A Trip From Bottom to Top

There’s a spot on Piuma Road in Malibu, California, where during the winter clouds of moisture are drawn across Malibu Beach and up the canyon until they creep over the ridge like so much fog spilling off the stage at a rock concert. One day, the fog was thick enough that I couldn’t see the beach fifteen hundred feet below; after murking over the ridge, it slid down the hillside and faded in the December sun. It’s a place of supernatural beauty, the sort of place someone needing wonder in their life might pull over and take a lingering look.

I was someone needing wonder, so I pulled over. My relationship had just ended and the company I’d been working for had just cut me loose. A week before Christmas, I celebrated my fortieth birthday, alone. My level of despair was deep enough that I contemplated something you’re not supposed to contemplate.

I watched the currents within the fog, then climbed back on my