Earlier this year I had my first trip to California. Being in Silicon Valley of all places was like a dream coming true for someone like me, a countryside boy who 4 years ago had never left his (pretty disconnected) home country. To my dismay what everyone said was true: SV is unfortunately a borefest, at least to a visitor who mostly stayed in Palo Alto.
The reason I had high hopes was because SV felt like the last bastion: If I was weird in my hometown, then weird studying finance in São Paulo, then weird doing Computer Science at the nerdiest institution I could have gotten in, then weird working for a self-described “colony of artists”, then surely SV would be where I’d find my people, right?
Not really. I had travelled halfway around the world only to find people much like those I already knew.
But then… where am I supposed to be?
I decided to travel down to Big Sur. It was windy and rainy. I stopped on some beach along the way. This was the first time I gazed upon the Pacific.
I noticed I was in the middle of a process taking place for millennia. The water smashed at the rocks with such strength, revealing hard smooth pebbles still half stuck as the softer rock got washed away. You could see seagulls flying but barely moving as the strong wind made them stationary.
I got closer and closer, until I was at the edge of the ocean. It wasn’t clear whether I was even allowed there, as no other visitor approached. I felt like at high tide the I could easily get stuck in such a place.
I had imagined California as this sunny paradise, but to my surprise it was a beautiful rugged coast.
I sat on these rocks for hours watching the violent waves. A flyer told me I could see sea lions if I waited long enough.
I took this time to reflect on my so-called weirdness. I’m actually pretty normal in my neurodivergence, but this veil of weirdness surely was a good way to avoid letting people in.
I figured that imagining myself as fundamentally different from others has been a sort of defensive contempt. I didn’t need to make an effort to understand people and I could even pose as some kind of tortured genius.
Better yet, I could hide how hateful I am deep inside.
The truth is I have just been hateful for very long. Not in a 21st century political sense, more in an old Russian novel way.
I hated my hometown and every city I long to live in again, I hated my happy childhood as I was not set up for adult success, I hated my teenage years for my lack of socializing (which I hated doing as a teenager), I hated my university years which I dearly miss, I hated my loving family for not understanding why I needed to hate so much.
This hate was useful. It helped me escape my circumstances, and in some way probably led to my arguably successful life. Hate has always given me direction by showing all paths I didn’t want to pursue and all places I wanted to avoid. It made me believe I had deciphered what others lacked, and in my fatalistic view hate must always be right, in the same way that only bitter medicine could work.
I learned to love my relationship with hate. But this relationship was becoming overwhelming.
Somewhere along the way I started hating myself, maybe as some form of Catholic penitence for what I held deep inside - I figured that it was only right that a hateful being ought to be unhappy and made all the necessary arrangements.
The sea lions never appeared. I continued driving south to Big Sur and explored a bit before backtracking to Palo Alto.
As the trip came to a close, I boarded the A380 for my direct flight back to London, eight timezones away. I sat at the upper deck by the window and prepared for the long flight ahead.
The engineered scale made me feel as small as I felt back at the beach. Naturally I continued to examine my examined life.
I didn’t want to start feeling sorry for myself, this kind of thought has always felt stagnant (and I hate inertia). But I had to stop with this self-abuse.
I reflected on how much my hate had consumed me and wondered if salvation was still possible. I still don’t know, but I’m trying.
I took one last look at the Pacific Ocean hoping I could see it again someday. California was beautiful.