Coming of Age in the Desert
I’m in Palm Springs for the weekend, for some relaxation, rejuvenation and solo time, sans husband and baby. As I sat in Friday afternoon traffic, memories of driving the same route many, many times over the years, started flooding my mind. The desert is not an uncommon weekend getaway for many Angelenos, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who has made the trek an average of once a year since I was eight years old. That’s somewhere around 25 trips to Palm Springs (or Palm Desert or Indio). I started to sort through the memories like flashcards, recalling where I was in my life for each of them. As I got closer to the Desert Hills Premium Outlets (is a road trip even a road trip without a stop at the outlets?), I was overcome by the simultaneous feelings of familiarity and newness — not unlike arriving at your childhood home for the first time since leaving for college. The place is the same, minus a few updates (did you know there’s an H&M in downtown Palm Springs? Shocking), but you’re different.
Palm Springs as a kid meant staying at the Marriott in Desert Springs, with a large, loud group of family friends (I still don’t know how we got seated for dinner anywhere), and wreaking havoc on what felt like a massive pool that didn’t discriminate against small children. It meant sharing a room with my sister and parents, and trying to fall asleep before my dad’s snoring kicked in and kept me awake for hours. It meant a slight, subtle anxiety of not knowing if I was really part of the group that I shared meals with at the kids’ table.
My first trip to Palm Springs without my parents was when I was 17 years old. It was the first time I traveled “unsupervised.” I had to negotiate hard before my parents granted me permission to drive myself and three friends to the desert for the weekend. I don’t even remember where we stayed. Howard Johnson? Courtyard by Marriott? I don’t know. But I do remember sitting on one of two double beds we shared and taking shots of something, while we played “Never Have I Ever.” Vodka maybe? We were obviously smart enough to refrain from drinking and driving, so that was our night. Drinking vodka in a hotel room. So “adult,” right? I really did feel so grown up on that trip.
I went back a year later, but with boys. It was a high school tradition to caravan to the desert with nearly half our graduating class, the morning after our senior prom. I was one of the drivers, with one leg up against the window, driving my Ford Explorer, while sipping on maybe one of 20 cups of coffee I’ve had in my life. My prom date, three years my senior, was riding shotgun, and again, I felt so grown up. We rented a house for a group of 10, with half of us sleeping on couches or the floor. I don’t really remember much of what I was thinking or felt, but I was probably terrified that my co-ed roommates would hear me snoring, and obsessively sucking my stomach in while wearing a bikini.
2005 was the first time I went to Coachella. Back when it was one weekend, not two, and two days, not three. A girlfriend and I decided last minute to jump in her car and check out the festival. We booked the last room available at the Palm Desert Tennis Club while we were driving. Traffic got crazy as we got closer to the Valley, and I remember feeling really proud when my friend, one who normally played by the rules, jumped a curb in her SUV and cut off about 20 cars, shaving at least 20 minutes from our commute. We got to the polo fields, walked up to a booth and bought a ticket. Just like that. In the crowds of thousands of people, we easily found our friends, and group-hopped as we explored the different tents and stages. I went back the next year — I don’t even remember who I went with or where I stayed — and the highlight was getting super up close to Madonna who was going through her leotard/dance phase and was performing in the Mojave tent. I went again in 2007 and danced like I had never danced, when Tiesto took the main stage.
2011 was a special Coachella because I went alone. It was my cousin’s bar mitzvah the morning of Day 1, so I couldn’t commit to the trip with any specific group of friends. I had a bag packed in my car “just in case” I felt motivated to go. While at the party, I got word that the ticket scanners had stopped working and a friend forwarded her ticket, so I could try using it to get in. I kissed my grandparents goodbye and headed to the desert alone. I had no idea where I was going to sleep that night, or if I’d find my friends before dark. It was one of the most exhilarating weekends of my life. I went to Coachella alone and got in for free. I mean, come on.
I’m just now realizing how many Coachella festivals I went to. Three days before Coachella 2012, I found out that my current position at work was going to be eliminated and split into three different roles, sitting in three separate departments. I had until Monday to decide which position I’d take, which would have significant implications for my career — or at least I thought so at the time. I knew that I did my best decision making when I was traveling, out of my usual environment. On the last day of our trip, while sitting in a pool at whatever mediocre hotel we were able to book for that year’s festival, I had a moment of clarity and knew exactly which position was right for me. I felt so clear and so in control of my life. Never mind that it didn’t end up being right for me and motivated me to leave the corporate world to work for myself, just six months later. It all works out, even when we think it hasn’t.
Spring 2013, my sister and I took my mom to the Parker for her birthday. Unbeknownst to them, I had just ended my relationship of nearly a year, the day before. I didn’t want to make the trip about me, and I hadn’t processed my feelings enough to share the news with them. I had this strange out of body experience of not really feeling like I was there. It’s weird to have your mind so consumed by one thing, and to spend so much time with people that have no idea what’s going on with you.
In 2015, my husband and I started our annual tradition of traveling over Valentine’s Day weekend. We airbnb’d a beautiful kitchy house in Joshua Tree, ate mushrooms, pointed out constellations in the pitch black desert night that was our backyard, and read an entire novel aloud to one another by the fireplace. I had an effortless sense of calm, hyper aware that I was exactly where I wanted to be, with whom I wanted to be with, doing what I wanted to do.
I was just over 4 months pregnant in 2016 when I spent a weekend poolside with colored pencils and a meditative adult coloring book at the Colony Palms Hotel — with the same girlfriend from my first Coachella trip. I felt winded after a 40 minute walk on flat sidewalks in moderate weather. I felt very aware of my changing body and kept marveling at my growing belly, which didn’t really look different to anyone other than myself. I wondered if I would keep the commitment to take time to travel with girlfriends and alone, after becoming a mother.
Eight months postpartum, we celebrated my 34th birthday in June 2017 with our first full weekend away from our son. The picture-perfect and utterly serene Korakia Pensione had me feeling uber relaxed, even with visits back to our cottage every 3–4 hours to pump breastmilk. I slept better than I had in a year. When we returned home two nights later, I felt something like reverse-culture shock, overwhelmed by a week of overtime at work and the realization of how truly different my life was, now as a parent.
And now, back at the Colony Palms alone. So beautifully, quietly, uninterruptedly alone. It’s my first time traveling alone in five years and I remember why I love it, even when I don’t love it. I tune into myself. I do what I want, when I want. I do yoga, then eat an entire gruyere baguette on my way to see an Andy Warhol exhibit. I talk to random people I wouldn’t notice if I were traveling with someone else. I work, but it doesn’t feel like work. I flip channels and decide watching TV makes me feel shitty. I read an entire book and three magazines. I remember to stay hydrated. I order three dishes, even though I made a reservation for a party of one. I look over at the floral arrangement my husband sent to the room with a note to enjoy my solo time, and feel immense gratitude for a partner that gets me. I pat myself on the back for making the trip happen and creating space for myself — the self that is comprised of and evolved from all of the selves that I have been before.
