I’ve been exhibiting symptoms of adulthood lately. Chief among these has been my downright matronly behavior at Ralphs. When I went grocery shopping this week, I checked the cans of tomato sauce for dents before putting them in the cart, something I always used to make fun of my mom for.
Later, I reached all the way to the back of the shelf of pre-washed lettuce to get a bag with a later expiration date. Worst of all, when I finished scanning all of my items at the self-checkout, I pulled a coupon out of my wallet (which would have been a completely shameless act in my Midwestern hometown). My machine loudly announced that I had one, and the attendant had to make a big scene and come over to inspect it, and it was a whole ordeal. Then, clearly mocking me, the machine printed me another one for next week.
I know I’m not the only one at risk of getting sucked into the drudgery that masquerades as responsibility. This comes in different forms for everyone. For you, it might be signing up for yet another leadership position, applying for an unpaid internship when you are already taking 18 units or consistently eating your leafy green vegetables first when you know a slice of cake is the appetizer you are really looking for. Even if you haven’t felt this sense of imposed responsibility yet, it is probably lurking right around the same corner as your first term paper of the semester.
A cooler, edgier person than I would suggest dropping out of school to travel and make a documentary about mustaches around the world, but most of us have homework to do this weekend, and that is stunting that career dream. What we need is a small reminder that we can (and should) take time to do something childish, something that isn’t working toward any particular benchmark of adulthood other than enjoying what is around us. One of my favorite local remedies, and something that everyone should try before leaving Pepperdine, is the Malibu sand hill.
The sand hill is about 15 minutes north on PCH, a bit past Neptune’s Net. It doesn’t exactly have an address, so the most specific description is that it is a giant dune on the inland side, across from a big rock sticking out of the water. You can’t miss it. Once you’re there, the concept is pretty simple. Hike all the way up to the top, and then run down as fast as you can. Sound dumb? It is. That’s why it should be on your list.
The best way to do the sand hill is to go right before sunset and bring a good friend. The walk to the top is long, but once you reach the peak and plop down as your thighs burn in anguish, the view will convince you that the club meeting you are missing to play in the sand wasn’t really important at all. At this point, your companion’s listening ear will come in handy, because the profound life thoughts will begin to flow uncontrollably.
After sunset, take your shoes off and sprint back down to PCH. Ignore the motherly voice in the back of your head telling you to be careful of tripping or stepping on sharp objects. If anyone in your group tries to saunter down the hill with a smirk on his face as if he is above hurtling himself down a sand dune toward traffic, do not let this disrupt your joyful, reckless abandon. Grab his hand and run even faster. Feel the wind in your hair, the sand between your toes, and the freedom in your strides.
Tisk tisk, you think. I’m a Pepperdine student. I can come up with more sophisticated fun than that. You probably can, but you shouldn’t, at least this once. The point is to step outside the resume-building, grown-up box for a minute and step into the amorphous blob space of “what wonderful, childlike, seemingly-pointless-but-actually-essential thing shall I do with myself this evening?” It’s a wonderful space. We always eat dessert first here.
