Anger at the Beach

February 15, 2024

I haven’t seen the ocean since arriving on the West Coast. And today there was a window of time. I decided on a beach that came highly recommended from a research coordinator who also loves books. It has “baker” in the name with views of the Golden Gate Bridge. Win, win, win.

GPS took me to a small parking area in a residential neighborhood high above the sand. It seemed odd but the view pulled me in.

Having been warned by many not to leave anything in vehicles while in California, I hoisted my bright pink backpack on both shoulders, locked the vehicle, and set out.

I descended down sand covered steps with trees creating a ceiling above and was immediately captivated by the ocean sounds and landscape below.

The beach was vast and, though there were people there, it was not crowded at all. I walked close to the water’s edge, taking deep breaths and panoramic pictures.

Always vigilant and aware, I began to get the sense someone was near me. I turned slightly and noticed a person behind me. Watching. Maybe early 20’s. Nice sneakers. Light colored pants. Ball cap. Nothing in his hands that I could see. Carrying nothing.

I thought perhaps I was just in the way of his view so I continued on toward the bridge. He followed. I stopped to take more pictures. He stopped. Testing, I turned back in the direction I came. He did too.

Figuring I was overly paranoid and mis-reading the situation, I changed directions two more times to be sure. He followed me each time.

I realized it was most likely my bag he was after. No worries. I moved closer to some people posing for a photographer. He came along. Then I walked toward another couple attempting to deter him. So did walked behind me.

He was bold. Daylight. People around. Bright bag. And he wasn’t giving up. He had been following me for about ten minutes at this point.

I started to panic a bit while also fighting my own internal gaslighting, trying to make up reasons why this was all in my head. But there was no other explanation and I had to trust what my body and instincts were screaming at me.

I picked up my phone and called Jon. Told him to stay on the line with me. I looked directly at the shadow as I spoke. And he turned and went in the direction I had originally come from.

I followed far behind to see where he would go. Up the steps. And then I could see another person at the top of the steps waiting for him and then they disappeared together.

I stayed at the bottom of the steps for ten more minutes waiting for someone to come by that I could walk up with. No one came and the sunlight was starting to fade. With phone in hand, I ventured up and was relieved to see a group of people at the top beginning their decent.

I quickly scanned around my vehicle, got in with my bag, and locked the door before driving off.

The feelings of fear quickly turned to waves of anger.

~ Anger that instead of being present in the moment, I had to embrace hyper vigilance. I had to be on guard.

~ Anger that a joyful experience was tarnished.

~ Anger that, if I had been with someone else, this probably wouldn’t have happened.

~ Anger that, if I were someone like my husband, this probably wouldn’t have happened. Anger that I couldn’t have the same experience independently that someone else could. Anger that I have to be hyper vigilant when other people don’t.

~ Anger that the situation didn’t change until I called another person.

~ Anger that hurt people hurt people.

~ Anger that people use power over others who appear more vulnerable.

~ Anger at the violation.

I am also keenly aware that I am lot in charge of what other people do but I am in charge of how I respond. And I know I did the best I could in those moments.

Once in the car, I listened to my body. I took deep breaths, screamed a bit, and shook my body at stoplights. And writing helps me process, too.

I don’t share this for sympathy or consolation. I share this so anyone else who has experienced it feels validation. So anyone who has not experienced it might have greater perspective, understanding, and compassion for people who have to navigate the world in a different, more protective way.

With freedom and adventure comes risk. I know this. I make sound decisions and will continue to do my best to navigate situations as safely as possible.

I will not stop living. I will not stop venturing into the world. And I will trust my inner voice as I go.