To escape or to reminisce
As I visit more and more spaces— whether it be restaurants, bars, cafes, cafeterias, or parks, I can't help but wonder and let my mind race. What does this space make me feel? How does it make me feel this way? What types of people are here? Why are they here? What do they have in common?
Queries upon queries fill my consciousness. Most of the time, they're aimless, often, subconscious thoughts. I've been trying to do a better job of materializing these thoughts, journaling, and writing vignettes. It's been more of an effort to organize the mosh posh of ideas and observations that flow through my head.
I find it funny (and a little frustrating) that the urge to document my musings surges when I travel. Yes, that's a good thing. It gets me writing. Traveling to different cities and foreign lands gives a much broader and inspiring sample to ponder upon. But, aren't the spaces, people, food, and experiences in our near vicinity the ones that we should be analyzing the most?
The reason that I'm speaking about this is because, yet again, I've come back from a weekend spent in seemingly familiar yet unfamiliar places. Last weekend, I traveled to San Francisco to run a 5 mile trail race with a couple of cousins. In the wake of the race, I hopped from one corner of the city to the other, exploring the nooks and crannies of the city. In just a couple of days, I had visited 6 bars, 12 restaurants, 4 parks, one lake, and a surf shop.
A motif that kept on filling my mind all weekend was the question: To escape or to reminisce? This thought caught fire when my cousins and I had an animated conversation about our favorite Pixar films. Mine being Ratatouille. What that film reminds me of is the power of nostalgia. I find that some of the most powerful emotions stem from the feeling of comfort and familiarity. Whether it be a dish that grandma used to make, or the smell of surfboard wax. Deep inside, everyone craves this familiarity. I found myself in a surf shop/cafe nestled into the Ocean Beach neighborhood of San Francisco obsessing over the music of my childhood, the smell of wax, the laid back attitude of the barista, and the gloss of the ocean breeze. Why don't all spaces aim to reinvigorate the feeling of nostalgia in the people that travel through them?
On the other hand, I found myself at a tiki bar, nestled on a quiet, commercial street around the Civic Center neighborhood. The bouncer was lounged outside of what could've been a neighborhood HR Block office. The Doors opened, a black velvet curtain was unraveled and suddenly I was transported into a land of shaded lamps of all colors, and western styled wannabe Polynesian decor. The only place that could rival the seemingly tacky, but incredibly tasteful aura was Disneyland. Only a space like Disneyland (and apparently this bar) could transport me with a push of a door and an unveiling of a curtain. There is something to be said about the experience of being transported. It's why we crave to disappear from the sunny streets of San Francisco into a place where we lose track of sunlight and where we actually are.
Often, my musings always boomerang back to me thinking of spaces I want to create and what spaces I want to explore. I could easily get caught up in searching for something familiar and comforting, which is what I tell myself is what I prefer. But, being able to experience and soak in spaces that are foreign and unexpected always strikes a chord. It makes we wonder if what we really crave is exploration of the unknown and escape from reality. I've always been one for the comfort of my mother's cooking, or my most frequented surf break. In fact, I've convinced myself that the familiarity is what people crave over the unknown or escapism. Small experiences that I find in traveling to unknown cities, new neighborhoods, or restaurants keep me guessing. What do I really crave? Is it exploration to see the world differently, or is it exploration to chase nostalgia and normality?