A warm, dense fog encapsulated us, clouding every lookout point and at times rendering our view no further than 10 feet in front of our car. Though disappointed to be visiting a park chock full of vistas on such a damp, foggy day, my best friend Jamie and I continued the twisting climb up Skyline Drive, surrounded by the lush green rolling foothills of the Shenandoah mountains.
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If there’s one thing California does not lack, it’s national parks. From north to south these protected wilderness areas and vast expanses of varying terrain dot the California map, ranging from bubbling fumaroles to deserts to snow-capped mountains and giving it reigning status of the having most national parks of all 50 states.
I find it easy to get bogged down by the daily grind of living in the heart of San Francisco. Even when I’m sitting in my room, door closed, there’s constant noise – people talking outside my window, the girl upstairs moving furniture, cars whizzing by and sirens in the distance. There’s a sort of balancing act in tempering the urge to demand your own space and recognizing that all these people crammed into your bus need to get to work as well. Sometimes it feels inescapable, especially for someone who grew up in a small, quiet, coastal town.
I had never given Seattle much thought prior to moving out west. From Florida, you can’t get much further away than Seattle while remaining in the Lower 48. Beyond Amazon, Microsoft, coffee, Macklemore, and rain, I thought of it as sleepy, (dare I say…boring) – not a destination I had in mind for excitement or adventure.
I should preface this by letting you know that I am not the world’s biggest modern art fan (eye rolls at the blank canvas with one stripe across it). However, when presented with an afternoon at the recently renovated San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, I couldn’t pass it up.
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