The best days don’t necessarily start with a plan.
My day began with a breakfast sandwich made by my neighbor and a spur-of-the-moment trip to Santa Barbara.
We had been talking about it for weeks, but a recent heatwave made it feel urgent. After all, eighty degrees in Santa Barbara sounded a lot better than one hundred in the Valley.
Weather aside, one of my favorite things about living in Los Angeles is getting to know people. Whether they’re native Angelenos or transplants like me, everyone has a story that brought them here.
Two of those people, a Lebanese couple who live across the street, have become like family. So when they suggested we “beat the heat and go to Santa Barbara” (not verbatim, but you get the idea), I was in before they could finish the sentence.
The invitation made me feel like a kid again – packing a day bag and heading out on a road trip into the unknown. An adult field trip, but with better snacks.
She even made me a breakfast sandwich for the road, which might be one of the kindest gestures a person can offer. Labneh and cucumbers – something I’d never tried before – and of course, it was delicious. I was expanding both my horizons and my palate before we even left the Valley.
I didn’t really know what to expect. The 101 was apparently jammed (as it always is), so the GPS rerouted us to the 5 before cutting across a four-lane highway through the country.
The scenic route, apparently.
I didn’t mind the detour. I was in heaven. Endless rows of orange and lemon trees as far as I could see, broken up by small towns I hadn’t expected to find this close to Los Angeles. It reminded me of my hometown in Alabama, just with very different topography. It was gorgeous.
We finally merged onto the 101 in Camarillo, and then I saw it: the Pacific Ocean.
I love the Valley, but it can sometimes feel isolating. It’s quieter than the chaos of Hollywood, which makes it easy to get a little too comfortable.
The ocean always snaps me out of that. It’s a reminder: I don’t just live in Los Angeles. I live in California, where the opportunity for exploration feels endless. It gives me a sense of freedom I haven’t felt in years.
Windows down, I took it all in: the sea breeze, the cliffside homes, the feeling of being exactly where I was supposed to be.
By the time we arrived in Santa Barbara, I realized one thing: I still don’t know how to dress for a California beach. I’m either underdressed or overdressed.
This time, it was definitely the latter.
Head-to-toe denim, in the middle of a heatwave, no less – so much for beating the heat.
I mean honestly, what was I thinking wearing this?
After sweating my way down State Street, I gave up and ducked into the first souvenir stand on the pier, emerging comfortably in a T-shirt and shorts.
I looked like I worked for the Chamber of Commerce.
“I told you to dress comfortably,” my neighbor teased. I thought I had.
Note to self: always dress in layers for California.
Turns out, my nice neighbors had one more surprise for me: they booked us for a 45-minute meditation at the Salt Cave. Did they know I’ve been on a meditation journey for four years? No. We’d never discussed it, and yet it was exactly what I needed.
The Salt Cave is what it sounds like: a man-made “cave” carved out of 60 tons of Himalayan salt. We entered the cave barefoot. The salt felt cool and quite sharp, forcing me to tiptoe to my chair like I was walking across hot sand.
The lights dimmed and the air filled with fine salt particles – part of a treatment called halotherapy. A relaxing voice guided us through a few breathing exercises while sound frequencies echoed off the walls.
My mind eased as I dipped further into relaxation. I could feel the frequencies humming through my body, while the salt beneath my feet kept me grounded.
I drifted deeper into it. The stress of the day melted away, and just as I started to fall asleep – it was over.
We emerged from the cave lighter, a little lethargic but calm. On the way home, I dozed a few times. I felt just like a kid on the school bus coming home from a field trip, hanging onto a few souvenirs and new memories.
My trip to Santa Barbara wasn’t what I expected. I certainly wasn’t glamorous in the heat. And I didn’t feel the need to check anything off a list.
But between the detour, the breakfast sandwich, and the salt cave, it was exactly what I needed.
The best days don’t start with a plan. They start with an invitation and a “yes.”
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