Regret Can't Exist Here

"Life in a Quirky Beach Town" by guest writer Emma Beans

Home is the place where chihuahuas are zipped into wetsuits for surfing on a weekday afternoon, the locals have go-to trees for hammocking, and hair that’s been salted by the sea or sparkled with sand is the most beautiful. 

Many people have connections to California, but I always have to disclose that I have no idea where they’re talking about, usually regardless of how near or far it is from where I grew up. Despite having been a fairly restless young adult, dreaming up plans for international travel and always out of the house, I stayed within a fairly small radius. I was enchanted by the dynamism within the community. 

Every summer I could leave the apartment, make a quick detour by the bakery, trek up a small hill and overlook the rest of my seven minute walk towards the ocean, passing community-made, tiled murals on the way, each square representing a piece of someone’s story. 

First, the smell of the seaweed, then waffle cones, and then pizza would fill the air. As I passed the row of benches facing out toward the ocean, I could hear accents of people from different countries. 

I felt almost like a stray cat wandering around; everyone carrying backpacks, beach chairs, and a couple of tote bags, eyes darting between children to make sure everyone is keeping up, while I had a single towel and book in hand, wandering alone. Feeling small, blending in, patrolling another day through the small village as a regular when so many come and go. I wished they could experience it simply, too. Leave the speakers, tents, umbrellas, and toys behind and just bring themselves, occasionally dive into the water, sun-dry, and repeat. 

Despite the days spent like this, I went unrecognized by most of the shops and workers here, my purchases too irregular and their days filled with so many faces. What became familiar to me were the other customers. In a town where everything seems to have an aesthetic theme, my favorite coffee shop is the quirky one (which is saying a lot for this whimsical county). Printed posters on 9x11 printer paper that have been casually taped to the wall for a decade or more, coffee drinks named after book characters or TV commercial stars (like Morris the Cat), and an old wooden sculpture of a jolly fisherman with a pipe, yellow raincoat, and seal beside him to greet you as you go up the stairs and immerse yourself in the scent of espresso beans. If you’re lucky, you’ve come at just the right time to see a waiter from the restaurant downstairs run up to play the piano for tips during his break. Or, more reliably, there’s the middle-aged man plugged into headphones on his laptop doing work, perhaps writing about our home, too. That’s my favorite story to dream up for anyone with a laptop and a for-here mug; different people, in different cafes, writing different stories about this one special town.  

I could’ve stayed and tried that life, having to work at least a couple jobs to get by - barista by the beach in the early mornings and bookstore cashier downtown in the afternoons. Sifting through and organizing stories as I attempt writing my own, boldly going to open mic nights and attempting to master latte art, which seems to be an entry-level skill in this coffee-obsessed town. I would always look sunkissed, especially along the line of freckles bridging my nose. Any given night, heading to that still secret beach where a few locals gather at sunset. I’d mimic the woman who brings her wine tumbler and stands on the sandy, wooden stairs that go down to the ocean, looking completely at ease, present, and content. Many locals wear a facial expression like they’ve just been in the shavasana pose at a yoga class (and some probably have), like they’re currently being told to relax their forehead, cheeks, jaw, feature by feature, until there is no tension left. But it’s not a pose in this place, it’s a lifestyle. 

It’s her lifestyle, that is; whereas for me, it is just a temporary posture. It’s my outdated look. Gone with the turquoise nose piercing - which came out for an interview - and the thrifted Free People clothes - frayed, oversized, bohemian, and left behind. 

Standing by this woman, I see the part of myself that I worry I betrayed with pursuits that promised more stability and conventional success. I chose activities that were time-efficient and productive. Every extracurricular and job application curated to align with the most direct path towards the goal. To do otherwise and entertain alternatives was to ensure regret. 

Briefly, while waiting for the sun to meet the water, regret can’t exist; it doesn’t matter that the experience is daily life here, it’s always a charming reunion. The ocean has the most captivating consistency. 

We watch the sun set, painting color over the water as it drains the sky, slowly receding into the horizon like the waves. And now, even in my current life, which feels stream-lined and time-crunched, with hardly any time to write to or about home, you could mistake me for the woman I admire, both of us content as we fulfill our roles as watchers of the sea.

---

A note from the writer

This essay is a reflection on the time I’ve spent focusing towards one goal, the beloved and purposeful goal of getting into veterinary school. I am incredibly passionate for many reasons about this career, but at the same time, I find it very hard to make room for the other aspects of my life that are important, even those that I value above my career. I almost feel guilty or even embarrassed writing that, because it is such a privilege to be in this competitive profession; then again, I’ve never been very competitive, which might be why, at times, I feel so displaced and wonder what a lifestyle separate from that mentality would look like and then romanticize it. Within the first week of graduate school, I heard people saying “We’re all competitive, Type A people here” and I knew I’d feel lonely. 

It makes me miss my hometown and the pace there, but that pace didn’t match my ambitions and I felt less artistic, carefree, and in the moment than the community around me. People had lots of passions and projects, not just one. Veterinary medicine is consuming, which is a big conversation in the field right now. (Suicide rates are among the top of any profession and they are trying to teach us to not have our careers and identities be interchangeable.) I suppose this essay is a little of what it looks like to be in that learning process of figuring out how to balance priorities, coexist in multiple spaces, and embrace feeling a little strange wherever I may be.

---

Emma Beans is a veterinary student learning to have an eclectic life amidst her studies. A favorite snapshot from her daily life would be laughing with her husband at their two goofy, snuggly cats. You can find her on Instagram as @emma_in_vetmed.

---

A big thanks to paying subscribers of Hello Stranger for making compensated guest writers possible!

Hello Stranger is always looking for new guest writers! For information on how to become a guest writer, click here. To support Hello Stranger, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber click the button below.