Trip Down Memory Lane.

California.

Land of sunshine, movie stars, beaches, and wine country.

Oh, and naked men standing on street corners wearing nothing but a brazen sock to cover… you know what.

Yeah, there’s a reason I don’t live there anymore.

Bad traffic, the high cost of living, population overload, and the dangers of earthquakes and fires ever present in day to day life are just a few of the reasons that I found myself drawn back to the pristine landscape of Alaska.

BUT.

California is also the land of my birth. It’s in my blood, in my family’s blood, and it will always remain a part of who I am.

California educated me, loved me, scared me even, and even though I no longer live there, it continues to be a part of my narrative.

And in this particular case, the narrative is of a vacation, one spent in the company of my favorite friend, shopping buddy, and eating and drinking pal: Mom.

My mom just had her birthday last week and while I dare not mention her age (she insists on being # of years young), she’s had this tradition of spending a week on a little celebratory vacation.

She traditionally went with my grandma, usually to Seattle, but this year, I finagled my way into the picture and insisted on being Grandma’s replacement, as Grandma could not attend. I had always watched in envy as every October my mom would jet off, spending a week eating, shopping, and drinking, and return with more suitcases than she left with.

This year though?

My turn. 😉

So I bid Alaska farewell and found myself back in California, not a year later than when I had last left it. 

Honestly, it was like not a thing had changed.

Here I was, a little older, a little wiser, but in my eyes and in my bones, it felt like I hadn’t left.

Despite feeling like I kind of still lived there, when I did play guide to Mom, showing her the routes I used to walk and the coffee shop I used to work at, it started to feel more and more like I was taking this trip down memory lane.

It brought me to tears, remembering the good times I did in fact experience in this great state and I felt myself overcome with this severe nostalgia.

And I finally understood what it felt like.

For years when my family went back to visit California, a land that both of my parents have rich history in (and is where they first met and where they married!), I watched as they “took trips down memory lane.” I listened as they told stories from their past and now here I am, a mere 24 years old, already beginning to do the same.

When the time came for Mom and I to drive eastward to this small town in the El Dorado Hills called Placerville, it was my turn to be led by my mom as she went back in time, showing me where she used to live, and where she used to work.

Like mother, like daughter now.

So it wasn’t just a week spent eating, drinking, and shopping to our hearts content (though we did plenty of the three!), it was a trip where I came into my own and began to share my own story, my history, and my past, with those who had previously done the same to me.

It’s important we keep these stories alive.

And California has given me plenty of stories to tell…

Self-Sabotage.

My heart pounds.

Here I am on a Friday night, in a rare setting in which I’ve forced myself to go out and socialize, and it is just reminding me of why I never go out in the first place.

I thank the heavens that I have my journal to talk to because once again, I am without company and have nowhere to look and no one to talk to (except the owner of this restaurant, does he count?).

To be perfectly honest with you, my ears are burning hot, my cheeks are blushing, and the bubbles in my glass are making me anxious.

See, I’m here for the music.

No, hold that: I’m here for the musician.

I am that girl. Ugh is that bad? That I have resorted to going out in public for an opportunity to experience these human emotions? These emotions that I call “having a crush”?

Gosh dangit, I have a crush. And it's childish and I’m such a girl and why on earth would a guy like that who plays so well, who’s contagious to watch because he’s so passionate about playing, who’s so attentive to you when you talk and is seemingly friends with everybody approach a sad spinster who’s sitting by herself in the corner writing in a journal with a glass half full of bubbly and no company?

Except the owner of the restaurant who keeps stopping by. But again, do we think he counts?

That, my friends, is self-sabotage.

And in my case, my self-sabotage is also wrapped up with having low-self esteem, low confidence, procrastinating, and being just plain shy.

I seem to be the queen of it recently.

Instead of embracing the inner bad bit** that I know I am (which is disguised in the form of a sweet sensitive gal with an old-fashioned soul), I settle for talking myself out of potentially great experiences.

Every time I imagine that it’s me he’s looking at (though I am forever reminded of that one time in high school where my crush who sat across from me in math class, whom I thought was always staring at me was in actuality staring at the clock that was literally behind me), I start to creep into self-sabotage mode, having absolute zero faith that he even notices I’m there.

Is it sad that I’m sitting here by myself whilst everyone around me is chatty and gay with one another? Is there a sign behind me that screams “DO NOT APPROACH”?

There I go again, acting against my own self-interest.

I never even knew the word applied to me until I started doing it in front of some close (and very honest) friends of mine. As a result, they called me out on it.

Self-sabotage is what it is: the sabotage of oneself.

Without even realizing that I’ve been subconsciously hurting who I am in an attempt to protect, safeguard, and defend myself from getting hurt, I still wind up getting hurt.

It’s just subtle.

Over time though, all the over-thinking and all the over analyzing takes its toll, leaving me paralyzed with this inability to take action. My self-sabotage is literally prohibiting me from accomplishing what I want because without even realizing it, when I think of myself in this negative light, I’m fighting against the real and true me.

I miss out on opportunities to make memories, to make friends, to meet men, and to potentially experience something that could change my life for the better.

I just feel like at times, I don’t have the courage though, the gusto, and the bravery to fight past this negative Nancy currently residing in my head.

What I know with certainty though, is that this negative Nancy doesn’t dictate our define who I am. All she is is that inner critic that we all have. Only difference is that I’m letting her dictate and define who I am and what I do.

I’ve come to the realization that I’m tired and frustrated at perpetually returning to the same habits that yield the same results of unhappiness and discontent, because that’s all I ever feel when I let my self-sabotage talk me out of something. I’ve begun to notice when these negative thoughts seep into my thought processes and with the help of some honest family and friends, I think I can beat this critical inner voice and finally do what my heart desires.

No, I didn’t get what I initially wanted out of going out ( a fireworks show in which my crush declares his feelings for me), but I did get some insight into how I operate, recognizing when I start to turn into someone I don’t like or respect.

Who knows, maybe the next time I go out, I’ll have the courage to follow the confident and bad bit** that I really am…