You guys, God lives in Rocky Point.
That statement would probably be a hard sell to the women sitting around in the downtown area begging you to let them braid your hair for $10 (braids are “trenza” in Spanish, I learned, because while they were desperately trying to feed their family, I forced them to teach me Spanish words), but I just absolutely fell in love.
I went down there with Kevin, who you may remember from the incident with the $13,000 puppy. Now, I’ve been to Rocky Point many times. It’s about an hour south of the Arizona border, and so for students at Arizona State who are not of drinking age, it is basically a weekend home. That was my memory of Rocky Point — crowded, dirty clubs, tequila shots and hangovers. I haven’t been back since.
Kevin’s family owns a gorgeous home in a beautiful area about fifteen minutes outside of downtown. There are no crazy college kids, no one trying to shove tequila shots down your throat — there is basically no one at all. This is the view that greets you when you walk through the front door.
So, um, yeah. That water you see is the Sea of Cortez, which is essentially bath water this time of year. And I don’t know if it’s the salinity of the water or what, but you can just float on your back for hours and the water holds you up. It’s not a struggle at all. I spent hours in that water, just closing my eyes and letting the currents move me up and down. Sometimes it was steady, sometimes it was intense. But if I stayed relaxed and didn’t fight it, I always managed to keep my head above water. It felt like a metaphor for life. My interaction with the water there was a spiritual experience. Everything about it felt like God was present.
Kevin has a couple ATVs, too, so we did a lot of riding around on the sand dunes. I remember when Kevin first put me on an ATV a few years ago, out in the desert in Arizona, and I panicked and cried a little bit and ran it into a ditch and then ran as far away from that awful contraption as possible. This time, I vowed to put that fear aside. I listened carefully to his instructions and I didn’t panic, and by the end of the weekend I was like an old pro on that thing. I just felt so badass riding it through the dunes in the hot sun, without a building in sight, like some apocalyptic femme fetale, Lori Petty-style. I had a vision of shaving my head and insisting Megan Fox play me in the film version.
I got some much-needed distance from all the attachments of real life. I cleared my head. I appreciated the planet. I got some perspective. I read a bunch of the real estate pamphlets and fantasized about buying my own house there. It was perfect, perfect, perfect. I cannot wait to go back.