What Do You Expect?
Malibu is about an hour north of my house. Malibu. The land of world-class beaches. What I've heard described as the Hamptons of LA. Where mountains meet the seaside and celebrities go to escape the Hollywood hustle. At least that's what I always thought. As a midwesterner who still holds these types of destinations in the light of novelty, I am astounded by their proximity and the great fortune I have in being able to visit them, even in covid era.
A couple months ago, I went up to Topanga Canyon, not realizing it sits at the southernmost base of Malibu. I went for a short hike and then grabbed some snacks to take to the beach, thinking that If luck would have it, I'd settle into my beach chair right as Bradley Cooper exited the ocean stage right with a surfboard in tow. What I expected in terms of glitz, glamour, pristine sand, crystal clear water, and instagram-worthy backdrops quickly deflated as the reality of a very windy state beach with absolutely no one resembling Bradley Cooper took shape. The water was murky. There was trash blowing nearby like tumbleweeds. And the coastal cliffs were nonexistent. I left thinking that there had to be more to Malibu. I just mustn't have made it to the right spot.
My hopes were high as I left yesterday in search of the real Malibu. I had a few gal pals by my side, my friend's convertible top peeled back and my hair blowing in the breeze. We decided to drive up the coast, turning the one hour trip to Malibu into three when we realized that the rest of Orange and LA counties had the same idea we did. The destination was El Matador beach where sea caves and rock formations were waiting to greet us. As we neared El Matador, the cars that lined Highway 1 stretched far beyond where my eyes could see. Parking in Malibu reminds me of being in Italy where people haphazardly jam their cars into too small of spots and risk getting ticketed because there's simply no other option. We drove well past El Matador, pulled an illegal U, drove back when we thought we saw a spot - gone by the time we got there - turned back around, and after about four tries determined that this beach was not in the cards.
It wasn't long before we found the next stretch of beach, this time with a parking lot - and it had open spots! After parking and taking our bags down to claim our seat in the sand, we noticed why the parking lot must have been empty as it was the same experience I had on my first trip to Malibu. A beach that left something to be desired. No sea caves. No Bradley Cooper. No pristine waters inviting me in. My expectations of what this place would be and how it would make me feel and what it would look like were incongruent with reality. And I felt the familiar wave of disappointment knocking on my front door. Which was immediately followed by this thought: you are entirely responsible for your experience in life, Jenna. I think this often. When I'm waiting in lines. When I'm frustrated by a co-worker or friend. When my plans don't go as planned. When I got to Malibu for the second time and wondered what all the hype was about. Instead of focusing on the water that wasn't swimmable or the porta potties that I had to use to slip into my suit or the lack of sea caves, I chose to focus on who I was with. The taste of figs as I bit into a sandwich that my friend made. The breeze from the Pacific that tamed the 100-degree heat. The conversation that made me feel connected and all of the laughter over our rocky adventure.
When we left that beach, we decided to take one more shot at Malibu on the way back. We planned to stop at the pier, closer to the "town" of Malibu, in case that's where the real Malibu was hiding. We hopped in the car, drove 30 seconds, and then came to a screeching halt. We had just missed a car accident in front of us, causing the entire highway to close down immediately and reroute us into the mountains. It was clear that this was not the day for us to see Malibu. Our reroute, on the other hand, brought us to the most picturesque of outlooks, into a small town called Cornell where I bought some of the best toffee I've ever had, and down Mulholland Hwy where we felt like ants nestled in the majestic mountains.
We often don't get to choose what happens. A pandemic rips through our world. A partner leaves. A job changes. A flight gets cancelled. Life happens and suddenly doesn't look how we expected. And while we can't always choose what happens, we can exercise a different kind of choice. How to respond. How to react. What we choose to give focus to and how much time we spend focusing on it.
When we got back to Newport Beach, I sat in a restaurant overlooking the harbor. The sun was setting with shades of sherbet painting the sky. The water was calm. Our laughter carried on. And I focused on the beauty that had been there all along.
