Bare Your Soul To The Night Sky
Couple days ago I slept on the bare sand on a deserted beach in Ventura County then I woke up and drove to an 11:00 am meeting in LA where I wound up pitching a hundred million dollar movie.
I saw a shooting star. While I was drifting off. I always wondered how you can tell the difference between shooting stars and airplanes, but a shooting star is unmistakable. It pops out of the dark — streaks — and disappears.
Earlier that evening I talked to a surfer about where I could camp that night, and he offered a variety of suggestions. We both agreed that permit camping is bullshit — you may as well camp in a motel room.
Here is your permit to sleep outside.
The surfer suggested a couple different ways I could escape notice of various nuisances like law enforcement or predators —
Or you could just sleep on the beach.
That’s all I needed to hear. I chose a beach he suggested and parked above the rock embankment. It was dark by this time. I walked up the road, snacking on kale chips (an unhealthy vacation indulgence) trying to find parking signs. I felt freedom and joy walking up this road, looking for signs.
This right here is all I need ever do. Wander up unknown highways in the dark, looking for signs.
Instead of parking signs I found this sign:
I also found a woman lying on the hood of her car facing the crashing ocean waves down below.
I know you.
We didn’t acknowledge each other.
I decided it was safe to park there overnight. I grabbed my stuff from the car and scrambled down what seemed like a path, mostly on my butt since I couldn’t see.
I wanted to sleep on the bare sand since it can ground you. You can buy a thousand dollar grounding mat for your bed or you can sleep on the bare sand.
I moved up the beach away from my car because I didn’t want my car to be a beacon pointing out my location to passing predators.
Here’s one.
I decided to sleep in a pocket of sand up against the rock embankment. Both protected and exposed. I had to clear out some seaweed but the sand beneath was warm and fresh.
What if the tide comes in while I’m sleeping?
I had my phone beneath me, with an app measuring my sleep quality. Be sure to grab your phone, I thought, if the waves reach your feet and wake you. Make sure you take your phone and your keys.
I am safe wherever I go.
That’s something I took to saying to myself when I was traveling alone in Colombia.
I stared at the stars, trying to relax. You don’t see stars in LA. Too much light pollution.
I am totally exposed. If a predator sees a single car parked by the side of the road and comes to find me, I am defenseless. No one will hear me.
The stars go from crisp to blurry as I begin looking inward.
What if it comes in fast and drowns me against these rocks?
My mind drifts to my playroom of my early childhood. A place I haven’t thought about in a very long time. I start remembering details and images of this room that were always there but were submerged all these years, beneath layers of light pollution and defenses against predators.
I am wakened by surfers, who came in like the tide at my feet.
I have just enough time to make it back to my apartment in Venice — where I can see the same ocean — take a quick shower but not blow dry my hair.
I make it to my meeting with a producer with camping hair and one eye that’s red and fucked up. We sink into a trance-like talk that lasts over two hours. When we both finally wake up, we don’t know where the time went.
But I do. Most of my meetings have felt this way lately.
Look, I can write the shit out of this movie.
I want more life in my life. I am stripping away protections and limits to give myself more life in my life.
So I venture out into the world, giving myself life, then I come back and do meetings, and I have more life to give.
