The previous night was rough. After arriving to Hampton,
Virginia at 11:30pm, my hotel keys didn’t work, and then the heater in the room
didn’t work so I had to move rooms. The hotel front desk staff tell me they are
experiencing a surprise winter storm and one of the coldest days of the year;
it was in the 70’s the previous week. At least I know it gets better, I guess.
The good news is that the Best Western folks feel so bad for me that they
upgrade me to the VIP suite, a two-bedroom room with a full kitchen. The
reality of this is that I have a microwave to heat up my
week-old-and-several-times-frozen pizza (a life saver, really), and a quiet
room away from the parking lot to get an actual 5 hours of sleep or so.
I find the coast in the morning! The hotel is actually
situated directly on the ocean, and I have a moment of peace looking at the sun
coming up over the Atlantic just before heading out to my interview. I also
reap the benefits of the hotel continental breakfast, gathering as much food as
possible before the interview. Sleep deprivation does strange things to a
person; I feel overall deprived and find myself exhibiting behaviors such as
stashing several oranges in my pockets in my anxiety that I will somehow run
out of Vitamin C later or something.
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| Hampton early morning |
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| snow beach |
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| Icicles |
The interview ends around 11:30am, I decide yet again to see
what the local area has to offer before setting out for my flight to Johnson
City, TN around 3:30pm. I find out quickly that Hampton has little to offer;
and I end up returning to the beach for a cold walk along the shore. I am
amazed to find remnants of snow and icicles amid the sand; something a
California native simple can’t even imagine (I literally did not know that
could happen). Still, the beauty of the ocean can not be changed, and this
Scorpio (a water sign) feels right at home and at ease next to it. Oceans are
familiar and grounding to me; as I spent 5 years in San Diego.
I “Yelp” Hampton’s best seafood joint, and find a tiny diner
called 905 Café and Grill. The server is a beautiful local woman who works
alone and makes her rounds/personal connections with all of the customers. I am
surrounded by military; the place is pretty small, but several service members
in uniform (including several females, which makes me smile) eat with loved
ones on their lunch breaks. I drink hot chocolate and eat fish tacos. They
don’t compare to San Diego fish tacos. I make a sad realization that mostly
nothing will ever compare to San Diego fish tacos, catch myself in my
privilege, and then try my best to enjoy what I can while I am here. I
eavesdrop on the server telling the customers all about her nephews and nieces,
and talking with a young girl and her mother who are clearly regulars. I
appreciate the sense of small town community.
I get to the Norfolk airport and head to Johnson City,
Tennessee, where I plan to meet my friend Alex. Prior to coming on this trip I
taped a large map of the US on my wall, and mapped out all of the cities I was
travelling to as well as all of the people I knew in the surrounding areas. I
was surprised to realize that I knew more people in the area surrounding the
Mountain Home, Tennessee VA than big metropolitan areas such as New York City.
Alex lives in La Grange, Kentucky, about 5 hours from Johnson City. He and I grew
up together (he is literally the person I have known the longest in my life
other than my sister- we met when I was about 3 or 4), and ended up in the San
Diego area when I went to UCSD and he joined the Marine Corps. While I went to
college, Alex was shipped to Iraq twice, where he eventually lost his leg in
one of the most brutal battles of the war. He was in his young 20’s.
Being a major source of inspiration in my desire to work
with veterans, I find irony in the fact that I am meeting him on my interview
pathway. We haven’t seen each other since 2011; but time doesn’t really matter
with old friends. Predictably, he still picks me in his giant truck with a bed
made for driving four wheelers on to it (I’m surprised he isn’t on a Harley or
something, truly), he still has a giant red beard just as I remember. He also
still loves beer, and we hit a restaurant in walking distance of the hotel
called Charley O’Days, where a woman with a heavy Southern accent who doesn’t
fall prey to Alex’ charm serves us beer and fried food. I am surprised to find
myself quite relaxed here in the South; but then again, they say the people
make the place.
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| Alex and his truck |
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| Old friends at Charlie O'Days |
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