The California Dream Was the Heroism of My Girlhood

🌇 The music of the 2010s painted a California in my mind that felt more like a fantasy than a place—a fantasy that grew brightest during the hardest days of high school. It was only later I learned its name: the California Dream. Maybe it was the glamorous, sometimes tragic glamor from Lana Del Rey’s songs. Maybe it was the sun-drenched scenes of The Heirs, where love felt as vast as the Pacific. Piece by piece, these fragments took root in my imagination. I dreamed freely under their spell—they became my escape, my private rebellion against the world. Hollywood, palm trees, beaches, endless nights… You and me, driving a convertible down Highway 1 with the wind in our hair. What did the California sky look like at night? I was sure—it had to be the most beautiful in the world. Through dim and tired school days, I held onto those songs and images. And in a way, California’s sunlight really did reach me—crossing oceans, latitudes, time zones—to fall on my skin. Our campus sunsets were lovely, yes. But California’s? They must be breathtaking. I’d rest by the window, watching the colors bleed, feeling the evening breeze… and for a moment, I was already there. As I grew older, that longing quietly faded. I told myself life had simply gotten busier, more practical. Maybe the California Dream was only ever that—a dream. A beautiful illusion I outgrew. But it shaped me. That dream was one of the few heroic acts of my girlhood—a quiet act of defiance, an inner migration toward something brighter. #US #CA #Sonoma