Look to your left, Hilda! Out of the corner of my eye I could see the Pacific Ocean spread out below us as we drove along Highway 1 in the dark. And then I thought, hmmm, that's funny, I don’t remember seeing the ocean on the way up here. And then I said it out loud. And then Hilda and I both laughed as I pulled over to look at a map.

There’s a certain magic in being lost. Out of seemingly nowhere roads appear, signs arise, directions are given or kind people show up to offer guidance or support. So often I’ve doubted this magic - this not knowing what’s going to happen and fear of losing control.

But who am I kidding? When have I ever had complete control over a situation? And, more importantly, was I having any fun at all, trying to control something or someone? (Um, no…)

For much of my life I’ve assumed being lost meant I had done something wrong or made a mistake. Being lost can be frightening, no doubt. Especially when driving along the edge of a cliff. But being lost also means that maybe I get to spend a little extra time with a dear friend or discover an unexpected view of the ocean.

That, is a lot of fun.

(What I'm listening to right now: Labrinth - Let It Be)

The first week I moved to California I had a dream that I was running around outside completely naked. It was the best feeling of relaxed optimism and uninhibited self expression.

Though I am not the type of person to actually run around naked (though it’s widely accepted here, despite the recent ban on public nudity), this feeling has stayed with me. When I find myself in the worst traffic, I look up and I am greeted by a purple sky, half covered in fog. I inch my way onto a crowded subway train and a white rose pokes out of someone’s velvet purse right next to me. In the city, I am overwhelmed by the smell of urine on the sidewalks, of bread baking, car exhaust, women's perfume and the ocean.

In the four months since I arrived here, the Bay Area has been gently pulling me out of my shell. I socialize more. I speak up more. All of my senses have been opened by this strange and amazing place.

What will the future hold? Will all of this change? Yes, probably. But for now, I feel held by this place - by California. Like no other place I’ve ever lived.

(Currently listening to Keaton Henson - Don't Swim)