I can see the future. Or at least hours into it… Regardless, the part of me that still regards Lost as the best show ever, allows myself a girlish, delighted laugh. There is a loophole the space-time continuum. I know what the stars will look like hours before they shine down on me. I see what the evening holds while still in the thick of midday
I can see the future. We all can, really. At least, those of us who find ourselves in the West with our hearts still very much East. With our smart phones and enough data to spare, we soar through time and space.
I see your sunset and the bolts of lightening that strike across the night sky. I can see what you’ll eat for dinner. I thank social media (and a general obsession with instagram-ing everything you eat) for creating a wrinkle in time.
To the skeptics, dreamers, and make believers-alike, social media has inadvertently created what humanity has dreamed about for nearly all of existence, that is, time travel.
So from she who can see into the future….to my dear friends and family who look into the Past.
All my love from the Bay.
My time in California has been characterized by a series of wrong turns. Wrong turns, literally speaking, only. Metaphorically, all turns have been spot on. But yes, literally speaking, I’ve made so many illegal U-turns that I’m surprised I don’t have a mounting pile of tickets. Well, I do have a mounting pile of tickets…but not for illegal U turns. The parking here is beyond me.
I hail to the Golden Coast for all usual reasons, and I face all the typical difficulties one faces when coming to the Bay. In no particular order, I came work…for adventure…for life. I hoped that 3000 miles, reaching a grand finale at a cold, rocky coast would inspire. It did. Traveling renews a sense of life. The world is exciting and ripe for exploration. Humans, regardless of age or race or occupation, are all very much the same. There is a Oneness with the earth that is achieved. It is what inspired poets and song writers. Loneliness has lost its sting. And I am afraid of very little.
To East Coasters, the West Coast serves as some Final Frontier. Two weeks in and I’ve only just begun.
So from the other side of the country….which sometimes feels like the other side of the world…where we’re all just looking for a rent-controlled apartment…and a warm day in August..
Two weeks before the next move. I suppose this is the time when people get accounts in order—catch up on car maintenance…apartment research.. But that sounds tedious and not fun. So I decided instead to finish reading five books prior to August 11th…and work through a Netflix mini series. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance has been added to my current list of reads, and much to my delight, it’s kindled excitement for the 44 hour trek that awaits.
I’ve made this trip before. Starry desert nights in December are breathtaking, and the Grand Canyon at 7am, covered in frost, is lesser known and, perhaps, more epic. This is a journey that’s good for the soul. The knowledge that one has traversed a continent with sheer will power, $500 in fuel, and a solid playlist recognizes strength and independence. A few things in life become less frightening. I now believe in travel whole heartedly.
This time we take the northern route to avoid excessive heat. I’ve discovered there is no way to circumvent Nevada in August. At the advice of my well-traveled cousin, “Make sure your tank is full, you have water, and your phone isn’t dead.”
So with 2 weeks, one desert, and 2800 miles ahead, California, Here We Come.
It’s been quite a long time for this young gypsy. Texas is behind me and I’m in Delaware, refreshingly surrounded by family for the first time in nearly a decade. This too is temporary. Soon I make the laborious cross-country trek to the Golden State. Annnnd if I don’t find a companion for this road trip, I may be writing future posts entitled “Only Fools Drive Cross Country Alone.” It may happen.
In between this and that, I find myself in a Dallas coffee shop sipping the best cup ‘o joe I’ve had in this Great State and de-briefing from a few days in Jamaica.
First, a HUGE thanks to Dana’s company for inviting me along. Second, a thanks to her coworkers for including me on all inside jokes, inappropriate comments, and opportunities to quote Cool Runnings.
It’s been years since I’ve been in an all-inclusive resort. There’s a certain sadness that accompanies it’s boundaries…as if I’ve been provided with a slice of Jamaica that’s deemed acceptable to outside standards. But a culture that’s evolved organically, amidst periods of struggle and success is far more beautiful. The unfiltered provides a set of observations from which to build a formula to understand society. Why do they hide this from us? I want to know what makes the world go round. That is why we travel, after all.
We picked the mind of resort staff, picking up lingo and meaning along the way. Our catamaran guide Captain Johnny said Jamaicans are different from neighboring islanders. Johnny says they’re in love with life. I chose to believe him.
So from Dallas, 24 hours post-Jamaica, and shortly en-route to Delaware…Love, Respect, Honor.
I love trees!
I also love sunrises, coffee, and brisket.
But I love trees!
Don’t confuse this sentiment with a “tree hugger.” Sometimes I still forget to sort my disposable styrofoam from recyclable plastic…
Back to trees. What’s not to love? Google “environmental benefit of trees.” They clean air. They produce oxygen. They are subject of literary reference. They are friends. Providers. Storytellers.
Texas trees are fascinating. They bare form–whimsical yet statuesque. They generate perfect composition. A friend likened them to La Dance by Henri Matisse.
La Danse, by Henri Matisse
Sometimes I go to bed at 7pm. I do what I want, in the words of my overly assertive 5 year-old student. Actually, I think the statement was, you’re not the boss of me. You get the point…
My lifestyle allows utter freedom and copious amounts of alone time. I confess, I love it very much. I’ve developed some hobbies in the name of personal betterment (writing, photography, watching Netflix..), but if at the end of the day I want to go to sleep at 7:30pm, I’ll damn-well do it.
I’m not posting about my odd sleeping habits. Onto something new..
Sunday afternoon I headed west. Sixty mph in Texas hill country to Canyon Lake. It is exactly what it sounds like. A lake. In a Canyon.
Rustic and rocky and all-around lovely, the outing could only have been bettered by a cool beverage and a clean car.
Just a few more things. First, Texas litters. Sorry Texas, but seriously.
Second, I’m on a furious Bluebonnet search. I thought I had found one. I was wrong. If anyone knows where the Bluebonnets live, please share.
Finally, the trees in Texas are incredible. More to come on trees.
I am at an existential crossroads. Years of higher education, clinical training, and licensed, professional experience on the resume, I ask myself, “What do I want to be when I grow up?”
This is healthy. Our cultural narrative for maturity is b$*#&%. Having a 9-to-5 and slowly stocking away in a 401-K doesn’t equate to maturity.
A good friend once told me that she asks the same questions. She is twice my age. Perhaps these are question to never stop asking.
In Conscious Capitalism: Liberating the Heroic Spirit of Business, John Mackey and Raj Sisodia reference the transcendent ideals of Plato: the Good, the True, and the Beautiful.
Plato considered these three ideals ends in themselves, not as means to other higher ends. Those who pursue the Good want to serve others because it is intrinsically rewarding to do so, not because they anticipate some favorable consequence from doing so. The pursuit of Knowledge or Truth is its own reward, whether or not that knowledge is ever used in a particular way. The creation of Beauty is an intensely soul-satisfying, uniquely human experience. People create beauty because their desire to do so arises from deep within. Their creation need not be seen or experienced by anyone else to make it worth while; it need only to please its creator. (Conscious Capitalism)
When I grow up….A systematic pursuit of the good, true, and beautiful. Sounds quite nice, if I do say so myself.
Texas in April is perfect. I will never complain about anything again…ever…
I lost my internet access 2 days ago. I was pretty frustrated initially. I had fallen into a good routine of gym–writing—dinner–researching. About 50% of that routine is impossible without internet.
But no complaining…..even though that was a complaint. I would be a failure against my own moral ideals if I didn’t make the most of this.
So I localized my writing to Microsoft Word. And I’ll post more intentionally. I guess there will be no more late night Mad Men via Netflix. I do have a few books to read anyway…
In the absence of WiFi, I practiced some photography this afternoon. Here’s to changing it up (mantra #1)
Vintage, Pt 1.
I’m waiting for the sky to explode.
Apparently, I’m not the only one.
It seems as if the general public is a bit morbid regarding the fate of humanity. But this is not what I’m referring to at all. I’m referring to the rain. It could rain at any moment. And when it does, it will downpour. My river guide on Sunday told me New Braunfels was in the the midst of a drought. Business is bad on the river, he said. That’s the inevitable byproduct when there is no water.
The bluebonnets are also late in blooming due to the drought. Dana and I drove miles on a bluebonnet search, only to end up at a dejected little patch surrounding a mailbox.
. Because the view out my back window is so deliciously mossy. And to celebrate the color green.
Let it rain.
I meant to practice depth-of-field. But oops, a close-up.
A new friend.