This one's for you Rachel.

Anyone who has gone on an epic journey through a foreign country knows that when you return home, sit down, and think about what to say about it, you hear yourself laughing in your head. 

It's laughable to convey such a thing, like an alien abduction or an out of body experience. It seems to be made up of millions of vessels of emotion. These individual experiences form a web, an organism that comes to life like a human popping up out of a sidewalk. 

Explaining it is like standing next to that human and explaining to someone what they are and how they happened. 

Luckily, there is photography.

But, that is only the milk film. There is an entire glass below it. I was listening to an interview of a traveler and writer I admire. His name is Jedidiah Jenkins. He rode his bike from Oregon to Patagonia and used his Instagram as a kind of blog. He filled it with substantial chunks of deeply-crafted and touching contemplations. In the interview, he talks about what he discovered about his travel writing as he traveled. He found that what stays with him about these physical interactions aren't the physical details. He didn't remember the names of streets or cafes or when he did what. He developed this thing called "idea memory". The ideas, the contemplations, the veracity of a thought developing, these things that formed were what stuck with him. Riding through an elaborate farming community was remembered for the idea it triggered on an individual's responsibility and work ethic, not for it's majestic landscapes. 

When I heard him say this, my eyes lit up and I knew I was the same way. For me, these scenes that I absorb are food for my brain. Traveling isn't good just because I want to see stuff. It's not what I'm seeing that leaves me in awe of humanity and quietly humbled. It's what they trigger in my brain, the ideas and thoughts that become, like raging waves, though my person. 

My eyes saw more than I will ever be able to list or describe or draw. The pale face of the woman playing her tin instrument - they way she never looked up. The man carrying a 40 lb sack of bottles through the dark park plaza, his mournful song heard after he disappeared. The cathedral I snuck into, where I offered up prayers and tears of thanks. There were so many wists of images that run past your window in a taxi, so many people you catch these private glimpses of and think, "I came all the way here, just to share this moment with you". I felt overwhelmed with gratitude and hunger and the same time. I will cradle these things in my heart like tiny flowers.

So, I offer up these images to you. My heart is full. I am so deeply in love with Colombia. My body aches for the music of the streets,

and especially, the arepas (pictured below on my lap and linked here).

​

"Why waste time proving over and over how great you are, when you could be getting better? Why hide deficiencies instead of overcoming them? Why look for friends or partners who will just shore up your self-esteem instead of ones who will also challenge you to grow? And why seek out the tried and true, instead of experiences that will stretch you? The passion for stretching yourself and sticking to it, even (or especially) when it’s not going well, is the hallmark of the growth mindset. This is the mindset that allows people to thrive during some of the most challenging times in their lives."

-​Carol Dweck

​Fran: The master Pizza woman.

Click on the photo to read the rave review on Bluebird Pizzeria.

 
This wonderful spot is run by husband and wife Ray and Fran. They hail from New Jersey and serve the best pizza I've ever tasted.

I've gained four pounds in one week. I joke that I'm turning into a pizza. My friend sent me a picture the other day of Audrey Hepburn hugging a giant pizza. It's getting serious.

Bluebird Pizzeria is a couple blocks from Trey and Kay's apartment. One of us helps out behind the counter almost every night. Some nights, all of us are here, from open until close. My first night, I washed dishes with Taylor. I was soon promoted to phones and counter. I get to interact with the people, taking orders over the phone and taking care of customers eating at one of the five tables. It's hard to describe this place. I have trouble finding the words.

People love this place. It was voted best pizza in the east bay. People wait anywhere from 25 minutes to an hour for one of these pies. Sometimes, we take the phone off the hook it gets so crazy. On a good night, they'll make somewhere around 70-80 pizzas. That's A LOT OF PIZZA.

After work, there is usually leftovers, or we just bake a new one. It's the kind of pizza where you eat one and start immediately craving more. They say some people come in every day. Everyone I had the pleasure of meeting had huge smiles and nothing but raves about the place. You feel like you're a part of something special here. 

My first night, I was overwhelmed. Fran talks at a louder volume than most and they definitely don't baby you. You either have to quit or learn to toughen up. I find myself yelling across the restaurant at Fran and thinking of that first night. 

Fran and Ray are amazing. Around closing time, Vicki, one of the many regulars will show up on her bike, eat a pizza, drink a beer and hang out for a while, asking me questions about my travels and debating any topic I can think of.
Jesús and his son Derick walk their dogs past the shop every evening and Derick runs around, collecting suckers, yelling "Hey!" at everyone and exhausting my Spanish skills. These people are treated like family.

​That's the word that I'm thinking of...family.

Every night ends with a fresh pizza and all of us sitting around the tables with each other, laughing about the occurrences of the evening. You can hear yelling and laughter eminating out of the open door. 

I've been lucky enough to meet some of the best people in the past month. From Midnight's Farm on Lopez Island, to Bluebird Pizza here in the bay area, I've felt so welcomed. Traveling alone can be lonely sometimes and it's easy to look around and feel like an outsider. But, It's also just as easy to look around and realize that you are your home and the world is your family and strangers are just people you haven't met yet. 

I'm realizing that I am not alone at all.
​

Realistically, there's no words to describe what Bluebird is like. You just have to go there. 

And order a 16 inch white. 

You're welcome.

F*** Your Birthday Becca

Can I just say that this is the best birthday cake on this planet?

It is. 

I kept my birthday to myself, but alas, they always discover.
(Facebook)

Thank you to everyone who wished me well. It was nice to be able to talk to people on the phone. My phone actually died it was so exhausted. I realized that being a person with so many long-distance relationships, birthdays are a day to force people to stay on the phone as long as you want them to and to listen to you ramble about your ear wax issues. 

The time leading up to my birthday is always the same, I never want to say anything or do anything. But, on the day, I am always reminded of how special that day really is and how special one feels. 
​

The night leading into my birthday was a full moon. I was lucky enough to enjoy it with friends with a child-sized inter-tube around my waist and a sweet one-piece I found in a box. I felt so lucky to be alive and where I was. Me and Kaeleen sat in the hot tub for hours, talking about life and the fear of death. We talked about pure love and spirits and being able to say goodbye. I feel most lucky to have such a pure and perfect soul as a friend. I could write a love ballad right now, but i'll spare you.

It was Kay's coworker Ben's birthday. I didn't want to show up to his party on his special day and be like, "Oh hey, me too!" I hadn't said anything to anyone, so I figured no one knew. Half way through the night, Kaeleen whipsers, "I know it's your birthday." and then Taylor yells, "Happy Birthday, Becca!" The secret was out. It was officially a joint celebration. 

On my actual birthday, I came home late to the apartment where Trey and Kay live and where me and Taylor are both staying. They were all lethargic and draped over furniture, watching something on PBS. We talked for a bit about the day and then Kay comes out of the kitchen with a cupcake cake, singing "happy birthday". My plans for no celebration were thwarted. The cake was hilarious (f*** our birthday Becca) and there was also a present and card. It was a really sweet (and hilarious) gesture by all of them. Apparently they tried to have the full word on the cake, but the baker refused. 

Ultimately, I didn't want to do anything different for my birthday, because every day is a gift to me. I find myself happy doing what i'm already doing, so why change that?

But, I guess, what I realize now, is that you don't have to do anything. You don't even have to tell anyone. The day is still special and they will eventually find out and give you an embarrassing cake anyway, so you might as well tell them. 

These pictures were taken on a hike around Lake Chabot, near San Leandro. The area was beautiful and seemed to be consumed by spiderwebs. They were everywhere - little cradles hanging on nearly everything. Me and Kay played around with my new camera. The shots of our feet are my favorite. 

The lake has a strange blue-green algae which looked gross along the edges, but they are supposedly strict about kayaks and boats being brought in. You have to pass an inspection so as to not bring foreign algae in to the lake. There are bass and other fish in the lake that you can fish for and there were birthday parties, family reunions and children playing everywhere. That is definitely something I love about this area. Good hikes aren't a far drive, and there are lots of them. My favorite hiking spot is in Oakland, up by Skyline Drive. You can see all of the city, the boats leaving the port - Everything. It is only a 15 minute drive away from the city. 

Kaeleen and I also went to the Oakland-Grand Lake Farmer's Market. I have never had so many free samples at one time, or possibly ever. Pomogranites, peaches, pasta, hummus, cheeses - Every booth was flagging potential mouths down. We stopped at one cheese booth and Kaeleen bought some of their blue cheese, which turns out, was voted best blue cheese in the country. It was packed and we spent a long time looking for parking in a nearby residential area. Turns out, everyone else had the same idea. We parked so far down, it took about 15 minutes to get out of the neighborhood. There were multiple kids selling lemonade in their yards. The houses were beautiful and when I saw a mailman, delivering mail to everyone's door, I had to take a picture. Oakland continues to surprise me with its diversity and richness. We stopped in a few shops and looked at precious stones. There were restaurants with outdoor seating everywhere, but we ducked into this little place called Grand Lake Kitchen and lucked out. We tried to sit outside but there was a wait. Instead of waiting, we posted up at the bar style eating area inside, right on the end. Our view were the cooks and preps, slicing carrots, peeling potatoes and chatting to each other. I ordered an Oakland I.P.A. called Drakes and the savory french toast. I felt quite fancy, enjoying my new city life.

There was a book store called Walden Books that does trades and such, but I had to pull myself away or I would have spent all day in there. 

Oakland is diverse and lively. Tomorrow, I plan to hunt down a venue for me and my typewriter near Lake Merritt. I also have plans to see a movie called A Pigeon Sat on a Bench Reflecting on its Existence at the Roxy theater in San Francisco and to explore the San Francisco Public Library. 

I have all the time in the world and it feels great.

This is why I travel. I tangle my physical body up with the world I have in my head. It perhaps feels something like if one were completely obsessed with chocolate and then BECAME CHOCOLATE. I become the thing that I love by being a part of it. I love the world. I love all of its quirks and strange people and architecture and smells and customs. I love the smell of Southeast Alaska just like I love the hairline fractures, sprouting flowers on the sidewalk in Rome. I love the little boy crying in Spanish and the taxi driver who tried to rip me off in Barcelona. I love the recognizable sound of the market in Seattle. I love the teenage girl in gold, walking down the street in Oakland, arguing with her mom on the phone. I love that I get to witness these moments and be a part of all of them, even the negative ones. I feel so unbelievably lucky to be alive and to be me and I CAN"T BELIEVE I AM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE REDWOOD FOREST WITH THESE BEAUTIFUL BEINGS THAT HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR ME. I cry right now thinking about it.

​Traveling isn't glamorous. I don't talk about sleeping in rest stops, bum showering in a gas station bathrooms, getting lost and frustrated for it. It's not for everyone. But those inconveniences are nothing but that. They are just what I have to do if I want to live the way I want. Everyone has to be true to their nature and stay as close as humanly possible to what they love. Don't venture out too far in search of things you think will make you happy, like money or a relationship. If you aren't happy with yourself and the way you are living your life, you are wasting it. You don't have to do what I'm doing. You shouldn't. I shouldn't do things your way, either.  

I sometimes wonder if other people feel the same way as I do about traveling and experiencing these things. I don't know, but I didn't see anyone else crying and smiling in the Avenue of Giants. 

Sometimes, I wish I could find someone who is like me in this way. Sometimes, I wonder if there is anyone out there like me. I get discouraged about meeting that "right" person, because I feel so specialized . Sometimes, I feel like a cherry pit removing tool in a drawer full of spoons.

Ultimately, at the end of the day, I get to go to sleep knowing that I am doing exactly what I want to be doing with my life. How many people can say that, every night? Nothing can beat that feeling, and nothing can take it away. It is the deepest, most invigorating emotion. It makes all the pain of uprooting my life and sacrificing a future with someone I loved, worth it. I am happy in a way that makes me feel guilty. 

Do I deserve this? 
​
I struggle with enjoying the moment. It's hard to turn my worrying brain off and take a look around. I have a lot of self-doubt, still. But, I am learning how to be healthy in my outside life so that my inside life, the one in my head, doesn't have any negative ammo to hurt me with. That deep feeling of contentment conquers those feelings of self-doubt and worry. 

I finally feel like I am winning at a game I didn't even know how to play not too long ago. 

I can still smell the bark and their leaves. I can still feel the coolness of their shadows and the warm slivers of sun slicing through the openings. I can feel the heavy presence of them, so confident and bewildering. I am still mesmerized by how dwarfed I felt. It was so quiet. I tip-toed around barefoot. 

I am both a 25-year-old woman, standing in a forest, desperately trying to make sense of the world and her place in it,

and that baby
​
safe in my father's arms, sitting in that Previa van as it tinkers down the winding curve of California.

These things are both existing now, together.

I departed Midnight's Farm on Tuesday afternoon. It was bittersweet. I may have cried a little. Faith and David and the extended family of Midnight's left hand prints on my heart and I will always have a special place in my heart for them and my time there. Also, I accidentally left a chair Faith gave me, so I may need to go back.

The day before I left, the funniest thing happened, which I will use one day in my writing.

I was invited to a dinner at Laurie's house the previous night and stayed out late, chatting. When I made it home, I was dead-tired and forgot to close the chickens into their coop, which was my responsibility. At 6:55am the following morning, the rooster and his little minions climbed up the few stairs to my glass door, stared into my room and began to crow incessantly. This isn't the first time he has done this and I still can't figure out why when he has the ENTIRE PROPERTY to roam, he crowds the gang up on my 2 by 4 porch and holds an auction.

I woke up out of my deep sleep in a rage. I acted quickly and violently. Leaning over the bed, I grabbed my work boot with one hand, turned the door knob with the other. The door opened suddenly, to his surprise and I hurled my large brown boot directly at his vocal chord. The scene was similar to Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and the group of birds seemed to fly backwards in a single, squawking poof. The rooster, I was pleased to see, bore the brute force of a brute like me (Sylvia Plath reference).

In all actuality, it didn't hit him hard, losing momentum just inches before reaching his feet. It mostly just bounced into him. But it felt good. Without caring about the aftermath, I slammed the door back and rolled over, satisfied.

As I left for breakfast, I saw the shoe on the grass and figured I would grab it afterward, which I did. Breakfast was pleasant, as always, and me and Faith started our day feeding the pigs, working in the garden and helping clean up around the farm.

At lunch, David turned to me suddenly, with a sly grin on his face, and said something along the lines of, "So I noticed your boot was on the ground outside..." He knew. He knew I forgot to close the chickens in and now he knew I had suffered for it. He found this very amusing. I immediately admitted to the transgression and found it slightly funny that he had seen the shoe in the morning. All of the sudden, Faith's face lights up and tells this story that at first I didn't even realize was real.

"I was walking to yoga this morning (Around 7am everyday), and just as I was passing the barn, I heard the office door open really fast, Rebecca's boot come flying out, hitting the rooster, and then the door slam shut."

As she is talking, I think she is trying to re-enact the moment. She starts laughing and I realize she is telling the truth. This poor, wonderful human who loves animals, was peacefully walking to her morning yoga practice, when she sees the person she is hosting at her house hurl a shoe at her flock of chickens. I was mortified but couldn't stop laughing. I imagined the scene over and over in my head and it seemed funnier every time.

As we all laughed around the lunch table, I was so thankful that I had found people that understood me... or at least tolerated me with amused spirits. I'm forever amazed at how I got so lucky as to find them. Every day was filled with laughter and fulfilling work. The night before I left, I presented them with a poem titled, "Home" and a large piece of driftwood with "welcome" painted on it for their gate or yard.

I spent the night in Seattle, hanging out with Daniel. We sat at a beach for a while and watched all the groups of people converging around one another. There was an AA meeting, a birthday party and a small rave-like situation all happening in our view.

The next day, I left and drove to right outside of Eugene, OR. Before I made it, I scored a hefty speeding ticket. When I woke up the next morning, there was a Snapchat from Naomi, saying, "Don't forget to put oil in your car." I laughed out loud, because I had purchased oil the night before and needed to remember to put it in that morning. I don't know what I would do without her.

In Eugene, I posted something on Facebook and Malcolm, who rented my room out last summer when I was traveling messaged me. "I live in Eugene now!"

I hadn't planned to spend the day, so I asked if he wanted to meet up for food. He couldn't because he was going to an music audition, but recommended Glenwood restaurant. When I got there, the employees were so sweet and friendly. I ended up chatting with them about traveling and campers. I was fairly surprised by their friendliness and took it as a good indication of what Eugene was like. I had made arrangements to buy a Cannon Rebel digital camera from someone on CL, so I headed to the address. The roads were confusing and I ended up getting lost, taking a lot longer than I had planned. At this point it was almost 11:30 and I was feeling really anxious to get on the road if I was going to make it to San Fransisco that evening, an 8-9 hour drive. When I finally found the house, the seller was a very sweet, older asian man. He was very curious about my travels and where I was headed. He is from L.A. and when I told him that's where I was going, he said, "I think, by your personality, that Eugene would be a better fit for you."

I had been thinking in my head the entire drive that I felt this weird connection to Eugene. I hadn't experienced this before. When he said that to me, I was like "IT'S A SIGN!"

He gave me directions to the freeway and waved goodbye, enthusiastically, from his garage. Right then, I got a text from Malcolm, "Are you gone yet? I just finished." I wanted to stay, but felt like I couldn't. I already told my friend Kaeleen I would be there tonight. I texted back that I was gone.

As I merged onto the interstate, I felt my heart aching. I wanted to turn back. What if I'm supposed to be there today? What if I miss out on something? What if I'm meant to be there? All these weird superstitious questions were consuming me. About 15 miles down the interstate, I remembered the horse in the field - The feeling I got to turn around. I never would have had that experience if I hadn't listened to that feeling. I swerved to the right lane, emotions running rampant through my body and swung back onto the Interstate, going North to Eugene, OR.

For some reason, I started laughing out loud, to myself, alone. "What the hell, Rebecca."

I texted Malcolm and told him I was staying. He didn't ask any questions.

We ended up riding our bikes up and down the river. We have hardly spent any time together, maybe once or twice. And here we were, both outside of Alaska, trying to navigate this strange city. He recited his poetry out loud and told me of his Origami poem project in Seattle, where he left 70 origami poems around the city. People actually contacted him to thank him. We laid around the shade of a rose garden and debated global warming, Tinder dates, cringe-worthy subjects and people in India, who drink the urine and feces of cows for its "medical benefits." We took selfies and sent them to our mutual friends. It was the best day I've had in a while.

I must have laughed non-stop for hours. I still wanted to drive a bit that day, so he dropped me off at my car, helped me get my bike back on and we parted ways.

Turning around was definitely the right decision. I spent my evening driving to Redding, CA.

As I pulled away from Eugene and back onto the interstate, I recieved an email from the manager of a bar in Portland. I have been sending out emails in hopes of being booked somewhere to do my instant poetry. He said he would love to work something out when I come back through in November. "Let's make this happen." Were his exact words.

I felt like I had been rewarded by the universe. I couldn't believe someone wanted to book PoembyBecca. I felt the possibilities open up for the future. I didn't even think I was going to get ANY responses. I just thought I would try.

Today I woke up and cut west. I am getting ready to pass through the redwood forests and could not be more excited. Tonight, I'll be in San Leandro with Kaeleen, who I love to death and can't wait to hug.

I wouldn't recommend always following one's feelings. I'm just saying it's worked for me.

My dreams have been continuing. Every night, a new tragedy involving the men that I have loved and calm, scenes of death. The scenes are grotesque, morbid moments in brief visions. The mornings are spent, lying in bed, remembering the faces.




My friend Eran told me today, he doesn't think it is healthy. I disagree. I desire the abnormal. I believe in what dreams may show you, sometimes forcibly. I believe that nothing is wasted on a good creative mind. As confused and affected by my night time visions, in a way, I am thankful. I don't understand but I want to.




Morbid, frighteningly flesh-evolved, primal: Can this be romance? Is there such a connection between horror and sexuality? In my dreams, I feel my mind exploring these connections. Perhaps, for some people, these two are entangled, intertwined beyond emotional recognition. Am I one of them?




I dreamt in Spanish last night. I impressed myself. I remember perfectly that everything that was said in the dream made sense and came from my own memory.




My mom has always told me that I am hypersensitive. I want to believe that my brain is just exploring, much like my physical being. Alex, who works at Midnight's Farm thinks that I am sleeping on an energy line. My mom thinks my demons are coming out. Eran says he's worried. Naomi wants me to write a poem.




I don't know what I want. I feel heavy, carrying these dreams around with me. I need to twist them up and turn them into a balloon animal. I want to sleep. I want to hear what my brain is trying to tell me. I want to better understand myself through this experience. Most of all, I want to understand them. There is beauty there, in the madness- the gore of emotions.

    His bloody face. The old man's grin. The way I let him lift me. The pile of bodies on my front porch.




The biggest mistake an artist can make is to be afraid of themselves.




Genius comes from an unknown place.




I am not afraid.

I picked up two new books today from the library. I finished The Good Shufu, and wanted to use my library card as much as possible before my departure. The Good Shufu wasn't anything mind-blowing, from a writer's perspective, but I found the transition from American culture to Japanese fascinating. Thunderstruck by Elizabeth McCracken and Just Kids by Patti Smith were my choices today. I read the first page of Just Kids and got chills up my spine. I feel like a nerd, but I'm so excited to read these! I usually go to bed around 8:30 or 9pm and like to read for about an hour and a half before falling asleep. I started We Were the MulVaney's by Joyce Carol Oates, but since I own that one, I can take it with me.


My drawing instructor Perrin, has spent time on Lopez Island. She recommended I go out to Iceberg Point, her favorite place. To get to the secret cove wasn't easy she explained. "It's kinda a scramble down a bluff trail", but I've learned that if someone recommends a spot to you, you go.

It proved difficult early on from the road. The area had signs saying it was private and no access. I drove around for a while before parking and deciding to take it on, on foot. The signs were super small, written on driftwood and I couldn't tell where they were pointing. Turns out, I had to enter a residential drive that was blocked off. "This is going to be good" I thought to myself.

And it was. A ten minute hike through the forest lead me, finally, into the openness of the seaside cliffs. I don't know if I will have the chance to return there before I leave on Tuesday, but I hope one day, I can take someone there and share in it's beauty. This area was vastly different than the rain-forest inland. I've never been to New England, but it reminded me of images I've seen. When I got down deep into the cliffs and tide pools, I discovered aquatic life I have only witnessed at the Seattle Aquarium. The rocks were thin and it was like walking on the edges of plates. They were spotted in bird poop and feathers. There were huge collections of petrified wood at the base of cliffs, in grooved pockets.

The trail leading out was packed with ferns, lichen, moss, fir trees, mushrooms, nurse logs and the closer I got to the water, gray rocks began to pop out of the ground, drenched in moss. Last night, I started my book on identifying plants, rocks and wildlife of the pacific northwest, so today, I found myself being able to identify some of the scenery. The tripinnate, tapered edges of lady ferns, European beachgrass, red huckleberry, salal shrub, candy cap mushrooms, Douglas fir, usnea moss,  quack grass, nursery logs, some type of wren flying above. I struggled without my book but enjoyed the quiz. I identified the thin, papery leaves as needing large quantities of moisture and then, down in the tide pools, the Dall's acorn barnacles, edible mussels (actual name), and aggregating anemones captivated me with their sticky grips.
 

Faith tells me that Iceberg Point is home to species of plants that can't be found anywhere else. I believe this. There were several trees, plants and mosses that I could not find in my books and properly identify.

I saw one lone seal swimming along the coast and the bull seaweed resembled dead alligators, drifting singularly out in the small waves.

When I reached the cove, it was a beach of the most smooth, beautiful skipping rocks. The millions of them cradled totem sized, smoothed out trees that created stadium seating for the beach. I collected several rocks and some petrified wood. I plan on writing a poem on the larger piece and giving it to David and Faith. The trees buried half-hazardly beneath the moon stones looked like fallen elephants.

My brain was working at full speed and I quickly typed out a poem that I will address later.

I found one lone Nike (new) shoe on the edge of the cove. I hate to admit it, but that was the most fascinating item throughout the day. I couldn't figure out how it ended up there all alone. I wish I could have come upon me as a stranger, sitting alone on a beautiful beach, staring at a shoe.

Lopez Island is continually surprising me. I never would have guessed it's southern coast would look that way. It is so untouched and pristine. Even the houses seem to be living long, healthy lives. No new mansions. No tourist obsessive economy. It made me sad for my hometown, which was once like Lopez. I watched as a young child, as the island economy began to twist and turn outward, failing to look and admire inwardly, what had made it so desirable in the first place

I hope that Lopez never changes. I hope I have the opportunity to bring someone I love here, one day, and recognize the things I have grown to love - the hidden coves, the wild rabbits, the endless farms and wild apple trees, the way everyone I drive past waves to me. I truly and deeply love this place. I feel a little guilty sharing it here.

So don't say anything.