To celebrate our wedding anniversary last month, Mr. Rosenberg and I went to dinner at a lovely restaurant in Topanga Canyon, Inn of the Seventh Ray. Topanga has a reputation for being the last LA holdout of the 1960s. It's a lovely rustic place with a distinctly counter-culture-y vibe. It reminds me some of Northern California, where I grew up.
While we were waiting for our table, Mr. R and I ducked into the restaurant bookshop to have a look around. We entered into a cloud of Electric Musk incense and burning sage. I coughed and took in the woven dream catchers, bowls of crystals, and stacks of new age books. I smiled at the stereotypical hippie-ness of the store. As I glanced around, I recognized the titles of a rather large number of books that I have at home. I saw decks of the same tarot cards I own and the goddess cards I read everyday. I looked through the hanging Mala meditation beads, comparing them to the ones that hang on my armoire. As I passed a mirror, I checked out my own long hair and flowing maxi dress and it finally dawned on me.
"Oh my God, Jeff. I just had a life-altering realization."
"What's that?"
"I'm a hippie."
"Yeah, and?"
"I mean the thing I've always sort of made fun of - I am it. I am an actual hippie."
"Wait, you didn't know this?"
"You did?!"
"Yeah."
"But I've always been sort of a judgmental a-hole about hippie-ness!"
"I know. I always thought you were being self-deprecating - that you'd made peace with it."
"No!"
"Oh, wow."
"Stop laughing!"
How had I missed this glaring detail about myself for the last fifty-two plus years? How did I overlook the evidence? The Prius we just dropped at the valet? The baby-wearing I did with Bob? The folk musician I married? The whole vegan thing? That I have a psychic, a kinesiologist, and a Native American medicine man listed in the contacts on my phone? The rescue dog? The garden in our backyard? The Himalayan salt lamp in our living room? The organic restaurant I was currently standing in?
"But I'm not good at yoga. I had laser hair removal. I hate patchouli. I never even played hacky sack."
"Uh huh."
"I'm not like that beekeeper/clown instructor I knew named Rock who rode a unicycle everywhere kind of hippie."
"How did you meet him?"
"In the 80s I worked for his sister-in-law Daphne at a Balinese imports store on the mall in Santa Cruz."
"Aaand scene."