Photos snapped in the heart of the fashion district, pure iPhone magic by the inimitable Mitchell Royel. This one’s a love note to Santa Barbara, its breeze, and the boys out there doing the work (at least some of y’all). The soundtrack? "Mr. Useless" by Shygirl, SG Lewis, and Club Shy—on repeat, of course. Energy lifted. Hearts cracked open. Keep rolling, babes.
Okay, girlies. Pull up a chair, because I have to tell you about Santa Barbara.
I need you to know where my head was before I got in that car. It had been about eight months since the breakup. I was "doing the work." I was journaling and meditating and sending voice memos to my best friend at 1 a.m. that started with "okay, I'm totally fine, but..."
And then there was Theo.
We'd been talking for about three months. Bleach-blonde hair, denim jacket, the kind of laugh that takes up the whole room. He's sweet. He texts back. He remembers things I said two weeks ago. So naturally, I was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
When he asked if I wanted to take a few days and drive up the coast, I said yes before I could talk myself out of it. Then I spent the next four days talking myself out of it.
He picked me up in this old gold convertible he'd borrowed from his uncle. I'm talking chrome trim, tan leather seats, a white steering wheel. He put my beat-up silver suitcase in the back. You know the one, covered in stickers from trips I took with him. The ex. I almost didn't bring it. I brought it anyway.
The first day on the Pacific Coast Highway was gorgeous. Palm trees lined the road like they were cheering us on. The ocean was this unreal shade of blue. My hair was everywhere. I was laughing so hard at one point that my glasses slid down my nose.
And still, underneath all of it, I was running a quiet little program in my head.
When Theo got quiet for ten minutes, I thought, here we go, he's pulling away. When he checked his phone at a gas station, I thought, who is he texting? When he said "we'll see" about dinner plans, I heard my ex saying "we'll see" about literally everything, right before he didn't show up.
Theo was just driving. Theo was just checking the map. Theo just hadn't decided on tacos or pasta yet.
But I wasn't in the car with Theo. Not fully. I was in the car with a ghost.
We pulled into the Sunset Sands Motel right as the light went golden. Pink stucco walls, a red tile roof, agave plants out front. And this huge retro sign with a yellow half-sun on top and a neon arrow pointing down at us like, you're here.
Under the name, in white letters on a strip of mint green, it said: VACANCY - SANTA BARBARA.
I stood next to the car in my black floral dress and just stared at that word. Vacancy.
Theo was still in the driver's seat, holding my suitcase handle out the door, smiling up at me. He said, "You good?"
And for once, I didn't say "totally fine." I said, "I think so. Give me a sec."
He said, "Take all the secs you want." And he meant it.
Later that night, Theo went to grab ice and snacks from the vending machine. I sat on the edge of the motel bed with the window open. I could hear the palm trees moving. The neon sign was buzzing pink light across the wall.
And I just... got honest.
Here's what came up. I'd been treating Theo like a defendant in a trial for crimes he never committed. Every pause, every unanswered text, every "we'll see" was evidence. I'd built the whole case myself. The jury was me. The judge was me. The prosecutor was very much me.
And Theo? He'd done nothing but show up.
That one stung. Because if Theo wasn't the problem, then a lot of what I'd been feeling for the last eight months wasn't about the breakup at all. It was about the story I kept telling about the breakup. I'd replayed every conversation. I'd analyzed every red flag I missed. I'd decided I was someone who gets left, and then I went looking for proof everywhere.
My ex was emotionally checked out. That part was real. He couldn't meet me where I was, and that hurt. But the overthinking? The bracing for impact? The refusing to fully land in a moment because I was scared it would get taken away?
Babe, that was mine. I was the one carrying it from city to city like that stickered-up suitcase.
And I'm not saying that to beat myself up. I'm saying it because it was the best news I'd had in months. If it's mine, I can put it down.
So I did something I hadn't done in a long time. I closed my eyes right there on that scratchy motel comforter, and I prayed. Not a fancy prayer. Just real.
Say a prayer for Santa Barbara. For this pink motel and this buzzing sign and this sweet boy at the ice machine who doesn't deserve to pay for someone else's mistakes. Say a prayer for the girl who drove up here with her guard up and her heart half-packed. Let her unpack it. Let her be here. Let this place be the place she stopped looking backward.
I felt my shoulders drop for the first time in what felt like a year. My chest got warm. I cried a little, honestly. The good kind.
Theo came back with two bags of chips and a lemonade, saw my face, and sat down next to me. He didn't ask a hundred questions. He just bumped my knee with his and said, "Sunset's not over yet. Wanna catch the end?"
We sat on the hood of that gold car and watched the sky go orange, then pink, then purple over the mountains. I didn't check my phone once. I didn't run a single scenario. I was just there.
The Rest of the Trip
The next two days felt different. Lighter. When Theo got quiet, I let him be quiet. When I felt the old fear bubble up, I'd notice it and say to myself, that's the past talking. Then I'd look over at him, actually look, and see who was really sitting next to me.
On the last morning, driving back down the coast with the top down, I put my hand on his shoulder and tipped my head back and laughed at nothing. Pure, wind-in-your-hair, nowhere-else-to-be joy.
I don't know where Theo and I are headed. And that's kind of the point. For the first time in a long time, I'm okay not knowing. I'm not writing the ending before the story even starts.
The suitcase is still covered in old stickers, by the way. I'm keeping it. But I'm adding a new one: Santa Barbara.
-Ryder
The blush walls are us, girlies—those moments of softness, stillness, and self-reflection when we meet our own truths, no filters, just realness. And the wide-open roads? That’s our wild hearts—the call to adventure, the reckless surrender to whatever magic waits on the other side of the horizon. Together, they’re a vibe, a whole picture of living where we hold space for beauty and tenderness while chasing everything bigger, braver, and bolder. It’s about trusting the universe to show up as we step out—on the edge of comfort and the unknown, with hearts wide-open to grounding and wildflower growth.
Epilogue: If you're reading this with someone's old hoodie still in your drawer, this one's for you. Put your hand on your heart if you want. Read it slow.
I'm ready to set it down now.
I release the person who couldn't show up for me. I don't need him to understand, apologize, or come back. I let him go with love, and I let myself go with even more.
I release the conversations I keep replaying. The texts I keep rereading. The version of me that thought if I just figured out what went wrong, I'd never get hurt again.
I release the habit of handing someone new the bill for someone old. Let me see the people in front of me as they really are. Let me give them a clean slate, and let me give myself one too.
I take back the energy I've been spending on the past. I call it home. I put it into this moment, this breath, this open road.
Let me trust that I'm safe enough to be present. Let me laugh with my whole chest. Let me feel the sun on my face without bracing for the clouds.
Show me where my heart has vacancy. Then help me open the door.
And so it is.
Love you, girlies. Roll the windows down. Let it go.