9/14/2015 1 Comment September 13, 2015 It's 9:05pm. I still have pig drool on my wrist. It's been there since 3:30pm. I've tried to wipe it off on numerous occasions. I even scratched it underneath water, briefly. I don't know why, but it doesn't bother me at all.
I made a fruit crisp with it on there. I ate dinner with it on there. I sat around a dinner table, listening to people around me discuss religion and family, while my hand delicately held my chin in contemplation, all with pig drool crusted black on my wrist. It's there right now. I'm in bed. The last wash my hair had was a rinse under the outside hose, no shampoo. The small patches of hair all over my body is beginning to stand out like ants on a patch of ice. My version of makeup is rinsing my eyes with water in the morning. I think as a woman, it's safe to say, just one of these things could make a girl feel like a monster under the right circumstances. But, I feel beautiful. The smoke from the fire followed me all evening, so I know it's true. A woman who had been a stranger just a couple hours before and someone I came to admire throughout the evening, kissed my cheek during our departure and told me, “You're amazing.” I feel solid. I feel that I always say what I'm feeling, so I'll simply state: today was a good day. Last night I had a nightmare that seemed to last for hours. I dreamt that the person I had been dating before I moved was trying to kill me. We were only seeing each other for a couple months and still talk, so it didn't make sense that I would imagine him in SUCH a negative light. I mean, a murderer. I hope he doesn't read this, because I am not telling. But, him and this blonde bodacious woman he worked for had it out for me, in the dream. I was shopping in her store and my nice, camera went missing (a camera I don't own, but have always wanted). I knew she took it, but she denied it. I demanded they show me the entire store, back area and all. Suddenly, there were all these other employees that seemed more like circus freaks. There was an overwhelming ominous sense. I knew I was in a nightmare. You can feel a nightmare. The plots don't usually make sense and are laughable in context. But, no matter what it is, it's the worst feeling you've ever felt and it doesn't go away. In the dream, I left, but knew what was going to happen. They showed up where I was, kidnapped me and proceeded to torture and mock me for what felt like an eternity. It seems like things lag on in my dreams, because I'm trying to work them out. I try to solve whatever is happening and time allows me to practice. I tried pleading with him, the guy that I knew (and that I feel terrible about painting in this light). I tried escaping in many different ways. Nothing was working. They were punishing me for hurting him. At least that's what I think. They all hated me and I was definitely going to pay...for making them look for my camera? In reality, I had hurt him a bit, emotionally, and which I perhaps still feel bad about. I wasn't sure if I wanted to spend time with someone, no matter how much I like them. I had ended a relationship and was preparing to move. Practically, it wasn't a good idea. So, on two different occasions, I told him I didn't want to hang out anymore. He always accepted this, very maturely and never tried to change my mind. And every single time, I immediately knew I made the wrong decision and that it was based out of fear and not from the place of independence and self-sustainability, like I had thought. Luckily, he was more emotionally mature than me, cared for me and understood what I was feeling to forgive and forget. We are on great terms. I shouldn't be beating myself up about it. But I am, at least unconsciously. In my dream world, the evil seems to come out. It interacts with my fears, mistakes and personal surroundings. This makes for some troubling visions I try to forget. I always remember my dreams. I dream every night. This world both frightens and confounds me. I am riveted by the universe my brain creates without my permission, and I have come to accept and relax in the face of some of the more disturbing experiences, kind of. They still get to me sometimes. But, I've spent years dealing with them. Back when I was a pre-teen. I would wake up balling. I would think the nightmare would happen for real. I would believe I had a demon in me. I couldn't find the strength, objectivity reasoning or distraction to get over them. I thought they were visions from God, or Satan and I was supposed to head them, whatever that means. I think my dreams are a place where the part of me I am running from is free to come out. It's like it gets let off of it's leash at night and terrorizes the town until it falls asleep, car tire in its mouth. The self-hating, insecure side that would have me feel guilty about everything I've done wrong, forever, this guy. I would feel the emotional residue from the night before, all day. The guilt, the rawness of it all, The search for meaning haunted me after a nightmare like this. You know what I felt today? Great. A little tired, but overall, not bothered much. I think I've figured this thing out. I think living a life during the day that you are happy with is just as important as eating healthy and being active. You are less prone to get sick, physically and emotionally. You don't let things run you down. You move on. As I lay in bed now, I realize that I don't know if my nightmares and night terrors will subside in time. I can't say for sure. I hope that the monster dies due to lack of attention and food. But, what I can do and what I can say definitively is that I will keep myself healthy and happy so that if and when they do happen, I can wipe the emotional residue off and go about my day, unlike this pig drool... or snot? Today I worked with Faith. I think I will probably be working with her full-time. I ran into Alex and his girlfriend Michelle after breakfast. We were talking about the drive to Alaska, when I saw Faith carting a wheelbarrow up towards the composting work area. I knew she was about to feed the pigs and I wanted to join. I chased after her, thinking I could catch her and surprise her, but about the time I came within throwing distance, I huffed out her name and made her wait for me. They plan to slaughter the pigs in a month. They are huge, and a little frightening when they are hungry. She explained the feeding process and a little of the composting process that David does. People on the island drop off yard waste and wood waste and he composts them and sells for profit. There are truckloads of compost passing the barn and heading up the road throughout the day. I didn't really know what the plan was today, or if there was one, so I just made myself useful to Faith. I also don't know how to do anything or where anything is. We moved the electric fence from where the cows were grazing, to where they would be grazing. This meant that Faith rolled up the wire and I pulled out all the stakes and then reversed places and did it in opposite order. Make sense? It was interesting to learn about the knowledge one needs to have about grass in order to graze cows properly. Having them graze on grass when it is in a particular stage of growth is the key. It was also nice to stroll around the property. Faith says she likes that about this particular job, too. I took a lunch and made some food in the outside kitchen for WWOOF'ers. I sat in the whicker chair, overlooking the pasture and read the book I got from the local library, while eating. It's called The Good Shufu. When I read the review that related it to Eat, Pray, Love “rewritten by Woody Allen,” I grabbed it and headed for the counter. The rest of the day, we worked around the garden. We harvested tomatoes and baked them throughout the day in the leftover heat of the brick over used for the bakery. We weeded and rolled up some of the hoses for irrigation. The season is nearly over and everything is offering up the last of it's harvest. We collected cucumber, onions and peppers during that time and Lucy, the golden lab kept dropping her tennis ball in the dirt in front of me for me to throw it. After a while, the ball was a goopy, brown thing in my hand and I felt bad making her put it in her mouth. Nikita had mentioned to me at Yoga class that the outhouse behind the studio needed some “TLC”. I figured since she was allowing me to take her class for no charge, the least I could do was to grant her whatever she wanted. So, I spent some time cleaning that. I also fed the baby piglets...a lot. I hung out with them too, sprawled on the hay with Faith, we took a “pig break” and rubbed bellies and contemplated how to teach them not to bite hands. These two are special, and not like the ones by the compost. They are friendlier, smaller breeds and their young will be eaten, but not them. In farm world, this means they can be doted on, and oh, they are. I must have fed them 12 times today, and every time Faith would hand me something and say, “do you want to feed it to the piggies?” I took off running. There was an older couple at the farm in the afternoon making apple cider. They brought over seven large tubs of apples from their yard and were using David and Faith's mechanical slicer/presser. Even with this, it took them all afternoon. Towards the end of the day, they flagged me down and offered me the very first cup from the apples. I have never had fresh apple juice like that. I can still taste it's crisp, fresh flavor spilling into my belly. I love this time of year. I harvested my own fair share of apples today, as well. Faith went on a walk with some friends, and I set out with some produce boxes to collect apples and plums. They are dropping out of the trees faster than can be kept up with. I couldn't believe that fruit could be a nuisance. It reminded me of seeing bison being treated like squirrels in Canada. A lot of the apples were either rotten in some spots, or had been eaten by worms. But I still ended up with a large quantity. The plums were even more plentiful. Walking under the trees was like strolling through royal blue rose petals. I would hear the hard, fleshy smack of one every once in a while as it fell from the tree. Once, one hit me on my cheek as I reached up and it felt like a baby's thigh smacking me across my face. I dropped the plums off at the house so that I could try and make something with them, later. I talked with the couple for a while about their choice of vehicle, a Toyota Previa. If you are unfamiliar, here one is. I want one so bad. They told me that most I would find now days are on their last leg, but theirs looked in perfect shape, as if it had just rolled off the lot. I told them how I wanted to build a living area in it and they agreed, “Yeah, that would work great!” I knew I loved this place. Faith informed me that Kai, David's ex-wife that lives down the road was having a barbecue for their daughter, Vilina, who was going back to college in a few days. Vilina splits her time at both places and is coming in and out, full of life and humor. I like it when she is around and am sad she is leaving. Faith invited me to join and offered to bake a crisp to bring over with me. I've never made a crisp before. But, I think I will be doing it again. Mostly, because it was immorally easy for it to taste that good. We added pears to the baking dish, along with the plums and combined butter, oats and brown sugar to sprinkle on top. We baked it for 45 minutes, until the fruit juice was bubbling and accompanied it with vanilla ice-cream. For a girl that can't cook. I felt pretty proud. David and Faith grabbed a jar of the fresh apple cider and a bottle of rum. Kai called to ask if we could bring butter. The three of us all walked over together, Lucy trotting alongside, muddy tennis ball in her mouth. Vilina and I sat by the fire, playing the guitar, singing and talking about how she came to learn music from this elderly hippie on the island. She taught me the chords G, A and D and I attempted to strum along. We cooked oysters and family friends arrived. They talked about locals by name and I was constantly wanting to inquire about these Steven's and Margo's and Salomon's. It's weird getting to know people through their loved ones. Everyone was interested in my story and how I came to be here. The women, I've noticed are beautiful here. I have never met so many beautiful women in their 50's, 60's and older. I have no idea how they do it and I'm too afraid to ask, but I might just stay here in order to make sure it happens to me. We all sat down to dinner and conversation flowed freely. The food was fresh, local and amazing. Kai's house was gorgeous. I felt so lucky to be a guest at this party for Valina and to be accepted so warmly, no questions asked. After dinner, Faith and David went home and a few of us stayed and talked around the table for a few hours. You know how occasionally, you feel out of place, or like you don't quite mold into the already established group? Not here. If someone had come upon us, they would have thought I was the daughter or sister of one of the people. I didn't want the night to end. I don't think I've ever gotten along so well and so instantaneously with a group of women. Valina, Margo and I are all in our twenties. Kai and Margo's aunt, Lori are amazing, confident, successful women. I felt so engaged and enthralled by everything everyone said. That sounds dramatic, but it's true. I am glad I got to meet them. We talked about my journey and they looked at the website. I talked about my life growing up and where I came from. They kept asking questions and I kept answering when Kai, who was doing dishes, spun around and yelled, “You need to write a book!” Lori (Parker), who teaches screenplay writing, has produced films and helps writers turn their work into screenplays, chimed in, “And I'll help you turn it into a screenplay!” The fact that these women said they would be loyal readers if I wrote was a huge compliment. After saying our goodbyes, Valina let me borrow a headlamp for my walk home. I misplaced mine somewhere in the car and have been using a reading light I found at the outside kitchen. Vilina said I would see her tomorrow before she left and we joked about how I am the only child now. I honestly don't know how long I will stay here. David and Faith refuse to tell me when they want me to leave. I have an article I want to write and see about publishing before I go. I think if I can complete that goal and set a new one, which I already have in mind, I will feel comfortable heading out into something new. Just thinking about it makes me sad. Tomorrow, I will be harvesting potatoes and working in the garden more, and hopefully taking a few “pig breaks”. Hopefully I don't get murdered again, tonight. Editors Note: The pig mucus was successfully washed off during a shower the following evening.
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I haven't posted on the blog in while so this post is kind of everything. It is long because of this and I promise I will be better from now on. The backstory here is that I made arrangements to volunteer on an organic farm through WWOOF. It is a really awesome way of traveling and I would recommend it, highly. You have to pay to create an account but you live and eat for free and you can't beat that. I found a farm on Lopez Island, near Seattle and made it my destination for now. I think I'm falling in love with my life. No, for real. Think about that for a second. Think about what it feels like when you are beginning to fall in love. Every time you see the other person, you think, “I am so happy right now. I don't think I could love them any more than I do. This is the deepest thing I am capable of feeling.” But, alas, the next time you have that thought, you realize your love has grown and “THIS is the most you can love.” Falling in love is feeling your heart expanding. It's exactly like that scene from How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Your heart is a muscle. When it grows, it becomes more powerful. It grows stronger and in turn, takes on more emotional weight. This weight, which we carry happily and pleasurably, is also the source of so much pain. One cannot imagine that they can feel what they have never felt. We try to limit ourselves, but true openness continues to surprise us. This perpetual state of surprise and awe is what people are constantly seeking. This is the state I have been seeking. This is the state I am living in. Every single day, since the day I left Fairbanks, I have thought to myself (and sometimes muttered) that I don't think I could be any happier. And perpetually, every day following, I have found myself happier in so many different facets than I knew was possible. I feel like an spiritual octopus. My happiness reaches out in many different directions. That may ben hard to explain but it's like this; It's like living in a one-room space. You can enjoy the area, but after years of the same walls, the same objects, you don't appreciate it's beauty. Opening yourself up is like venturing out of the room. It can be scary, but you may find that you may live in many different rooms. When you imagine your inner sanctum, it's like an ever-flowing well. There is so much room, so much strength to pull happiness from. It's like taking a road trip. I don't find that I have a limited resource of myself. I feel that I am unyielding, unending and eager to free-flow and interact with the people and places around me. Does any of this make sense? I sat in on a yoga class for the firs time in months, this morning. I spent 90 minutes “expanding the light” in my body. I'm probably just suffering from yoga class comedown. Last night, I made it to Lopez Island. The elusive completion of the road trip from Alaska. I found I di not want it to end! As I pulled away from the Canadian border, I felt an emptiness. That experience was so important and fun for me. I felt like I was breaking up with Canada. I had some difficulty in Vancouver, after being in Fairbanks for eight months and then being even more isolated for a week. I always have a touch of culture shock when I venture down to the lower 48, so I wasn't surprised. But I also wasn't going to push myself and stress out. It's okay to be weak sometimes, as long as we acknowledge why and work with it. I knew I wanted to make it to a museum and ride my bike around. Vancouver is an extremely bike friendly city. We had our own lanes on the side of the road as well as our own turn signal! I was in bike heaven. I went to the Vancouver Art Gallery on Hornby street, downtown. There were only two exhibits open and two were in construction stages. A collection of Italian paintings on the first floor and a collection of documentary photography and art, called Residue: The Persistence of the Real, on the fourth floor. It included collections on Canada's famous prison, Elizabeth's Taylor's life through her belongings, and others. My favorite thing was the film Provenance. Here is the synopsis and link to Amie Siegal's website, the director: A film work of cinematic scale, Provenance traces in reverse the global trade in furniture from the Indian city of Chandigarh. Conceived in the 1950s by architects Le Corbusier and Pierre Jeanneret, Chandigarh’s controversial modernist architecture includes original pieces of furniture—tables, chairs, settees, desks—created specifically for the building’s interiors. Recently these pieces have appeared at auction houses around the world, commanding record prices. Starting with the Chandigarh furniture in the present, the film begins in New York apartments, London townhouses, Belgian villas and Paris salons of avid collectors. From there, it moves backwards to the furniture’s sale at auction, preview exhibitions, and photography for auction catalogues, to restoration, cargo shipping containers, and Indian ports — ending finally in Chandigarh, a city in a state of entropy. Juxtaposing contemplative tracking shots, precise framing, and recurrent tableaux the film enacts a subtly discursive cinematic space, peeling back time to make visible the furniture’s movement around the globe. This accumulative montage exposes the circuits of ownership and history that influence the furniture's fluctuating value. After the gallery, I wondered aimlessly. I was sent to this international bank to get cash. It looked more like another art gallery than a museum. It was actually a multi-use building with the bank and other business. There was this guy sitting on the steps, just inside the front doors. He had a walkie-talkie and seemed rather comfortable, as if he worked there. I approached him, sat down and started up a conversation. Turns out he is a bike messenger. This means that he delivers things for business' around the city. I didn't quite understand and found this incredibly fascinating. He's delivered $100,000 to a bank before, blueprints between architects, and many other things. He lived in Sydney for eight months, doing the same work. We talked for a while about his job and Vancouver. I had parked my car in a pay lot and the time was about to expire. He said they were really strict about it and I should put more time in, so I left to do that.
I walked past a really good-smelling sandwich shop called Hubbub and instinctively went straight for it. The veggie sandwich was insanely messy and I kept locking eyes with other patrons as we struggled, gaping mouths and messy hands. I was feeling a little tense from the influx of stimuli, so I ordered a beer. This helped. I felt very full and happy, leaving. I got to my car and decided I wanted to ride my bike around. My bike had been strapped to my car the entire journey and was now completely coated in immovable mud. I felt pretty bad for it. It struggled at first and I saw that a small metal holder for the gears had shaken loose, but it seemed to ride okay. I took off in the direction of the water. It was downhill and I felt so full of energy and life as I soared past everyone. Maybe it was just the beer. It was good to finally stretch my legs and I pedaled pretty fast, enjoying the speed and exertion. The docks smelled of fish and the seagulls were screaming. It was so much cleaner than Seattle and the people seemed at peace and not in a rush. There is this thing I always notice in cities, and it's the crinkled forehead. People are always walking around, with a serious look on their face and a crinkled forehead. Not Vancouver. It had the vibe of a small town. I was so close to the border. I felt excited to be back in cell range and in Seattle, a city I know pretty well. So, I pedaled back to the car and attempted to leave. Except I could not get the ratchet straps to do what I wanted. I needed another person to lift the bike. I yelled towards this guy walking down the street. His response was to wink at me and continue strolling. This creeped me out to my core. I decided maybe people in Vancouver were a little weird and I should just get back to my homeland of crinkled foreheads. I shoved my disgustingly filthy bike into the car, on top of all of my stuff and took off towards the border. When I got to the border, the agent refused to laugh at my jokes. Canada was easy compared to the U.S. And I am American. He searched my car. I had to let this camera take a picture of me and my passport. It was unsettling. All of the sudden, he leans over the car and plucks something out of my windshield. It's a parking ticket. “Did you know about this?” He asked me. I felt myself turn red and I let out a loud laugh. “Nope.” The agent chuckled and handed it to me. I MADE HIM LAUGH! I made him laugh, and it only cost me my pride...worth it. My roommate's brother, Daniel lives in Seattle. I called him to see if he was in town. I hadn't had much contact with people and felt myself getting excited at the prospect of hanging out with someone I knew and could share things with. To my disappointment, Daniel was in East Washington for the next few days. My heart sank. He told me to go to the area where he lives, called Ballard. His friend FryBurger (Yes, I know) worked at a bar named King's Hardware. He said I could park in a residential area near there and sleep for the night with relative ease. I got to the area and realized I was in the hipster epicenter of the universe. I thought I had been there before in Brooklyn. I was wrong. The strip with all the bars and restaurants was packed full of music and young adults with tattoos and black glasses. King's Hardware was connected to a barber shop. Taxidermy on the walls, wooden booths and arcade games made up the interior. All the employees looked the same. I sat at the bar and asked for FryBurger...not working. Rats. I decided to just sit and enjoy my drink and catch up with some things online. This ended up turning into me, by myself in a crowded bar, reading an article on Tolstoy's philosophy on how to live life to its fullest. At one point I looked up and realized I might as well be in my car. No one spoke to me, for a loooong time. I was in the middle of sending a message to a friend in Fairbanks about this exact thing when this guy, in an over sized cowboy hat sits down next to me and asks quite frankly and fearlessly, “Hey, do you have a dream journal?” Everyone, meet Sam. Him and his long-time friend were about to take a motorcycle trip through the mountains and had come out for a drink since they hadn't seen each other in a while. I immediately liked them. It became apparent to me that they were the most authentic thing in that bar. I still had the message box open. So, I typed, “Just kidding. The cowboys are here.” Exited out and never looked at my phone again. I wanted to catch some of the live music, so we three left King's Hardware and went two bars down. There was a show that was about to go into encore and the bouncer let us in for free. The band was from New Orleans. I have no clue what their name was. I've tried to Google them and have had no luck. I wish I could give them some credit, because they were amazing. Catching the end of a show like that is sort of strange. Everyone is drunk and fervently applauding. The lights go up and there is the smell of sadness and beer everywhere. After leaving, we weren't sure where we were going. All of the sudden, the couple in front of us slows down and the girl decides she is going to be my best friend. After only a few minutes, the guy admits that this is their first date. How did they meet? Tinder. That's right. I crashed a Tinder date. I was in heaven. I am fascinated by Tinder. I made an account for a day, went obsessive and then got freaked out and had to delete my account after accidentally swiping right, trying to take a picture of a creepy customer at my work. The cowboys and the Tinder girl stay ahead and are working out the plan for the group and I lag behind to talk to the guy about the situation. He admits that he wants to go home, but can't because she has gotten so drunk, he feels responsible for getting her home safely. That seemed unrealistic to me. It's just a Tinder date. She's not your girlfriend. Just as I was about to say this, she turns to him and says in a whiny voice, “Are you leaving? Don't leave me! Please don't leave me!” It all made sense after this. We decided to all go somewhere and sit in a booth, take tequila shots and get to know one another. This drunk girl was actually a nurse and the following morning, had an early shift, “taking care of babies”, whatever that means. She then proceeded to force me to take photos of her and her unwilling participant/date. The results were painful. Me and the cowboys thought this whole situation was hilarious and made our opinions known. She then forced me to give her my number so we could hang out. I hate when girls do this. We are not going to hang out. Let's not pretend. She was relentless. I actually really liked this girl. She was pretty funny. We left them at the bar, and I wondered the next day what happened to them. I crashed at Sam's house. We stayed up late talking about Berlin, where he lived for seven years. I found an erotic book in the bathroom, that turns out, was written by his aunt and illustrated by his niece. Creepy. I read it out-loud and it was so good, I thought about stealing it and using it as means of entertainment. I had wanted to sleep in my car and recruited Sam to help my get the bike strapped back on to enable me to do this. At this point, I'll admit, we were not sober. And I'll cut it short the painful, embarrassing details and say we could not figure it out. Perhaps he isn't a cowboy after all. I had to put it back in my car and sacrifice my independence, something I had gotten quite accustomed to. I realized I felt that my car was home. I wanted to sleep there because I was comfortable. It's weird how quickly that happens. Yesterday, I woke up, hungover and needing to get to Lopez Island. I found a cafe and in my still drunken boldness, asked for a job. My still drunken lookness provided a negative response. just checking, So I stumbled out into the sun, secure in my destination. I'm on Lopez now. I love it here. The farm is so much better than I could have anticipated. David and Faith greeted me with a glass of wine and instructions on how to use David's inversion swing (for decompressing backs). There was another WWOOFer, Rachel, and a previous one who works there now, named Alex. Midnight's Farm is the name. There is a composting facility, a yoga studio, a bakery and so much more, including baby piglets. Rachel showed me around and then we all made dinner. It was like I had always been there. As we were preparing to eat, they held hands and I was caught off guard. David informed me that they say all say grace and I could read it from the picture on the wall. I won't repeat the words, because I like that it's a special tradition inside of their home, but it was nothing like the grace I grew up saying. It cemented my suspicion. I thought, “Holy Moley, I love this place.” Rachel offered to let me sleep in the bed with her. She was leaving the next day after being on the farm for a few weeks. I really liked Rachel and was sad to hear she was leaving. At dinner, we talked openly about everything, and Rachel jokingly made plans to start an artist community, much like Midnight's farm. She is an artist in L.A. And illustrates and binds book. I felt so thankful at dinner that I had found these people who share similar dreams. I felt like I had stumbled into something very special and felt immediately at home. At some moments, we were all red-faced and leaned over in laughter at something. I had finally found them...the ones who laugh at my jokes. This morning, we all had breakfast and I went to a yoga class. One of the instructors apparently lets the WWOOFers drop in for free. I couldn't find anything in the mess of my car and wound up being a few minutes late and having to make that awkward entrance all yoga students know. It felt so good to practice again. I was a little rusty and had to wear a pair of bike shorts and an 80's neon t-shirt. I was a little out of place. After yoga, I tried to convince Rachel to stay. We exchanged information and I told her that if I make it to L.A. She will have to teach me how to bind books. Alex helped me empty the 5 gallon gasoline can into my tank that was on my roof (yes, because I couldn't figure it out). Alex and his girlfriend are about to drive to Alaska and he asked about the trip. Conversation came really naturally and then when I told him about the website and my journey, he lit up. “Ah, man. That's awesome!” Apparently, he had wanted to do the same exact thing. He even made a website, but then never touched it again. He has been traveling for a few years and had thought of writing about it and building a career. I told him that he should do it. It's not too late. Having Alex react that way made me feel really proud of what I am doing. Some days, I think, i'm not really doing anything. No one will want to read this. But then, seeing how excited people get when I tell them about it, reinvigorates that passion and determination to keep everyone involved and continue writing. Faith offered to let me take the day to get situated and unpacked and I decided to ride my bike into town. Lopez is only 28 square miles and really easy to bike around. If you have no idea where I am and what it looks like, here is a link to the Wiki page. It's fall here, and the perfect temperature for me. It smells of fish (which I like), and reminds me of Fairbanks. There is this thing called “take it or leave it” that is open on Saturday's and Sundays. It is like the transfer site in Fairbanks, except cleaner, and with less crazy people. Large quantities of items to be sifted through are organized. I found myself digging through the clothing and couldn't help but keep a couple of things. They are super weird items and I'm excited to sport them. As I sit here in this cafe, which is also adorable and chill, I can't believe that I am in the midst of this. I am doing it. I had a dream, and I made it happen. There was so much build up to this, so much time to think about it and so much sacrifice. I can't describe how worth it, it was. I can't translate the feeling of being exactly where you want to be and doing exactly what you feel you should be doing with your life. All I can say is that I am falling in love. I am in love with my life. The sun is turning the water into emeralds and I hear the pavement calling. I should get out of this cafe and go live it. 9/7/2015 2 Comments Fort Nelson, CanadaMe and Monty trying to be hip and take a selfie, I end up looking like a weird lady on the side of the road talking to herself, clutching a cat with a harness and a selfie stick. Exactly what I was. Internal weather report: Kinda crappy but optimistic and confident. There is this book called The 7 day Total Cleanse. This book is a detailed guide for a week-long juice cleanse and sort of personal vacation. The daily juices are aligned with the chakras, each day has a specific meditation, spa treatment and embarrassingly, an art project. Aside from the art projects, this book is incredibly rewarding for the spirit. It's aimed for an upper class spiritual lady with loads of free time and a kinda garden level in artistic skills. With that said, I would defend this book like a middle-school friend. It gave me some really important tools after a bad breakup. The daily meditations calmed my spirit and the cleanse dropped my fat by an amount I didn't even think was real or right, but I felt and looked amazing. Where I'm going with all of this is as I sit down to write this, in a Boston's Pizza in the middle of nowhere Canada, and with a giant “Boston's size” glass of I.P.A. I'm hoping will help my back pain, I am reminded of some of those tools I picked up from that arguably cheesy self-help book. How does one talk to oneself, for instance? Besides a general uttering like, “Where in the world are my...” or what happens quietly upstairs in one's mind, I don't find myself very often, in conversations with, myself. Being alone these last few days, and with no one to bounce things off of or confide in, I've been doing the unspeakable. I've been talking to myself. I like it. You should try it, but in private. In that book, there was this journal you were supposed to keep. Each morning (at 7am), you were to ask yourself what your “internal weather report” was at write about it. This related to the physical journey as well as emotional, because I found while doing the cleanse, they are very deeply intertwined. They will always effect the other. Not eating solid food for two days made my internal weather report on day three, “Cloudy with a chance of screw you”. I began to connect the dots between my physical and mental. Sadly, we often aren't aware of what's going on inside of our own bodies. This sounds crazy when you think about it. Granted, we aren't usually depriving ourselves of solids. We are eating when we want, sleeping when we want. We don't really need to notice. So we don't. And then we go hiking for two days, or go on tour with our band. We are irritable and unsure why. We hardly ever treat our physical bodies like a crazy girlfriend on a road-trip. “How are you? Do you need some water? Do you want to take a quick break for food?” Or even worse, we do hear our bodies and then ignore them. Ever fallen asleep at the wheel? Or pushed an injury so far you made it worse? We often don't respect our body's authority and that makes it very angry and then it ends up does evil things to us. Both of us. Doing my internal weather report every morning formed a small habit, which I didn't always keep but can come back to. I know how to talk to myself. More importantly, I know how to verbalize my answers. This makes me self-sufficient for long period of times, in trying circumstances. I trust myself to undertake difficult en devours alone because I have a good relationship with myself in this way. I won't push myself if i'm too tired or hungry or injured. I also know what works best for me and I don't try to do what others do if it won't work. I think another important thing to add is that this relationship is a balance. Some people listen to their bodies too much. They are scared and/or unwilling to push their limits or make that physical self uncomfortable. It's like they are in an abusive relationship and don't want to piss the other one off. One has to know oneself, but maybe, not too well. We also leave room for growth and surprise. It's not easy and requires time alone, concentration and maturity. People always ask me why I like traveling alone. It's not incredibly common among my peers to go out alone and be self-sufficient (and happy) in an encompassing way. I've often wondered about this, but not too much. Why does it feel like people my age don't have as good of a relationship with themselves as they do with their social media accounts? That sounds tacky; But I think there is truth there, so I'll let it slide. I don't even want to limit this to my peers. My mom seems flabbergasted by my travel habits. I check in with her every day because I know she worries as any mom would. But it seems like there is this divide. She thinks I'm sacrificing something and she doesn't know why. A few days before I left Fairbanks, I spoke to my dad on the phone. He brought up how I tend to travel alone. My dad is an incredibly observant and honest dude. His perspective is something to be respected. He told me that he didn't know anyone else who traveled as much as me. I corrected him, quickly. “Wil?” My brother is a professional skateboarder. He spends more time outside the U.S. Than in it. My dad paused for a moment and thought about what he meant. “No.” He paused again. I've come to love these pauses. I know something new is coming. “Wil doesn't travel like you do, Becca. He's always with someone.” We both kind of agreed with a grunt and then thought about it for a second. Neither one of us had ever formulated that specific thought before and didn't go into it unprepared. As you can tell, my dad and I are a lot alike. He's the smartest, most in-touch person I know. I swear, he spent 70 years in some other life, meditating in the Himalayas. We both get noticeably excited by the things like a new special on The History Channel, a good speech t a graduation ceremony and a new thought that comes up in conversation that seems to pave a new road off to the left. We talk about things like WWII and oil prices on our phone conversations. We like to stew about things and come back to it. We don't need anyone else to help us, just engage us if we ask for it. We didn't talk about the subject in length, but I think when we get to it again in the future, we will have both brewed a batch of contemplation on the subject and be able to spend a while there. So, back to the questions. Why do I travel alone? Do I get lonely? What do I do the whole time? I travel alone because I like it. I feel more comfortable by myself and enjoy formatting my experience, solely. Truthfully, I don't get lonely. I think of people often and wonder what they are doing and occasionally wish I was with them. But, I never wish they were with me. I never feel so crazy I'll just pick up a hitchhiker to have someone to talk to, (I would pick them up, but from a good-hearted, helpfulness of course). What do I do the whole time? Sometimes I think of the people I love and the things I love. I've noticed in myself that I have to be away from things to truly appreciate them. It sounds kind of unhealthy, but driving out of Fairbanks, I was balling because I was so thankful and felt so loved by my roommates and my close friends who made such an effort to spend time with me before I left. As I hugged them goodbye, I was calm as a cucumber. But, I couldn't stop hugging them in spirit as I drove away. (I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each and every person who made me feel so loved as I departed my home: You know who you are. Thanks for making it incredibly difficult to leave.) As I write my internal weather report for today, I have to admit, it wasn't an easy day. My back is hurting worse than ever. When I breathe deeply, I feel like I am being stabbed. I m not making as much progress as I had hoped and feel disappointed in myself. I haven't been sleeping well at night and only being able to catch around 4 hours due to Monty being nocturnal and fall asleep when he does, around 6am, putting me behind schedule. I'm worried about my back because it seems to be getting worse and making every day an conglomeration of moments in pain. But, there is no way I could say today was a bad day. Are you kidding me!? I got to explore Canada, which has been a dream of mine for years. I am lucky enough to see this country during fall. I am speechless at how beautiful the side of the road is, the abandoned motels and gas stations, the wildlife (I'll come back to that). The people here are psycho-nice. I found myself physically recoiling towards this woman at the visitor's station in Watson Lake when she called me “love”. People always say this, so I hate to agree with them. But it's true. Even the music here is creepily optimistic all the time. It reminds me of when I was in Edinburgh, Scotland. I was on this public bus, at 10pm, trying to find somewhere to sleep. We had initially tried the beach, but it was a wet mess. These thug kids got on and I thought, “Oh no. They are going to hit on me and give me trouble.” They ended up being the sweetest, most socially polite people I had come across so far. I would go as far as to call them gentlemen. That's what Canada is like. I will spend the next ten hours of my drive and next few conversations with my dad trying to figure out how they are so nice and Americans....not so nice. I am content. That's how I would put it. And I think that's what all people are searching for. There's nothing worse than wanting to be happy and not knowing how. I think happiness comes from internal contentment for whatever reason. You have to do what makes you happy. I can't predict the future, so I can only say that I hope when I fill out tomorrow's internal weather report, I will find the same deep, rolling, bubbling contentment I found today. I have a feeling I will. I sound Canadian already. 9/7/2015 1 Comment The horrors of the road Don't drive through west Canada at night. Just don't do it, unless you are a maniac and enjoy the thrill of the swerve.
Things I have almost murdered with my car (by inches in some cases): two brown bears, one moose, two porcupine, one white-horned owl, three rabbits. Things I have actually murdered: one small bird (I think), countless butterflies. One rabbit went under the car, but I tried to center it, so who knows how that went. This doesn't include the wildlife I have come in contact with safely: caribou, TONS of buffalo, more moose, a black bear. There is this video I am really proud of that I have on my actual camera and can't share right now. I'm shoveling some banana bread into my mouth with a heard of buffalo standing behind me. People love buffalo. This min-van driving in front of me SLAMMED on their breaks to rubberneck some buffalo, which turns out, are like squirrels. What makes this funny is that not even 10 minutes later, the same van speeds past a freaking black bear perusing right off the road. Not even a brake pump. "Hey! Is that a buffalo? No? Just a bear? Nevermind." I didn't think one could almost run over a brown bear, but I now know, it's possible. There were two, both with large, block radio collars. The porcupine were the most narrowly missed. The craziest one that I will never forget is the white owl. It had to have been more than a foot tall and sitting in the middle of the two lanes, facing the other direction. It never once turned its head to look at me. As I swerved and passed it, it unfolded its wings and like a gust of wind had come in, swooped itself off the pavement and straight up. The rabbits freak me out because they remind me of that picture from Vietnam of the little girl, naked, running towards the camera. It's called Napalm Girl. That sounds insensitive, but I know the woman. I mean, I know of her. She did an interview recently on NPR. Here it is. The point is they just come screaming at you like they are the final female in some horror flick. It's terrifying with the headlights. It will haunt me. 9/5/2015 2 Comments Yukon, CanadaW We are in Yukon, Canada, approximately 130 kilometers away from the Alaskan border. It took around seven hours to get here, which would be the same distance from Fairbanks to Anchorage. It's 11:39pm. I'm not tired. I feel as if it's already happening so fast. I wrote this in the car last night as I was going to bed. We are currently in Whitehorse, Canada, specifically, Starbucks. I couldn't leave on Tuesday, like I'd planned due to car troubles... The aurora was out on my final night. And boy did it send me off with something to remember. It was the most unique and exciting scenes I've ever seen. You hear people say that a lot, but trust me, it was. We laid on top of the chicken coop and all simultaneously let out different versions of our own vocal awe at one particular moment. It was frighteningly haunting. Dillon and Brandon had to catch a flight at 1:30am or we wouldn't have ever known it was happening. We debated on waking Naomi, knowing these things don't last long, and when we did, it promptly ended. Brandon took some photos and I hope to see the one of all of our silhouettes agains the sky one day. It was a dreamy and loving goodbye from my home country. I wanted to cry, but my roommates have this shared enjoyment of picking on each other, so I just smiled in the dark like an over-eager child. I wrote poems for everyone in the house and a few others in town on topics of their choice, “constellations, Miss Pink Dog, penis worms, winter, Welcome (new roommate). I'm incredibly proud of Miss Pink. She was Naomi's dog and everyone's shared love until she passed away last month. We all miss her terribly. On Instagram, follow the hashtag, #misspinkdog to witness the community of appreciation for this amazing creature. The night before I left I dreamt of my first love. The only person to break my heart completely. It was different than previous dreams I have had. He appears in my dreams periodically, and I am always seeking his love and attention but never quite achieving it. It's usually based in an apocalyptic setting or something terrifying and in the dreams, I am so fervent and focused on winning him over, I ignore the dilemma and usually wake as I am dying or right as I achieve whatever I wanted from him. This night, I am the hero and he is seeking my help. I am strong and manly. I am saving the day and in the background, it appears he is following me around. In my sleep, I recognize this difference. I am conscious of this difference in my dream narrative. I wake myself in the dream because I do not want him to achieve this connection. I don't want it realized. In my dream, I understand that I don't want it. I wake with a feeling of loss, an emptiness. I have lived with this reoccurring dream for so long now. I lay there and begin to believe that this period is over in my life. I've outgrown this nightmare. Near Salcha, AK, I began to frantically plan ways in which I could follow this dream and maintain the life I love in Fairbanks. The painful fear of imminent failure ballooned my abdomen and I felt like I needed to pull over and put a paper bag on my head. I was listening to an album a friend had made me and right as my anxiety began to peak, a moose came barreling out from the woods. Since I was seventeen years old, a scared, troubled girl who found herself in a christian community in the middle of nowhere, moose have been my sign from the universe that everything is going to be okay. Time waned a little slower for a moment and I noticed the lyrics of the song were, “Everything's going to be alright.” Of course I began to cry, immediately. I felt so well taken care of and loved. I alternate between crazy excited and confident and “Oh my god, what am I doing??!” What continues to convince me and even encourage me is that fear. That is where I find the Becca I like. It are those moments where I have to remind myself of why this is important to me and what I am building here, not destroying. I am doing what I have always wanted to do, against the advice of others, and in spite of some of my biggest fears and strongest anxiety buttons. I am alone, and I can take care of myself. The best part is that I am having so much fun already. The trees and surrounding brush have been the most vibrant fall colors. It's been cloudy and causing a thin, mystical cumulonimbus to slither across the mountains. I am listening to an audiobook on Librivox called How to Analyze People on Sight Through the Science of Human Analysis written in the 1920's by Elsie Lincoln Benedict. Follow the link to listen to the book for free. I like Librivox because it allows you to download the entire book whole or by sections and therefore listen without wifi. I have found a happy rhythm driving and observing and listening. Monty wedged himself into this tunnel between my front seat, and my folded up backseat and looked like kid who fell asleep on the window of the school bus.
I was so anxious about crossing the border into Canada. I've wanted to go to Canada SO BAD for SO LONG. I have no idea why. I want to eat poutine, I want to see a Monty (a monty!), I want to meet these nice people everyone talks about and use up the collection of Canadian coins I have from who knows where. But, also, I am childishly frightened of Borders, and customs agents, whether they are in airports or on land. I'm never prepared and always caught off guard and they never laugh at my jokes. The best experience was listening to the customs agent in the Madrid airport rant about Tenali mountain (Denali) and inviting him to stay with me when he visited. The worst was being screamed at in the London airport and almost being turned away because I couldn’t prove I had any money or even a reason to be there. I had the money, just no internet on my phone to prove it. I kept imaging each possible scenario that could happen...Monty's medicine being in clear capsules, no registration in my car, prove you have money, what's this speeding ticket you have here? Turns out the agent is a fellow cat lady, who laughed at my cat jokes and pet Monty and just handed to passport back and said have a great visit and I LOVE CANADA. Monty loves Canada, too. He's tried to explore it further...twice. I keep having to tighten his harness and smoosh his face backwards as I exit the vehicle. He walks around outside okay, as long as he's in charge. I keep thinking he's just very well trained, but i'm pretty sure he just thinks he's escaping because he keeps looking back at me like, “Why are you following me?!” He also hasn't pooped, and that worries me. I've got the litter box available in the car, so I'm sure I'll know when it happens. Whitehorse is large, like Anchorage large. It feels weird to be around other people and have so much room to roam outside of the car. I plan on finding some Poutine, which isn't what it sounds like, walking Monty and then heading out again for another five hours or so. I find myself having loads of energy late at night. The only problem is I can't see. I plan on stopping into Vancouver, but that's another 28 hours of driving. Hopefully, everything goes smoothly until then and I can find wifi at least one more time. 8/31/2015 1 Comment Request a poem by mailI've been getting a lot of requests for poems from people all over the country. I had planned on setting up a way to interact with people on my blog but have bee procrastinating. Instead of trying to get everyone's email address and topic through comments on Instagram, I set up a page on my "Contact" tab to make it easier on everyone. In person, I accept whatever donation seems reasonable. I don't want to have an obligatory charge and sense of ownership to the process. I want each individual exchange to be free and based on gratitude and excitement. Think about a topic or a conversation you would like to engage in with me and tell me about it. You can simply type, "hamster earrings on mummy's" into the comment box, or you can use it as a place to explore the topic and why you want to create something out of it. You can send a poem to someone else as a gift...or an apology. If you would like your poem to be featured on the site, or if you just want to spread the love, snap a picture once received, post to Instagram or Facebook and tag Poem_by_Becca. My body is tingling just writing about it! I'm excited to start creating for everyone! 8/27/2015 2 Comments T-minus five days and counting
This is what I woke up to this morning.
Needless to say, I was late for work. I sincerely contemplated putting my car into 4-wheel drive and busting through the barrier like a locked gate in a thriller movie. Instead, I woke Naomi and tried to sound pitiful so she would save the day. She rolled out of bed, grabbed the chainsaw (that is literally in her room) and marched out towards the fallen tree, Loki trotting alongside her. It all seemed surreal. She looked like a superhero. I contacted my coworker and told her Naomi was chainsawing me a path out of my property and she simply responded with, "Good luck." I must just be full of excitement, because I kept thinking of how i'll miss all of Alaska's inconveniences. I'll miss having to run outside and start my car every 30 min in -40 degree weather . I'll miss those mornings that I'm running late and have no time to warm my car up and must therefore drive using only the 5 inches of clear glass at the base of the windshield. I'll miss getting stuck in snow or running out of gas and having to walk two miles in -36 to find help. I'll miss Naomi coming to my rescue like she always does. I've been so spoiled by having her in my life. Today, I have been overwhelmed by gratitude for all the beautiful things and people I take for granted. I am counting down the days until I depart, and I've also been dolling out large sums of cash for some last big expenses, but I've never felt happier handing over my debit card. I've been working towards this, saving my money, researching, seeking out help. It's amazing how my mental attitude effects how easy problems or tasks appear to be. My car is the biggest issue, or at least it was, until I found Rick..
Rick comes through College CoffeeHut almost every day. I've served him coffee for over a year now. I knew a little bit of what he did. But, when you work in a drive-through espresso stand, conversations don't last long. So, I didn't really know him too well.
I could tell my car was acting weird. It wasn't driving right, and it was getting worse. The steering wheel would pull to the right, it shook, it felt like my shocks were out somewhere. I intended on taking my car into a mechanic before I left, but felt nervous about not knowing anything about my car, which common sense told me had some issues. I hadn't had any work done to it, other than oil changes since I bought it last February. Turns out, neither did the last guy. Rick offered to take a look at it before I took it to a mechanic so I would be knowledgeable of my car's issues. I brought it to his shop after work two nights ago and my fears were confirmed. At some points, during his inspection, I could hear Rick's voice bellowing out from under the hood, "Oh god! Oh man!" It sounded like he was watching scenes from Saw under there. I would need new front tire rods, wheel hub bearings and lower ball joints, on both front tires. To anyone who doesn't know, this is a huge and expensive repair. He warned me that it was dangerous even to be driving it. I would have been lucky to make it to Canada. I just sat there, cringing at the bad news. While Rick was working on my car, we got along great. We joked around and talked the entire time. I could tell he loves to teach people things and I love to learn, so it was the perfect combination. By the end, I was under the hood, helping him and learning all the intricate details and physics of my car. I felt like I was scoring a free college class under the table. We discussed the numbers and my options and then Rick offered to do the work. We drove to the auto parts store and I bought $115 worth of parts and planned on buying $80 more later. I took Rick out for a beer and dinner to thank him. Throughout dinner, I kept getting the feeling like I had found the secret cheat in Mario Bros. Rick was saving me thousands of dollars and single-handedly, making my dream a reality. I hope that I will continue to come across people like Rick. I hope I can be a Rick one day. That's a sentence I never thought I would say. Today, I brought him a coffee and burrito and we got right down to it again. I was posted up on the seat next to the car and he proceeded to take apart my tire right in front of me. He explained every minute detail along the way. He seemed genuinely happy to be doing what he was doing and to have company. I learned the names of all the tools used, how to clean the parts, how they work and how they differ from car to car. I felt like crying I was so overwhelmed by gratitude. He is an amazing mechanic and it is funny watching him work because he is so different than me, always going back and making sure everything is done correctly. I forget to put the oil cap back on and end up driving around with it sitting on top of my engine for three weeks. I call him the double checker. I needed to get some work done on the computer, so I brought my bike and rode it to the local comic shop a few blocks over. My roommate, Naomi manages the store. Yes, I have two roommates both named Naomi. This one we call little Naomi. She is like 90 pounds and so cute I am constantly fighting the urge to squeeze her cheeks. She set me up in the "Gaming Room" and I'm currently sharing a space with 30 young males playing a diverse assortment of card games, from Star Wars to Magic. I'm trying to blend in. Tomorrow, I'm taking Monty to the vet to get some shots and his health certificate, so that I can take him through Canada. I'm guessing it's going to cost at least $100, but hey! I'm invincible! I'll also be having an assortment of friends over for dinner and to go through the last of my things. I hope I will have some quality time with them all. I just keep imagining me as Michael Scott from The Office on the episode Goodbye Michael. I want to make time for each individual person, but I will probably end up doing what he did, leaving a day early in secret and snatching the unfinished mittens out of Phyllis' hands. In the theme of being thankful and positive in the face of change and stress, here is a video created out of an interview with a 6-year-old, by a filmmaker named Bianca Giaever (pronounced Gay-ver). It will make your day. If you like it, follow the link to her website to find more of her work. I haven’t felt like writing in a while.
I used to have so much energy. I was always doing things that made me happy, things that fulfilled me. Even as I write this, I just want to stop. What is the point? What do I even want to say? And to whom? I spent so many years studying at a wonderful university, and sometimes I make grammar mistakes that I don’t know how to fix. I misspell the word grammar as I type this. Sometimes people ask me who my favorite author is or if i’ve read so and so and I am paralyzed by insecurity. No I haven’t read Mark Doty’s newest chapbook. No I don’t know the meaning of laconic at hand, (which is an adjective, expressing much in a few words; concise). I have found myself increasingly paralyzed by my own insecurity over the last few years. What makes it difficult to talk about is that I’m not sure why. I refuse to believe it is just part of getting older. I refuse to believe I have a slow-growing and debilitating mental illness that will eventually lead me to become a bag lady on the streets of NYC. I also refuse to believe that I have to live this way, forever. People told me not too long ago that I had such a positive outlook and that they were encouraged by my personality. Lately, as I complain about my perceived fears and worries, those same people tell me that “It will be okay,” and “Try not to let it get to you.” I’m tired of my only contribution to conversations being stories of what I used to do or vents about my romantic troubles. When I am at my best, I often tell stories of awkward encounters and things that happen to me. I have been hiding behind my humor and storytelling. I’ve been hiding a very insecure and damaged psyche. A four-year-long love affair is finally burned apart. My parents are growing older. My brother is increasingly unavailable and successful. Most days, I cannot think of a reason as to why I should get out of bed. I have been refusing to admit for a while that I suffer from depression. But, I want to say now, that it’s okay. I will be okay. I want to believe myself. When you don’t know how to fix things, sometimes you can decide to change your surroundings and to force yourself to get out of the stagnancy of your familiar bed, couch, friends, food. I have always been good at doing this. This has always been my savior. When I can’t possibly take myself anymore, I take myself away. Some would call this running away but it has always worked well for me. Sometimes I have to be without the things I love to love them. Summer and Winter breaks from school have always worked in my favor in this regard. I usually only have to be functional for 4-5 months before I can go somewhere. I’ve been in Alaska for eight months now, the longest ever. But I am about to leave for good. It will be the first time that I don’t have somewhere to go home to. I’ll have only what I can fit in my car. This includes my cat, and his litter box. I have minuscule plans, mostly ideas. My car is old and there is a definite possibility that it will break down and I will have to give the remainder of my belongings away. When people ask me my plans, the same insecurities pop up and I have to say sheepishly, “I don’t know.” I hate that answer, but I am learning that it’s okay to say it. I don’t know how I’m going to live, make money or keep Monty from running off into the woods somewhere outside of Whitehorse Canada. Why am I even doing this? Why do I feel like I’m running away and why do I feel like I’m in a nightmare in which I’m naked and everyone is staring? Perhaps i’m trying to re-enact the trip I made to Alaska. I had no belongings and no fear, and no plan. I made it work, and rather well I might add. Now, I’m five years older, and with more baggage, literally and figuratively. My deepest desire is to shed that baggage (the figurative kind), leave the destructive comfort of my bed behind for good and never lay back down. I don’t want to forget, I want to learn how to remember in a healthy way. I want to write, even if I don’t want to write, because it makes me happy, disgustingly, juicy happy. The kind of happy that seeps out of my skin and hardens protectively. I want to write poetry because I’m good at it and I want to be better. I want to meet strangers that ask questions like, “Why are you doing this?” and “Who’s your favorite author?”. I want to eat those questions like a good dinner and not answer them in ways that I think will make me look smart, or mature, but in ways that lead into new questions and new answers that I didn’t know I knew. I’ve never had a public writing platform before. I’ve never treated myself like a business. I have always watched and admired, but never done. I used to believe I was just waiting until I was ready, wiser. But eventually, I stopped believing that I could. I stopped believing that I could do anything. I became so self-hating, I couldn’t even believe it was worth trying. I’ll never been 24, going on 25 again. That line reads like a voice-over for a movie with a strong female lead. But hell, maybe I am a strong female lead! and maybe this is my movie. The one I’ve always wanted to make. If I don’t force myself to start using the skills I know and re-learning the ones I have forgot, I never will. I’ve learned so many things over the last four years in Alaska. I want to put myself in the scary position of having to use them. Another scary question that usually ends in “I don’t know” is about my degree in English. Am I going to teach? I don’t know. “What are you going to do with that?” I don’t know. But I’m going to figure it out by doing it, if that makes any sense. The biggest thing I want to learn is how to be okay with judgement, specifically, how to accept rejection. One of my closest friends has developed the super power of loving rejection. He thrives off of it. He has learned to turn it into fuel for his own passion, instead of letting it burn him down. I have begun to recognize myself as my own rejector, my own critic. I have developed this terrible habit of pouring fuel onto my own body and watching helplessly as I burn. And I even developed the even nastier habit of doing the same thing to those I love. My biggest failure is in my love life. My insecurity scarred someone so badly, they might never heal. That is a painful thought. Perhaps, a bit dramatic, but HEY! that is what we can do to people when we don’t know how to love. The ability to accept that I’m not ready to love someone else is harder than it sounds, because I want to so badly. I do and have always wanted a family, a partner - someone to love. So, it is painful for me to admit that I am unable at the moment. What does this journey mean to me? Difficult question number one. It means being alone with the evil half of me. The half that asks those questions with a snicker and then clouds my brain as I struggle to answer. This journey means being alone with her and kicking her ass. This journey is about overpowering the self-destructive part of me like I’m in a high-school wrestling match. Growing up, I was scared that I was possessed by a demon. When I grew up, I realized: A. Yes. We all are. B. You have the tools to kill it. C. If you don’t. It will kill you. Let me state for the record so there's no confusion: I’m not driving off into the sunset. I’m locking myself up with the demon and only one of us is coming out alive. This blog is about more than sharing my poems and travel stories. It’s going to be the place where I embarrassingly share with the world, much like I am doing now, what this journey means to me, as I live it. Aside from the massive personal task it is fulfilling, I hope that what I am doing touches someone that perhaps struggles with the same things as me, or has had similar thoughts, or is coming to terms with their own personal demon. At the very least, I hope someone enjoys reading what I write, for whatever reason. I even hope someone judges and rejects me, openly, like in the comment section. I’m ready. |
AuthorRebecca Lawhorne Archives
December 2018
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