A cousin of my friend, Rone, has generously invited me to stay with her in San Francisco. I've not even met Rivka yet, but she called yesterday to reiterate her invitation--and I'm looking forward to meeting her.
I'd planned to arrive last night, but what with the scarecrows and the glass blower and the slow drive through Big Sur, I didn't make it.
I'd planned to attend a writing class on Sunday in San Francisco, but I'm thinking now I'll probably spend Sunday walking around the city instead, maybe driving back and forth across the Golden Gate bridge, returning to the fisherman's wharf and Chinatown, my favorite places when I last visited San Francisco with my family in the mid-Sixties.
But that could all happen on Monday instead. When the sun comes up here in Monterrey, I'm going to back track a few miles and visit Carmel by the Sea--because it was starting to get dark when I passed through it last night. Then there's Cannary Row, and Steinbeck country. And who knows how many beaches and light houses between here and San Francisco?
Plans are good.
Plans, however, strictly adhered to, can become the master of the trip, the tether.
As Barbel said, "You can spend so much time chasing destinations that you don't pay attention to where you are."
Getting There is only one part of any trip.
As Brad said once to Rone--who asked on a trip when he thought they might Get There: "As soon as we are in the car, we're there."
Even now, in the middle of the night, in a Days Inn, I'm There.
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