R2R Pt. 4: Jordans
It is strange how time is fast yet slow. An oxymoron at its core.
A week has passed since the crossing. Monday came as if nothing had happened. I was up at 4:30 am for morning jiujitsu. Some people asked how my weekend was, and I glossed over the previous day’s activities.
At some point during the week, I make plans with Coky to go SUP at La Jolla Shores before picking up some expensive pastries she’d heard about on social media. Desserts by Clement was the place. It was all the rage for its Dubai chocolates and fruit-shaped sweets. Desserts sounded like a nice reward.
Sunday came, and I’d felt tired all week, keeping up with the training schedule I’d planned out months earlier. Not wanting to be dull, as I can be when on a schedule, I decided to just chill and not rush to get ready. We would get to La Jolla Shores when we got there.
I knew, though, that we’d already missed our window for a parking space, and every second that passed was making it harder to find one. I tried not to stress and just enjoy the trip south. Who cares? I’ve got the whole day.
My trusty Astro van is packed with gear and on the road. Miles pass as the wheels turn. The scenery changes from county to county. A beautiful drive with sunny skies. Blue, dotted with clouds.
The large Mormon church, white and ominous, dominates the skyline. The golden trumpeter announces our arrival. Off the freeway, near the college. Through glass buildings and up hills. Weaving our way until we finally reach La Jolla Shores.
Well, there it was. A packed parking lot with a side of packed side streets. What I thought would happen had indeed happened. There were no stalls free, and no curb space available. Dozens of cars slowly drove around, stalking anyone who looked like they might be leaving.
I drive around for a bit, hoping I’ll be able to score a space. I have faith. After last weekend’s events, I will have faith. As I drive, it becomes clear we won’t. Sometimes faith is hearing no.
I suggest just going to the dessert place and then heading back to the tourist lagoon we passed on the way south. Carlsbad Lagoon, I think it’s called. It is agreed. We quickly head out of the mess and back onto the freeway.
It’s a simple 20-minute drive before we exit the freeway. We drive into an area that looks familiar. Buildings and billboards jog memories loose. Slowly, I recall coming down this way to get to Mission Beach. A surf group I used to belong to would meet up down here.
After finding our way to the pastry shop, a tucked-away little spot perfectly decorated, I park across the way in front of a CrossFit Box, and we make our way into the shop.
The bright interior is accented with small gold details. Round white tables line the wall, creating a cozy space for small groups to hang out. Pastel pink pops from the wall in an unobtrusive way, making the space feel larger than it is.
To the left of the entrance is the prize we came for. The pastries, in bright golden displays, bathed in crisp light. Arranged to whet the appetite and dazzle the senses. If the hype is based on the shop's looks, then it’s 100% true. Let’s see about the taste.
Since this is Coky’s adventure, I let her decide what she wants. I’m simply here for the experience and eager to try anything behind the pristine glass. We are stocked with a variety of treats. Clements is so popular that it’s already bustling by 10 am. A couple of ladies were ahead of us in line, so we waited a bit while they placed their orders. I take the chance to use the exclusive customer restroom before heading north to the lagoon, our next destination. I tell Coky and slip into the bathroom.
Now, this is where things get strange. You might say I’m crazy or that it’s just a coincidence. For me, though, it’s no coincidence at all.
After using the restroom, I ended up using the last of the toilet paper on the roll. This bathroom had more of a fancy-home, hipster feel than the standard concrete-and-chrome restroom you find at most restaurants. Not wanting to be a rude soul, I thought, “Hey, I’ll change the toilet paper.” Why? Because it was just on a regular toilet paper dispenser, not one that was under lock and key. Wash my hands, look under the sink, Boom. There it was. I put that guy on and got ready to head out.
I am close to the door, about to grab the knob to open it, and get back to the pastries my taste buds are dreaming about. When I hear a haunting tone that will forever be etched into my mind and will always be my anthem, paddling. The piano notes that begin the song “Jordans” by Blessing Offor.
My heart stops. My spine goes rigid, as if I’ve been kicked in the back. My eyes are wide, and I feel a little short of breath. In my mind’s eye, I see the cove of Two Harbors again. The water lies before me.
Have I somehow started this song while slipping my phone into my back pocket? I don’t see how that’s possible, since I only listen to this kind of music when I’m alone and wouldn’t play it with Coky around. Quickly, my hand finds the phone. The screen is blank. No music is playing. Spotify isn’t even open. The music isn’t coming from my phone. It’s coming from the restaurant speakers.
A smile cracks across my face, starting in the corner and spreading into a broad grin. I stare up at the ceiling and know in my heart and soul that God is real. That He is here, showing His presence. This is not a new feeling, but another nail in what God is building in me. To someone else, this might mean nothing, but to me, it is another sign of His realness. In existence. In my life.
The probability that the very song I randomly decided to play on repeat for 5 hours and 45 minutes would be playing in a pâtisserie restaurant 85 miles south of my home, at the exact moment I’m in the bathroom, is beyond belief.
Exiting the bathroom, I begin to sing along to the song, low and to myself, and to God alone. I know the words by heart, even though it is harder to hear them now in the lobby. Head tilted toward the ceiling, I tell Him I see Him. I thank Him for all He has done, and all He will do. The shop is now fuller as Sunday morning moves on.
Back out in the car, I unashamedly put the song on in the van. I try to explain it all to Coky, but I think the moment is lost on her, as it is on so many others. I try to explain this connection I have with God. I’m learning more and more that these moments are for me alone.
We get to the Carlsbad lagoon in no time. The sun is bright and warm, and it is a beautiful July day. What more could an American hope for? The lagoon is filled with people in the same spirits. Smiles and laughter fill the air.
Coky and I try something new and rent the aquacycles. Two-seated water tricycles with plastic tractor-looking wheels that propel you through the water. We slowly pedal our asses around the lagoon. It’s much slower than the prone paddleboard I’ve spent the last 9 months on, but slow is a welcome change. What isn’t a welcome change is going from arms-only for those 9 months to a leg-only activity. What am I doing out here?
The lagoon is beautiful despite the legs barking at me. It is wide and long, with plenty of beach space to hang out on these summer days. Families dot the sand, tents popped up, and BBQs smoking, the postcard sort of day. I make a point to come back here one day to paddle prone.
We go as far as we can in the lagoon before turning around and heading back. The wind is picking up, pushing the aquacycle farther into the shallows. To keep us from running aground, the front wheel is pointed into the wind. My already toasted legs are getting burned to a crisp.
On the last point, we are almost home. The jet ski track is now pumping. People are flying around in circles. Men are racing, with their ladies clinging to their backs. It looks like a blast, but now the winds are mixing with the ripples from the churning track. My legs start to sizzle. Burn, baby, burn.
We are back in the car, ready to head home. The morning’s message and miracles are not lost on me; it’s another instance I will add to my bucket of reassurance. I think about the entire ride home, sometimes smiling, sometimes wanting to cry.
In time, God will show me more and more, but until then, I’ll enjoy the moments before me.
