Tag: Non Fiction

A Whim in the Sea

Christanna Rowader1 Comment

 

We still haven't slept yet.
We still haven't slept yet.

 

 

As the weeks go by, the whims come and go. I’ve found myself slowing down the busier the days become, but I still manage to say yes when I’d normally say no. I get the impression that my sense of adventure is related to senioritis and if even it is, then thank the stars! The point of a whim is to enjoy life even when you’re at your busiest. And this semester’s schedule is definitely stuffed to the brim. However, I can’t seem to stop myself from going on whims.
It was a Thursday night and I was planning on spending it with my friends. It was the week before Spring Break and Anthony, Mat, Rachel and I were trying to plan a short trip to San Diego, but we were having trouble finding time within our hectic schedules. Then suddenly Rachel exclaimed, “Let’s go tonight!” Realizing we all had the next morning free, we decided we could pull it off. Mat and I just needed to be back by 5pm to make in time for work. 
No problem.
But who would drive? We decided upon Anthony’s car, a spacious, trustworthy Toyota. He just needed an oil change, but seeing as it was 10 o’clock at night, there wasn’t a likely place that would be open.
“I can do it,” Mat said, and we got to work. Supplies in hand, Mat successfully changed the oil, I looked up directions to Mission Beach, San Diego, and we were on the road by midnight. Well, almost. We needed gas. Ironically, the directions took us on a very isolated road, so the gas station we found seemed to be the only one at the time. Luckily, it was a 24 hour station…except that when we got there it was closed for ten minutes. We stood around outside in the chill anxiously waiting for the man inside to finish counting his registers and activate the pumps and open up the doors so we could stock up in gas and 6 hour energy shooters. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the road. Anthony was driver, I was navigator, and Mat was DJ. Rachel ended up falling asleep even after chugging a 24oz. coffee.
The drive was long, but we kept ourselves awake with music and Dane Cook. We passed Yuma, crossed the Boarder Patrol into California, and began the long stretch through the desert in the black of night, only the stars lighting our way…and headlights. A little over half-way there, I glanced over Anthony’s shoulder and noticed that we were near empty in gas. I asked him if we should stop at a gas station, but he assured me we’d make it. But he didn’t account for the uphill driving and hard winds that made the car much more difficult to handle. Before we knew it, the gas light was on, nagging at us as we realized we weren’t really near any civilization. We kept our eyes peeled for a gas sign as we passed barren exits. After a while, we were getting nervous. Then I saw one and we pulled off into a small town, staring out our foggy windows, it being in the thirties outside, until we saw the gas station.
It was closed.
Not only was it closed, but it was 4am and we were completely isolated. We called 411 to find out if there was another gas station nearby. We told them we were in a town called Pine Valley, but the woman on the phone said it didn’t exist.
That was bad. We were on empty and had been on empty for miles and were stranded in a town that didn’t exist! Thankfully, someone seemed to be taking an early morning jog. Mat and Anthony asked her if there was a gas station we could go to and she told us there was one 18 miles away in another town. We were very lucky she decided to take an early run, though I think she was a little freaked out by us.
Eighteen miles later, we were able to make it to an open gas station, filling up 11.7 out of a 12 gallon tank, and made it to Mission Beach. Gathering our blankets, we snuggled into each other on the cold sand, gazing out to where the black sky met the black ocean, hearing the waves slip in and out. It was very surreal. And then the sun came up.
That day we had breakfast on the beach. I took a whim in the ocean, even though it was icy cold. Rachel collected seashells. Anthony buried his feet in sand. Mat enjoyed a peaceful walk down the beach. It was one of the best mornings I had had in a long time and one of the best adventures so far. 
As much as we wanted to stay, we had to return to Arizona in order for Mat and I to get to work on time. Six hours later, we were back to our demanding lives. Though it was a short trip, it was a whim worth remembering! Next time, we’ll plan to stay longer.

As the weeks go by, the whims come and go. I’ve found myself slowing down the busier the days become, but I still manage to say yes when I’d normally say no. I get the impression that my sense of adventure is related to senioritis and if even it is, then thank the stars! The point of a whim is to enjoy life even when you’re at your busiest. And this semester’s schedule is definitely stuffed to the brim. However, I can’t seem to stop myself from going on whims.

It was a Thursday night and I was planning on spending it with my friends. It was the week before Spring Break and Anthony, Mat, Rachel and I were trying to plan a short trip to San Diego, but we were having trouble finding time within our hectic schedules. Then suddenly Rachel exclaimed, “Let’s go tonight!” Realizing we all had the next morning free, we decided we could pull it off. Mat and I just needed to be back by 5pm to make in time for work. 

No problem.

But who would drive? We decided upon Anthony’s car, a spacious, trustworthy Toyota. He just needed an oil change, but seeing as it was 10 o’clock at night, there wasn’t a likely place that would be open.

“I can do it,” Mat said, and we got to work. Supplies in hand, Mat successfully changed the oil, I looked up directions to Mission Beach, San Diego, and we were on the road by midnight. Well, almost. We needed gas. Ironically, the directions took us on a very isolated road, so the gas station we found seemed to be the only one at the time. Luckily, it was a 24 hour station…except that when we got there it was closed for ten minutes. We stood around outside in the chill anxiously waiting for the man inside to finish counting his registers and activate the pumps and open up the doors so we could stock up in gas and 6 hour energy shooters. Twenty minutes later, we were back on the road. Anthony was driver, I was navigator, and Mat was DJ. Rachel ended up falling asleep even after chugging a 24oz. coffee.

The drive was long, but we kept ourselves awake with music and Dane Cook. We passed Yuma, crossed the Boarder Patrol into California, and began the long stretch through the desert in the black of night, only the stars lighting our way…and headlights. A little over half-way there, I glanced over Anthony’s shoulder and noticed that we were near empty in gas. I asked him if we should stop at a gas station, but he assured me we’d make it. But he didn’t account for the uphill driving and hard winds that made the car much more difficult to handle. Before we knew it, the gas light was on, nagging at us as we realized we weren’t really near any civilization. We kept our eyes peeled for a gas sign as we passed barren exits. After a while, we were getting nervous. Then I saw one and we pulled off into a small town, staring out our foggy windows, it being in the thirties outside, until we saw the gas station.

It was closed.

Not only was it closed, but it was 4am and we were completely isolated. We called 411 to find out if there was another gas station nearby. We told them we were in a town called Pine Valley, but the woman on the phone said it didn’t exist.

That was bad. We were on empty and had been on empty for miles and were stranded in a town that didn’t exist! Thankfully, someone seemed to be taking an early morning jog. Mat and Anthony asked her if there was a gas station we could go to and she told us there was one 18 miles away in another town. We were very lucky she decided to take an early run, though I think she was a little freaked out by us.

Eighteen miles later, we were able to make it to an open gas station, filling up 11.7 out of a 12 gallon tank, and made it to Mission Beach. Gathering our blankets, we snuggled into each other on the cold sand, gazing out to where the black sky met the black ocean, hearing the waves slip in and out. It was very surreal. And then the sun came up.

That day we had breakfast on the beach. I took a whim in the ocean, even though it was icy cold. Rachel collected seashells. Anthony buried his feet in sand. Mat enjoyed a peaceful walk down the beach. It was one of the best mornings I had had in a long time and one of the best adventures so far. 

As much as we wanted to stay, we had to return to Arizona in order for Mat and I to get to work on time. Six hours later, we were back to our demanding lives. Though it was a short trip, it was a whim worth remembering! Next time, we’ll plan to stay longer.

Xanna D Says: “Wake Up! And Whim With Me.”

Christanna RowaderLeave a comment
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term “whimming,” which I will assume that you are because I am the only person that I know who has made up this particular term, I will explain to you what it means and how I was inspired to create it. Whimming means “to go on a whim.” Now, the technical definition according to Encarta Dictionary, whim means “a passing impulse—a sudden thought, idea, or desire, especially one based on impulse rather than reason or necessity.”  I also looked up the word on dictionary.com and came up with the definition “an odd or capricious notion or desire; a sudden or freakish fancy: a sudden whim to take a midnight walk.” Apparently, whim originates from the word “whim-wham” and the definition for that one tickles my humor in a whole new way. But this isn’t about whim-whamming, but about whimming and its glorious adventures. 
The word whim is a noun, but I changed it to a verb so that I could use it more frequently. It was mid-January, before the busy spring semester was let loose, and I had found myself in a rut. It was one of those ruts where you found yourself bored, stuck, lonely, and depressed because you were bored and stuck and lonely. I had been broken up with my boyfriend of two and a half years for almost three months and still seemed to be suffering from its effects; whereas, he was able to move on and find another mate/partner/what-have-you. Of course, it was New Years Eve when I had heard the glorious news that he had found a “new love” at the beginning of December. Suffice it to say, I was dealing with it not so smoothly. The week after New Years, I had racked up four dates with four different guys, dark-haired, light-haired, tall, not so tall, skinny and meaty—I suppose you could have called it my New Years resolution…if I had one—and continued to date openly throughout the month, enjoying every bit of it (I want to clarify “dating” as “not sleeping around” for the sake of…clarity). This was not, however, a whim. I came upon “the whimming” idea when watching the movie Chaos Theory with one of the four guys, drinking margaritas and eating chips and salsa. The movie was generally humorous, Ryan Reynolds leading the way, and then the film came to the part where Reynolds’ character decided to do things he had never done before. 
Hmmm…I thought. Now keep in mind that I am a naturally very adventurous person, originating from my upbringing in the theater world, but I still held myself back from doing a lot of things I normally wouldn’t even consider doing. When the movie ended, I was struck—as if by lightning, if you will allow me to be dramatic—and I had found the way to drag myself out of the rut I had unwittingly thrown myself into. I was to go whimming!
My first whim of January was to meet a stranger (who happened to end up being guy number five) at a bar that was hosting open-mic. I had never seen an open-mic performance before and this particular bar happened to be all the way in Glendale. So I invited a couple of friends to join me on this brief road trip at 11pm on a Tuesday. None of us knew exactly where we were going or what to expect, but it didn’t matter. This was a whim, and whatever happened was gonna happen. We met at the restaurant/bar, somewhere in the middle of a pitch-black neighborhood, parked and made our way. My nerves started to twist inside my gut, knowing that we were going to meet someone I had briefly met through the internet (mind you, I do not date online), and knowing that I may be pushed to sing for open-mic (something I was definitely not prepared to do). There were hardly any people; it almost seemed awkwardly abandoned, but those who were there greeted us with friendly smiles and hellos. That’s new, I thought. Not too often do total strangers even speak to you as though it were a small country town. Then Guy Number Five—tall, dark, skinny, with incredibly intense eyes—greeted us when we reached the inside. I felt my nerves calm when I noticed how sociable and friendly he was, offering to buy all three of us drinks, only two of us accepting a couple margaritas. The night went smoothly and interestingly; I watched musicians play their guitars, sing their hearts out and was even stunned by Guy Number Five’s unique musical performance.
And then it was my turn. Granted, I am a singer, but I like to practice and prepare before going up in front of an audience consisting of bar folk to sing something that’s not even close to open-mic style music. My singing style leans more towards Broadway or classical—definitely not appropriate for open-mic. And I didn’t have a guitar, which would mean a-capella, which would, in turn, make it oh-so-empty and lonely up there! But, Guy Number Five insisted and an encouraging “hoot” from my friends and the MC got me to bravely sit on the isolated stool alone on the stage and grasp the mic firmly—very firmly. I sang “Someone To Watch Over Me”, the only non-musical, slightly jazzy song I could think of, and the bar went quiet—probably because I didn’t have an instrument to accompany me. Nonetheless, I was delighted by the cheering response once I had finished the song. I slipped off that lonely stool and blended back into the crowd. 
We returned home that evening, a rush of adrenaline searing through my body, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had had; a simple night-out turned into a new experience that was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I was hooked and promised myself that I would continue my whimming adventures. Whimming can range from going out with people you wouldn’t normally hang out with, to accepting an invitation when you’d normally say no, to doing something you would usually be afraid to do. They can be big whims or small whims. But the point is to go beyond yourself and your invisible box—you never know who you might meet or what you may learn. I am continuing my whimming adventures every day and usually by myself now. Sometimes nothing happens and other times they do. Occasionally I’ll drag a friend with me, if they’re willing to whim. And, of course, I always make sure that what I am doing is safe. So start whimming, because you never know what you may find.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term “whimming,” which I will assume that you are because I am the only person that I know who has made up this particular term, I will explain to you what it means and how I was inspired to create it. Whimming means “to go on a whim.” Now, the technical definition according to Encarta Dictionary, whim means “a passing impulse—a sudden thought, idea, or desire, especially one based on impulse rather than reason or necessity.”  I also looked up the word on dictionary.com and came up with the definition “an odd or capricious notion or desire; a sudden or freakish fancy: a sudden whim to take a midnight walk.” Apparently, whim originates from the word “whim-wham” and the definition for that one tickles my humor in a whole new way. But this isn’t about whim-whamming, but about whimming and its glorious adventures. 

The word whim is a noun, but I changed it to a verb so that I could use it more frequently. It was mid-January, before the busy spring semester was let loose, and I had found myself in a rut. It was one of those ruts where you found yourself bored, stuck, lonely, and depressed because you were bored and stuck and lonely. I had been broken up with my boyfriend of two and a half years for almost three months and still seemed to be suffering from its effects; whereas, he was able to move on and find another mate/partner/what-have-you. Of course, it was New Years Eve when I had heard the glorious news that he had found a “new love” at the beginning of December. Suffice it to say, I was dealing with it not so smoothly. The week after New Years, I had racked up four dates with four different guys, dark-haired, light-haired, tall, not so tall, skinny and meaty—I suppose you could have called it my New Years resolution…if I had one—and continued to date openly throughout the month, enjoying every bit of it (I want to clarify “dating” as “not sleeping around” for the sake of…clarity). This was not, however, a whim. I came upon “the whimming” idea when watching the movie Chaos Theory with one of the four guys, drinking margaritas and eating chips and salsa. The movie was generally humorous, Ryan Reynolds leading the way, and then the film came to the part where Reynolds’ character decided to do things he had never done before. 

Hmmm…I thought. Now keep in mind that I am a naturally very adventurous person, originating from my upbringing in the theater world, but I still held myself back from doing a lot of things I normally wouldn’t even consider doing. When the movie ended, I was struck—as if by lightning, if you will allow me to be dramatic—and I had found the way to drag myself out of the rut I had unwittingly thrown myself into. I was to go whimming!

My first whim of January was to meet a stranger (who happened to end up being guy number five) at a bar that was hosting open-mic. I had never seen an open-mic performance before and this particular bar happened to be all the way in Glendale. So I invited a couple of friends to join me on this brief road trip at 11pm on a Tuesday. None of us knew exactly where we were going or what to expect, but it didn’t matter. This was a whim, and whatever happened was gonna happen. We met at the restaurant/bar, somewhere in the middle of a pitch-black neighborhood, parked and made our way. My nerves started to twist inside my gut, knowing that we were going to meet someone I had briefly met through the internet (mind you, I do not date online), and knowing that I may be pushed to sing for open-mic (something I was definitely not prepared to do). There were hardly any people; it almost seemed awkwardly abandoned, but those who were there greeted us with friendly smiles and hellos. That’s new, I thought. Not too often do total strangers even speak to you as though it were a small country town. Then Guy Number Five—tall, dark, skinny, with incredibly intense eyes—greeted us when we reached the inside. I felt my nerves calm when I noticed how sociable and friendly he was, offering to buy all three of us drinks, only two of us accepting a couple margaritas. The night went smoothly and interestingly; I watched musicians play their guitars, sing their hearts out and was even stunned by Guy Number Five’s unique musical performance.

A-capellaly singing
A-capellaly singing

 

And then it was my turn. Granted, I am a singer, but I like to practice and prepare before going up in front of an audience consisting of bar folk to sing something that’s not even close to open-mic style music. My singing style leans more towards Broadway or classical—definitely not appropriate for open-mic. And I didn’t have a guitar, which would mean a-capella, which would, in turn, make it oh-so-empty and lonely up there! But, Guy Number Five insisted and an encouraging “hoot” from my friends and the MC got me to bravely sit on the isolated stool alone on the stage and grasp the mic firmly—very firmly. I sang “Someone To Watch Over Me”, the only non-musical, slightly jazzy song I could think of, and the bar went quiet—probably because I didn’t have an instrument to accompany me. Nonetheless, I was delighted by the cheering response once I had finished the song. I slipped off that lonely stool and blended back into the crowd. 

We returned home that evening, a rush of adrenaline searing through my body, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I had had; a simple night-out turned into a new experience that was both nerve-wracking and exhilarating. I was hooked and promised myself that I would continue my whimming adventures. Whimming can range from going out with people you wouldn’t normally hang out with, to accepting an invitation when you’d normally say no, to doing something you would usually be afraid to do. They can be big whims or small whims. But the point is to go beyond yourself and your invisible box—you never know who you might meet or what you may learn. I am continuing my whimming adventures every day and usually by myself now. Sometimes nothing happens and other times they do. Occasionally I’ll drag a friend with me, if they’re willing to whim. And, of course, I always make sure that what I am doing is safe. So start whimming, because you never know what you may find.