Some of us are lucky to find places and people that touch our souls. For me, a bi-annual journey to Baja has become just that. Todos Santos first whispered to me as an invitation to photograph an intimate, destination wedding of an old college friend. I think I booked my flights before she signed her contract, to be honest.
Needless to say, exploring the small town and surrounding beaches during that Summer trip was a dream. I remembered being struck by the simplicity of things, people, food, and the freedom I always feel when I have a camera in my hand in lieu of a cell phone. I surfed my brains out, indulged my taco obsession and happily stumbled upon live music and local art.
Fast forward a few months after that wedding, and I remember being haunted by the feeling that I had somehow left my heart in Baja and needed to go and find her. I began brainstorming a winter reprieve, and through the Yoga + Wellness retreat community I’m a part of, I was connected to a local angel who graciously helped my pieces of the puzzle come together.
The last-minute flight gods were kind, and plane fares were affordable. There just happened to be an opening at an ocean-view one bedroom apartment close to the best surf break in town, and my friend could even rent me his truck. It was meant to be. I just had to Go. Do. Be.
There’s a feeling I get, when I get out of my own way. My therapist referenced it yesterday as the still, small voice. It comes from outside of my self, but it is somehow a feeling of more myself. Some of you may call this Holy Spirit. That’s awesome ! I call it consciousness or, presence. That feeling was with me this February. That feeling is still somehow in me, as I sit in a gray, landlocked Atlanta basement. The feeling allows me to be open to new people, random conversations, sing alongs by campfires, making new penpals, and an overall connectedness to humankind. It breaks down the barriers to entry that screens somehow create. I often feel like even though technology is so incredible, it can make us feel even lonelier. Laughing after sunset yoga with a new friend or letting a stranger on the beach sing in French and play guitar to me, or talking to the same dude in the surf lineup every morning and never learning his name but remembering his dog’s… that’s the good stuff. That’s the small town, beach vibe, heart centered stuff. That’s my stuff.
Thank you, Baja. For holding me like you do. For teaching me the Hawaiian prayer Ho’oponopono. For bringing angels into my life. For bringing back that still, small voice that guides me.