Western Migration
Around this time last year, May 11th was a big day on the calendar - it marked my one-way ticket from New Hampshire to California. I didn’t have a place to live, a car, or know anyone on this side of the country, but I had landed my dream internship at Chris Burkard’s Studio. Without much deliberating, it was decided that I would be moving to San Luis Obispo, California.
I had never heard of the small town until I applied for the internship and even then I didn’t give the location much thought - I didn’t think I had much chance of landing the internship anyways. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, I told myself. And suddenly, there I was, standing before the bridge, needing to cross it. Even then I didn’t give it all that much thought. I was overjoyed at the opportunity and decided to let the current take me, following my usual mantra that it always works out.
By chance, all of my college roommates were from California. We went to school in cold and dreary Michigan and I listened to them reminisce about their home state endlessly. Half the time it was nostalgic; they missed the sun, the ocean, and warmth, all of which Michigan lacked. The other half of their reminiscing was to convince me that California was the best damn thing since sliced bread. Proud of my New Hampshire roots, I usually rolled my eyes and continued on with my day. I thought their endless rambles were exaggerations or attempts to rile me up in a my state vs. your state contestation. I was born and raised in New Hampshire and couldn’t be bothered with any notion that the cliché, idealized California was as good as the movies and magazines made it out to be.
A small plane took me from LAX to the tiny airport in San Luis Obispo. My eyes were peeled to the window. I thought I was headed to the ocean? I wondered as I peered out upon a mountain range with sizable peaks. My lack of time to research the area before hopping on a plane was clear. I had graduated college just days before, and most of my focus was placed on moving out of my house in Michigan, unpacking, and repacking for my stint in California. There were spiky peaks as far as I could see blanketed in a fresh coat of green grass. Their valleys filled with rows of neatly organized crops and grazing cattle.
The right wing dipped as we banked a turn, and as my seat on the opposite side of the plane lifted, I was exposed to a new view - the ocean. I knew where I was, but I became disoriented. I didn’t realize these worlds could be so close together. I had seen green country sides, and I had seen (although never experienced) the typical California beach town, but I had never seen them back to back. A smile came across my face.
Weeks later, I headed to Joshua Tree. I left my house at an ungodly hour, somewhere between the middle of the night and early morning (something I’ve come to get used to out here) and arrived in the park before the sun came up. Through the darkness I felt like I had teleported to yet another world. From a green, mountainous valley by the ocean to… Mars? I had never seen anything like Joshua Tree. Days later, I did the same early wake up and drove four hours in the opposite direction, finding myself in Yosemite. As I peered out to Tunnel View, I scratched my head. How could these worlds all be within reasonable driving distance of my front door? I asked myself as I looked out in awe. Pictures, as they say, really hadn’t done it justice.
The following weeks gave me more time to explore the surroundings closer to home. Waves at Morro Bay, bluffs of Montaña de Oro, Oceano Dunes, the famous cliffs of Big Sur, and all the nooks and crannies in between. At first I thought exploring my new home would take a few days, but somehow through research and conversations my list of places to check out was only growing larger and larger. To this day, I’ve spent countless hours exploring the immediate stretch of coast outside my house and still feel as though I’ve only scratched the surface.
Weeks became months and quickly my four month stay was extended to eight. I couldn’t get enough. I thought if I stayed around for four more I’d feel as if I had gotten to see everything - making myself more content to leave. This bought me some time to make it further South, to breaks in Encinitas, and further East, for backcountry tours in Tahoe. As my boundaries expanded so did my curiosities.
It has been more than just the places though. After spending the majority of my life on the East Coast, California feels somewhat like a foreign country to me. The obvious manifestation of this feeling are the different land masses and living on the edge of the Pacific Ocean, yes. But what has sneakily pulled me in is that people talk slower, walk slower, and let their shoulders sit a little bit lower too - all studied and proven interestingly enough. It reminds me of the time I spent living in Chile, where nadie tiene prisa, that is no one is rushed. It was and is a lifestyle I crave, where people are less worried about moving quickly, accomplishing one thing and moving to the next as promptly as possible. It might take an extra couple of minutes for your coffee to be made, but here nobody minds, just as they didn’t in Chile. An entirely new set of vocabulary, being able to buy authentic tacos on the street, and a perpetual supply of fresh produce all add to this foreign feel. Everything seems to operate on a slightly lower voltage here, especially on the Central Coast. I like it.
Today, the California hit list remains large and my eight months have turned to… I’m not sure? With little intention, I’ve ended up with a job, place to live, and even a fresh new California driver’s license. Western Migration, that is the tendency for Americans to move West, has been a prominent theme in our nation since colonial times. Although the ambitions have changed and people are no longer fueled by free land or plentiful gold, the tendency remains. Instead, I have migrated West like those before me, now lured by diverse landscapes, hollow waves, and a slower pace of life. From what I’ve found, many others have as well.
Here are some more highlights; digital and film. Shot by yours truly, Evan Ruderman.
