Lottery of feelings

Road trip ends in emotional whiplash

Disco Diaries is a free weekly newsletter. If you enjoy it, consider supporting it financially. You can send a few dollars straight to my Venmo (@katyabaro). No wiggle room in the budget? No problem. Sharing this newsletter with friends who may enjoy it shows immense support, too.

---

Berkeley, California 2020

---

We arrived in Berkeley after dark, a path of national forests and picturesque Airbnbs in our rearview mirror. Sonja switched off the podcast and turned on “Everyday is a Winding Road,” the only anthem that could straddle the end of one unknown and the beginning of another.

The road grooved with the song, headlights illuminating black twists of pavement in the night, crosswalks coming into view every few seconds. Two In-and-Out Burger cups sat empty in the cup holders, leaning with every turn. 

It was the last 10 minutes of our 2,500-mile ride. All the moving parts were preparing to settle into place. The roads kept up with the rhythm of our journey and straightened out into simple grids. We sat in the rental, tired and full of unknown feelings, and crept closer to our final destination. Dim streetlights gave us views of empty sidewalks and houses hidden behind big trees.

We turned onto Halcyon Court. Daniela and Matt waited for us there, greeted us with excited hops, and helped us carry our bags into a white-walled apartment filled with plants and nature-inspired decor. 

From any outside perspective, it was an easy descent into Berkeley, clear skies and 64 degrees. Coffee, snacks, and breakfast materials had been procured by Daniela and left in the tiny kitchen, which had a distant view of the Golden Gate Bridge and nightly sunsets through its window. There was incense and weed and all the things a girl could need to settle in after a long, long drive.

But sometimes all the calming material objects in the world aren’t enough to lend control over a lottery of feelings. What can you do if you ache when you should be elated? I had emotional whiplash, three days behind on processing where we had been and what it had meant. Huge patches of our country were engulfed in wildfires, that one guy was president, and people were getting very sick from something very contagious. 

My anxiety had peaked, but on the road with my best friend these things were out of sight. What mattered was finding secluded places for peeing, and setting up picnics with our pre-made salads, and seeing as much as possible while staying away from people. Being still to let skunks pass, being strategic about preparing sandwiches on the go, being devoted to documenting the experience on paper, on camera.

Now here we were in the quiet of a permanent space, expected to make tea and eat CBD gummies like it was our old routine. It is my shortcoming to lose track of my feelings. I will argue with them in adamant disagreement, but it does no good. I retreated to the most secluded space I could find, like a cat, brooding in silence with my ears perked for information.

Sonja set a glass of water for me on the wooden coffee table, and left me alone. The gesture is kind, but I know there’s only one way out — not through water, not through weed, not even through sleep. Only through time, the weird nothingness that can morph moods merely by existing.