Memories of San Diego

I try to live in the present, but I am a pretty nostalgic person by nature. I tend to have a "grass is greener" mindset about the past, especially when reflecting on the different places I've lived and communities I've been a part of. Sometimes, this is a bit of a problem, but other times it brings me a lot of joy to get lost in my memories. I also once heard that one of the best engines for creative writing is personal memories. Indeed, I've found that not only my most creative writing, but also my most fulfilling writing comes from reflecting on my past. For this reason, I thought it would be fun to write some vignettes about some of my favorite memories from the places I've lived. I thought it would also be a great way to add some visual life to my blog by jazzing it up with photos! This is the first in a series of blogs dedicated to each of the places I've lived. I hope you enjoy it!

San Diego:

I was born in a suburb of San Diego called La Mesa in 1988, and my family moved away when I was only two years old. So, I don’t actually have any memories of my birthplace from when I lived there, but I have created some new ones from subsequent trips to the area.

 The house in La Mesa my parents and sister lived in when I was born.

I participated in a service immersion trip to Mexico during the summer before (or after?) my junior year in high school. It was called Los Embajadores, or “The Ambassadors,” and it was geared toward building infrastructure and interacting with kids in the impoverished elementary schools in Tijuana. I have several prominent memories from the trip, and one of the most significant ones is actually from a stop we made in San Diego before crossing the border. We had taken the train all the way down the West Coast from Portland, which was a special kind of a torture, especially given that the train tracks were flooded in several places, and the plumbing system on the train broke down so that the smell of feces wafted up through the vents for hours…it was lovely. We stopped in San Diego to rent some buses for crossing the border, and the whole lot of us was starving since the train ride took longer than expected. One of our teachers who was leading the trip had either lived in San Diego or visited multiple times and was familiar with a local Mexican restaurant on the beach that served great fish tacos. On our ride to the restaurant, the sun began setting while we were driving along the beach, which was picturesque enough to begin with. Then, I went on joy overload when I saw dolphins jumping out of the sparkling waters, enjoying some last-minute play before the sun went down. I had never seen dolphins before outside of a TV screen, and here there were dozens of them. It was quite a sight to behold. When we got to the restaurant, it was a cool, but non-pretentious joint that had two levels with wrap-around windows to provide panoramic views of the beach. Given the location, size, and architecture of the restaurant, it had the potential to be really expensive and snobby. Instead, it had an authentic Mexican/beachy vibe and really reasonable prices. We got to sit on the upper level, which was even cooler. At that point in my life, I had not really dabbled much in fish tacos, so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Growing up in a family where Van de Kamp’s fish sticks were pretty much the extent of my seafood exposure, I resisted the urge to be a wet blanket and not try them. In short: my mind was blown. To date, they were the best fish tacos I’ve ever had. Perfectly cooked, overly generous portions for the price, and seasoned with an expert mixture of sauces and marinated cabbage. The only part that sucks is that I don’t remember the name of the restaurant and have no idea which beach we were on. If anyone is from the area and this place sounds familiar, let me know! I want to find it again.

 

Delmar Beach in San Diego, where I hung out in June 2009

Later, in 2009, I took a summer vacation to Southern California with my mom and brother to visit my aunt and uncle, who live in Valencia. We decided to drive down to San Diego for a day or two to hit up a Padres/Mariners game (I come from a family of MAJOR baseball fans, in which I am a TOTAL black sheep). I was glad though because I was starting to formulate thoughts about graduate school (this was after my junior year in college), and I knew some of the universities in San Diego offered programs I was interested in, so I wanted to scope out the campuses. I remember going to Old Town, SDSU, UCSD, and the beach and admiring the old Spanish stucco architecture, pristine landscaping, and happy people drunk on Vitamin D. I remember thinking, “Yeah, I could live here again some day.” Despite being a Pacific Northwesterner for the better part of my existence (or maybe BECAUSE of this), I feel a particular calling to live in a sunshine-y place. I somehow ended up in Seattle for grad school, which is pretty much the polar opposite, but I can still see myself back in San Diego someday. Let the sunshine in!
 

               Mexican restaurant in Old Town that was making fresh tortillas when I walked by. Yummmm!

              Braden, me, and Mom in Old Town