Twenty-Something Seeks Adventure, Partner in Crime for Trespassing Across Dangerous Terrain, and Maybe Some Beer.
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There's a stereotype about being in your twenties and firmly standing underneath the umbrella of various cliche's about being in your twenties. And since this is my last year of being in my twenties, I'm paying attention to these things. Like: we all enjoy craft beers/cocktails/doilies, Amy Schumer, and adventure. And let's face it, that umbrella is probably on a coffee shop patio somewhere in Midtown. But what does "adventure" mean, anyway? One thing I use to describe myself casually around The Internet is that—cuss yeah—I like adventures. My favorite thing is to go where I've never been. I want to see the coast, I want to see the mountains, the snow, the weird little abandoned towns, the dive bars in the middle of alleys. All of it.
And I'll never learn how to dress myself for any of these things.
But it's okay. Because I've come to terms with the fact that I'll never wear the appropriate layers of clothing or footwear—and not unlike Jean Louise Finch (Scout) from To Kill a Mockingbird, I'm probably going to say something to incense the locals (hey, we're both from small-town Alabama, what do you expect?). What I've found is that when you open yourself up to something other than Netflix and Chill,* you might experience some really cool shit.
Like sea lions getting released into the wild.
On a recent hike around the equally spooky and beautiful Marin Headlands (y'know, the place with abandoned bunkers carved into the mountainous terrain with a gorgeous view of the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco? Yeah, that one), there was a large crowd of people on one of the strips of beach. This was merely minutes after stumbling across some not-very-amused-by-us Germans that had—what appeared—to be Nazi memorabilia for their cheery photo ops. Yeah, we were confused, too. And by "cheery" I mean they weren't cheery at all, actually, but they didn't push us off the cliff when they had ample opportunities to do so; I'll give them credit for that.
Anyway—we joined the large group of people on the beach to watch two rehabilitated sea lions be returned to their oceanic living rooms. People took pictures, they clapped, they cheered. It was so damn heartwarming.
Just as the crowd dispersed, an elderly man with a slow shuffle and an Air Force Veteran trucker hat sighed as he gently made his way to the parking lot, "Well. Sad truth is, there's just a bunch of great white sharks out there, just waiting to eat them thangs."
I laughed as I shook the sand out of my inadequate shoes and thought about how true that was. But those sea lions had probably seen some really cool shit. They probably got to hang out with other sea lions in a casual group setting, where temporarily they didn't have to worry about predators or toxic algae in the sea. And people probably gave them tons of fish. One of the sea lions had a massive scar around its neck from getting stuck in a fishing line. I thought about how much of a bad ass that sea lion was going to look to his friends now. He was, in essence, the Robert De Niro of the sea. I wished him well on his journeys.
Then we went across the Golden Gate towards Mikkeller Bar—which is in the Tenderloin (AKA San Francisco's "sketchiest 'hood"), where sour beers and muttering junkies awaited us, like so many great white sharks.
*Also I was just kidding about the Netflix and Chill thing. According to The Internet, that means dirty things. I really just like watching Netflix and chilling. Literally. My apartment gets really cold and I end up falling asleep on whoever is sitting next to me.