San Diego Cort

I swear to god I have no idea how I survived living in San Diego. I recently got to catch up over the phone (a rarity these days) with one of my closest friends in the world. Someone who really emulates the effervescence of the type of person you want to be and how you want to navigate yourself with grace through the hardships of life. She is someone I shared that incredibly formative time in San Diego with, encouraging the chaos and always being my go-to person, even in the early days of our friendship.

In August of 2020, I packed everything I owned into my Subaru and headed for the West Coast. This was my second biggest move after Rome and arguably even more formative. Reflecting on the impossibility that five years had quietly passed beyond that chapter of our lives, my dear friend asked me, “Do you feel like San Diego still holds a piece of home for you?” I’ve been dwelling on that question ever since, unpacking its layers. Here’s what I can conclude with absolute certainty: San Diego unlocked something in me and allowed me to be my full, naturally beautiful, wildly chaotic self. That’s the amazing thing about moving to a city where no one knows you, you’re allowed to be unapologetically yourself, and people either come alongside or bounce right off you.

I filled that year with some rather famous (or infamous) memories that are best shared over a really great bottle of wine (or two). As a young, bold 22-year-old, I tested out new and insane things I had never been exposed to before. I made friends with people from every background who showed me just how multifaceted friendship can be. I crossed “become a barista” off my bucket list, and I decided to move across the world to pursue a master’s degree. It was a year marked by encouragement and inspiration to lean into everything that makes my heart sing.

Don’t get me wrong,  my family provided space for this when I was growing up in Arkansas. It’s just that I had outgrown that lifestyle. After living in Rome, I constantly craved the diversity I had experienced abroad. San Diego filled that void in my day-to-day life. It was the place where I began to build my own life, away from the familiar spaces I had always known.

Now for the juicy stuff! This chapter was the first time I used dating apps, and I’ve since decided to never do so again. The problem is that everyone in San Diego is HOT, interesting, works a crazy-cool job, and keeps East Coast hours that actually let them enjoy life outside of work. My romantic passport was stamped, to say the least. I loved the thrill of meeting someone new who knew nothing about me (don’t worry, my bulldog older sister always had my live location). I could be my authentic self because there were no invisible boundaries of stereotypes limiting how I moved through this new environment.

It was empowering at first, but I quickly realized I wasn’t satiated by the experience. It wasn’t the caliber of men I was dating, it was the level of connection I was yearning for that wasn’t being met. And fair enough: that’s a lot of weight to put on interactions with strangers on the first date. It was quite the learning curve, navigating dating while simultaneously throwing myself into a new city. Once the thrill wore off, I channeled that energy into my friendships, and almost immediately unlocked the deeper connections I had set out to find in San Diego.

That feeling of true connection began with my dear friend who endured that year of chaos with me. Even now, five years later, she still reminds me how rare and important rich friendships can be. After our call, I took a trip down memory lane, indulging in the mosaic of photos from that year. I was reminded how precious and fleeting it all was, grateful that I said yes to every walk along the beach, hike in the desert, Thursday-night karaoke at Thrusters, trip across the border for amazing food, evening sand volleyball at the Bay, and every single person who played a part in that chapter of my life.

It might have been insane for a 22-year-old to pack her life into a Subaru and move across the country, but I am grateful for the sense of delusion that made me believe it was the natural next step. I can confidently say I’ll be changing the narrative to: “I swear to god, I have no idea how I survived San Diego without the people who carried me through it.”

Cort & Friend circa June 2021