The Most Beautiful People in San Diego County
A long marriage ended a year and a half ago. I lost most of my friends, and every relationship I had shifted. It was my choice, and no one has to understand—though sometimes I wish they could. I’m grateful to those who stayed, even when it was hard, and to those who didn’t, because that was hard too.
Through it all, my creative, movement, yoga, and meditation practices became my anchor. For the past decade, they’ve been my quiet flow, my steadiness, my embrace. They held me while I learned how to be on my own—a reminder that I am never alone and always supported.
Last year, I drifted from those practices when I fell in love—unexpectedly, deeply, beautifully. I leaned all the way in. The thing about practice is that it tends to fade when life feels good. I see now that’s when I need it most. Practice is a lifelong devotion—to love, to awareness, to something greater.
A month ago, I married my love. A week later, we moved from Tucson to San Diego. Suddenly, I lost my footing. I felt unmoored, unable to access the steadier version of myself I remembered. I wanted to run—to escape. It was a hell of a feeling for a new bride.
So I began again. I joined a yoga studio down the street. I started running in the sea-level air, letting the city unfold under my feet. I joined a pottery studio to get my hands back in the mud.
Last weekend, I ran the trail along the 101 from Solana Beach to Encinitas. The ocean shimmered beside me, the path crowded with Saturday wanderers. I tried to stay present, to let my thoughts pass like clouds. But my mind caught on judgment—the sameness of the “Instagram” beauty ideal: the long, center-parted hair, the matching athletic wear, the curated perfection. I tried to return to love, to curiosity. Still, I wondered—how did this become our shared definition of beauty? The pressure it demands, the narrowness it allows.
“Come back, April,” I told myself. “Come back to neutral. To peace.”
Then I saw her. A woman walking toward me—piercing blue eyes, white hair, skin etched by weather and time. A red beanie, pointed like an elf’s hat. Red gloves, red lipstick smeared across her face. Layers of clothing for warmth in the damp sea air. She took my breath away. I wanted to sit with her, to hear her story.
That’s the kind of beauty that moves me—the kind born from a life fully lived. She was the most awake traveler on the 101 that day, a gift to San Diego County.
I almost turned back to take her photo, but realized I didn’t need to. The image lives within me. She became the first muse for what will become The Most Beautiful People in San Diego County.
When I told my husband about the project, he surprised me with a 35mm Canon AE-1—the same camera our mothers used in the ’80s. I’m learning how to use it, preparing to capture portraits of those who draw me in—people courageously living their unique contract with the universe.
If you’d like to notified about progress made along the way, just sign up for my newsletter at the bottom of this page. If you’re already a subscriber, thank you. I can’t wait to see where this leads.
With love and deep gratitude that you’re here and that you’re you.
April
