Solo at San Diego Pride
I’m back from a minor sabbatical, healing my heart and sorting my shit. Both are still very much works in progress. In an attempt to get out of my head (and my apartment) I decided, on a whim, to drive down to San Diego Pride, solo. Boldness is at the core of this venture, yet as I walked through the giant inflatable rainbow at Balboa Park, I felt more vulnerable than ever. I’ve traveled the world alone, finding empowerment and elation with each new destination. But here, I felt… lonely.
After a few laps around, I settled at a table for lunch. A (very tipsy) couple scooted up next to me and told me they were on a first date that began with lots of Rosé for breakfast. Judging by their enthusiastic fondling, the date was going very well and promised a night of sloppy shenanigans. When they learned I was alone, they generously offered me an extra VIP ticket, worth a few hundred dollars, that granted free drinks, food, and access to premium areas with flushing toilets. I gratefully accepted and enjoyed the perks of VIP treatment for the afternoon. As they left for a much-needed nap, I marveled at the magic that finds me whenever I step outside my comfort zone: tickets, invitations, unlikely friendships, new directions.
Feeling a bit buzzed from my free drinks, I decided to check out a WLW rooftop pool party. I knew what I was getting into: loud music, drunken debauchery, hazardous pool water. I was well beyond the average age of the toned and tanned attendees, but I pulled up my full-coverage bikini bottoms, took a deep breath, and headed in. At the elevator, I met another solo adventurer about to brave the entrance. We chatted on the ride up, battled the bar lines together, and found a spot poolside to watch the madness unfold. When the music finally died down, we shared cheeseburgers and stories before parting ways. I attempted to change my clothes and head out to Gossip Grill, where the party would continue, but the tequila and sun had other plans for me. I spent the rest of my wild night in bed at the Hilton.
Even though the trip’s ending was underwhelming, it left me feeling inspired. Inspired by possibility, by the people and experiences waiting around the corner. Inspired because, after a few moments of awkwardness, I didn’t spend the day alone after all. Inspired by the fact that things usually turn out okay. So, dear Aspiring Bohemians, here’s my message: Go for it. Whatever crazy idea or lingering “what if” is calling your name, take the leap. Embrace the insecurity, the messiness, and the unknown, and let the journey surprise you.