Some thoughts on a trip to California

I went home for ten days and I have some feelings.

A part of me was extremely hesitant to go back to the States right now. Another part of me couldn’t wait to see my daughter, mom, extended family, closest friends, and the place I love more than any other. It felt heavy to go, and things seem unhinged there, unstable. Well, from where I’m standing. I think if I’m really honest, I felt a little fear of what I’d find when I arrived.

But what I found when I arrived was what I always find when I walk out the door of the San Francisco airport: a vividly alive, stunningly beautiful world of culture, chaos, fog, sun, life — and an utter disregard for life.

I found home, as I always do. For better or worse.

It started with the woman who worked at the Avis rental car counter. A Black woman perhaps ten years older than me, maybe more, who asked why were were there, just making conversation, as Americans tend to do (and no, Dutchies, it is not “always fake"), and when she heard we were there for our daughter’s graduation from college, we joked and talked about teenagers, about kids grown and nearly grown, and my jet-lagged half-brain forgot to write down something she said that I said “I was going to add to my repertoire,” and for the life of me I can’t recall what it was. It was something she said about her grown children, and it was perfect, and I never wanted to forget it. Damn.

It was the ease of that moment, to chat with a stranger in an easy, comfortable way. When we left, she laughed, and said, “I enjoyed this.” She seemed a bit surprised. I imagine she experiences her fair share of humans blaming her for the price of their rental car, insurance, their own poor planning, and probably most of the ills of the world, really, as they manage jet lag, five suitcases, and two screaming children. Or maybe they’re just assholes.