Photograph copyright MurrayBolesta
Tonight Kevin and I are headed to Carmel for some quality time with a few friends and family.
I’m very much looking forward to this weekend excursion.
I was born in Carmel. I actually lived the first six years of my life there.
But I was young (obviously), and life was… interesting… so my memories of living there are hazy at best.
I have some friends who have such vivid memories of their early childhood, and yet I feel like everything I “remember” from those early years are stories I have been told from other people.
Stories I have been told so many times that I start to think they are my own memories.
I remember looking for seashells with my grandma on the beach. I remember my mom picking me up late at night (she was a cocktail waitress) and carrying me up a long flight of stairs to my room, and I remember how she smelled like cigarettes and chanel no.5 and how that smell became the best smell in the world to me, because it meant she was home. I remember a birthday party where my father dressed up as a clown and I was scared because I didn’t know who it was. I remember my favorite babysitter, Stephanie.
But that’s about it.
Less than a handful of memories to show for six years of life.
I’ve often wondered what my life would have been like if we never moved.
If I had lived my whole adolescent life in the Monterey bay area.
Middle school, high school, etc.
Swapping flip flops for boots and tank tops for scarves.
I really can’t imagine it.
But there is a part of Carmel that lives somewhere inside me, because when I go back I do feel some sort of connection.
I can’t quite explain it.
It doesn’t feel like home (by any means), but it feels like more than just another place.
Perhaps a part of my subconscious arises from its slumber and says “I remember you!”
And it’s nice to wake it up every now and again and say hello.