounding of rain against the roof, watching the raindrops trickle down the windows, leaving streaked paths resembling a thousand tears. I know that sight all too well from years of pressing my forehead against the cold window panes, shaping fog marks from the warmth of my breath and body.
Then there is that smell. Oh, the smell of Washington rain. I believe the technical term in petrichor, and if you are a native PNW dweller, you know the meaning of that word as well as I do. There is something so melancholy, yet alive about that drizzly, gray weather. It’s not often I miss it, but when I do those feelings hit hard. Smack dab, front and center in the middle of my heart, causing it to ache for the memories and familiarity of a place that was once home to so many facets of my life.
It’s kind of funny, because as we walked around this old lighthouse at the Cabrillo National Monument in Point Loma, it had that same sad beauty that makes me so fond of my old home in Washington. There was something lonely about those stacks of white bricks and white stone that piled up to create a simple, yet imposing structure. I pondered about all of the silent and foggy days the keeper of the lighthouse lived, and I felt a certain closeness to it, as I’ve spent nearly my entire life living on the Pacific Ocean and countless hours staring out into that curious and expansive blue sea.
Even though I am now in Southern California, the West Coast has been my life’s companion as long as I can remember, and I hope to never part.