hanging out at dive bars & car trunks in westport, washington

“Uh oh.”

I piped up, cutting Stef off in the middle of breakfast chatter.

“I think we’ve locked ourselves out of the car. By we, I mean me, and I’m not sure how we’ll get back in…”


We had just spent some serious time figuring out a way to secure the surfboards to the roof of my car using straps, and by placing them through both windows, it disabled us from being able to use the car doors. So we crawled through the windows to escape for breakfast. I had the brilliant idea to roll up the windows electronically using the feature that lets me once I’ve taken the key out. I went until I could just slip my arm out, and I thought it was genius. I locked the car with a beep! beep! and we were on our way to breakfast.


Sitting there in a little diner in the marina, it hit me that since we couldn’t open the doors, and I wouldn’t be able to roll the windows down without having the key turned, we’d have no way in again. (hence the “Uh oh!”)

After assessing the situation, there was only one way – crawling through the trunk and into the car.

So then there was this.


And I couldn’t even handle it. I was on the ground laughing.

In that moment I was so glad to be right there. That very parking lot, in that little town, being locked out of my car with my friend, laughing so hard that I was demobilized.

Rewind to 36 hours prior.

We arrived at a beautiful rental condo, directly on the ocean in Westport, WA, where wispy ocean grass lined the sandy shores, waves crashing in perfectly beautiful sets onto the ocean. Somehow I barely had to convince a few of my friends to join me for a birthday trip to this tiny little surf town on the Washington coast. After stopping at Kulshan Brewery to fill our growlers (Bones and Alicia’s go-to spot), an interstate and a few hours of windy roads later, we crept in at midnight to our home for the next 48 hours.


This town is something else. Let me tell you.

Small town America, diverse in crowd; from surfers, to the champs that run the local bars and have been doing it for the past 41 years, Westport promises a good time the moment you drive in.

As per Bones’s recommendation, the two local dive bars we needed to check were: a) the local (go figure, but a far cry from our Vancouver version) and b) the knotty pine. (yes, let your mind wander with that one.)


At the local, we ordered a random array of fried food and $3 beers, along with picking approximately 20 songs on the jukebox…


…playing several games of pool, “name the erotic difference”, and chalkboard hangman.

We had no place to go, and no time to be there.


When we had lingered perfectly long enough, we packed it up and took a stab at the knotty pine.


Four hours our senior – we saw many more jukebox songs, an evolution of the typical beer pong, way too many dollar bills spent on “pokin”, shuffleboard with strangers, and few new classics that we wrote tickling some very old ivories. I bet we were comedic entertainment for the local attendees, and we couldn’t have had a care in the world.


Post-knotty pine, Half Moon Bay – right in the Marina, called our name for some slightly overpriced food and beer to give the night a close. After consuming obnoxiously large brews, we decided to wander home. Had we stuck around though, the restaurant-turned-nightclub would have seen some of my great dance moves. Next time.

Sunday morning waves called our names.

We woke up and ran into the ocean. Excuse me, it’s October 5th in the pacific northwest and I ran into the ocean in my bikini. Yes, please.


We needed coffee and boards so we hit up Tinderbox coffee roasters (yes, if you’re participating in the 21st century social media world you’ll understand this is a funny name…)


and The Surf Shop. Once we figured out the boards on the roof, we are back at the beginning of this story.


I know I like to share a lot of my philosophical thoughts, but it’s only because I think you may feel the same way. If not now, maybe one day.

I’m constantly reminded to be here. Fully present, one hundred percent in the moment. hundo p. What else do we have but right here, right now? We can’t go back, and we can’t go ahead. We have to be here.

Sitting on the shoreline, scoping the waves after getting man-handled by them, I was so grateful. Grateful for my life, grateful I can have these adventures, grateful for the people that want to share them with me, and grateful for that very moment.

Not engulfed in what I have tomorrow, or worried about a circumstance that isn’t right in front of me.


I was soaking up every single ray of sun that was landing on my face, (trying to) catch the perfect waves, feeling the rhythm of the water, and moving with it, exactly as it was just then.

Sometimes I think about what I could be worried for, and sometimes I cave to it. I need these sweet reminders in my life, those moments of sheer gratitude that take me home to the place of wholeheartedness that feeds who I really am.


the moment. living there. present. catching it. paying attention to it. letting it steal my heart.

keeled over, laughing on the pavement, as my friend’s struggle of climbing through the trunk was so real, I’m thinking – this is exactly where I want to be, and this is exactly who I want to be with.




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