South Beach 🖤

I know what you’re thinking - another rich, out of touch bitch talking about her dream life on the beach.

I’d think the same thing. 

I’m not rich and I’m not here to tell you some unrealistic way to ‘manifest your dream life’. 

I’m simply here to show you one possibility, my reality. There’s no catch, I just love where I live for the first time in my life, and I want to share my joy, and how we made it happen.

I’m here to tell you about selling our remodeled, large, historic home in a nice, downtown, Idaho neighborhood, and buying a tiny, 1984 manufactured home (or trailer if you nasty) 3 blocks from the Pacific Ocean in Washington state. 

My siding may be water damaged, I may not have a bathtub, but I can hear the ocean from my backyard hammock and that’s good enough for the girls I go with. 

My little double wide, adorned with a rainbow flag and approximately 5 bird feeders, sits towards the end of a dead-en d street.

My neighborhood feels lawless, and not just because my town isn’t actually a town, but a census designated area (helloooo no police department) but because homes range from a-frames, a pepto pink manufactured, camp sites, partially forested lots, tiny homes, and more. 

There’s a vibe that says ‘we like to party, but we're gonna do what we want…and that really resonates with me, hard.

People are friendly as fuck here.

In Idaho, there is an edge against anyone who isn’t from Idaho…if you’re from a blue state (cough, California) fahgettaboutit. 

Shit, I’ve even been told to take my liberal degree and go back to where I came from in my home state. 

Western Washington is yeeyee. I live in a rural farming town. I’ve walked into the local hardware store with my pink mullet (RIP) and was welcomed with a couple Hank Hill gasps. 

But everyone is so friendly and welcoming. I admit, I was worried about living in an area where the average age is 65, but no one seems to bat an eye at the clearly queer, leftist, 30 somethings in town.

It’s wonderful. There’s only about 800 people here. 800 artists, cranberry farmers, community driven folks who love supporting small, local business. It feels like the commune of my dreams.

And we found it accidentally. 

Which is one of my favorite parts. Happy little accidents right?

We sold our house in Idaho last summer. We had to erase all of my personality from the walls which took at least 12 gallons of greige paint, we got covid in the middle of it, and within 3 days of listing, we accepted an offer. 

We had bounced around a lot of potential new homes. Las Cruces, NM was my first choice. I was going to get a mule, wear a lot of turquoise, eat green chilis with every meal, and live out my cowboy fantasy. 

Then reality set in that the earth is slowly dying, water is a limited resource, I am scared of equines and don’t really enjoy excessive heat. 

We probably shouldn’t live in the middle of the desert. 

We thought upstate New York or Vermont sounded nice…but I hate snow, and Bernie Sanders probably wouldn't have liked my weekly dinner invites. I tend to be a bit overbearing. 

We briefly considered Memphis or Little Rock, but both felt as though a blue state was ideal, considering I’m a woman human with a uterus, and the world is weird and getting weirder.

Oregon was up there, but bitch is expensive. Plus, we already did the Portland thing and I’m really not the city girl I always thought I was. 

A beach town was always the goal, but what asshole can afford that? 

Plus the tourists, and the general lack of community. 

Bleh. Long Beach, WA sounded dope...but we still haven't been there.

We set off with 4 suitcases of essentials, the dog, and a shockingly fat bank account for the first time in either of our lives. (Selling a house is bonkers.) 

We stayed in airbnbs up the Oregon and Washington coast.

We started in Albany, OR, which was fun. I saw my first opossum there which will forever be a core memory and highlight of my fucking life.

We stayed in Rockaway Beach, OR, and from there, the closest place we could find was Grayland, WA. It was summer on the coast, after all.

The fuck is Grayland, WA? 

I was waking up before the sun, because it gets bright early in the northwest, and the decompression started the second we passed the Idaho state line. I was sleeping the little death sleep, waking up early, and sitting in a hot tub as the sky misted, and the ocean roared in the distance.

Fuck. This is the LIFE. 

I had no idea rural, farming beach towns existed. Especially in Washington. 

I felt calm. I felt at peace. Sure the hot tub helped, but there was a feeling I hadn’t felt in years. 

I felt content.

We stayed in Grays Harbor County for the most part of the next month and a half. 

We viewed homes in the bigger towns, but always wanted to be back on Grayland Beach, at the Westport Marina, eating clam chowder at The Local bar and grill. 

Shortly after, we bought our estate.

Filled with spiderwebs, the headache inducing smell of vintage vanilla glade plug ins, and relics of the vacation home and rental she once was.

On the wall hung a pencil sketched drawing of 'Bert and Bob's Beach House - Under Construction' from 1996. 

She wasn't much, but goddamn, we OWN a beach house, outright, in our early-mid 30s. Fuck YEAH brother.

There's a line in a Bright Eyes song 'Every Dream Gets Whittled Down' which we've conversed about often.

As humans we dream big often. Shit, every time I buy a lottery ticket, I make an entire plan about what my millions will go to. 

We dream big and with dreaming big, often comes big disappointments, or big fears, big letdowns. Not trying to be a buzz kill, but it's true.

When I thought of living on the beach, I pictured that oceanfront property with a hot tub on a balcony, and that's not reality for most people, certainly not my ass who likes to remain feral and un or under-employed.

Every dream gets whittled down. Sometimes a double-wide 3 blocks from the pacific is the option your never thought of, because you were too busy dreaming of something out of reach. Sometimes it's not as fancy as you dreamed it, but it's perfect and it's exactly what you needed.

People say we we're lucky. It was never luck. It was buying and selling our first house at the right time, and having the balls (aka stupid optimism) to say 'fuck it' and hit the road. 

It was our willingness to take a little risky poo and accept that it might have not worked out.

But it did. 

And I can't imagine a more perfect place to be. 

I will happily live the rest of my life on the South Beaches of Western Washington.

It's my dream. It feels more like home than anywhere ever has, and every day I say out loud:

'What a wonderful place to live'. 

Which is a welcomed fucking change from waking up every day in Idaho wanting to die a little (or a lot, but you know, let's keep it light).

I knew leaving Idaho would change my life, but I wasn't expecting to be so at peace and truly joyful. I was always a grumpy bitch. 

I'm lighter. 

I'm calm.

I'm stoked to be alive.

And I want everyone to know that it's possible to live your dream life, it might just look a bit different than you imagined...in the best way. 

🤙🏼

-Chels