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.
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’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.
First, this is what birds do in Texas
Also in Texas….I have become the perpetual “new girl.”
I love the rush of a new job…new apartment…new location. I love the idea of the “unknown.” It’s refreshing to regularly be granted a clean slate in the workplace…to realize no one knows your weaknesses and to determine you will be better this time.
The life of a perpetual ‘new girl.’ “I’m so sorry, I’m new,” is always an appropriate excuse. And, “Apologies for being late. I’m got lost.” is also acceptable.
But there’s some not-so-fun parts as well. The ‘new girl’ constantly must prove herself professionally. She will meet colleagues fond of a professional “hazing.” And she will constantly feel lost (in all concrete and metaphorical senses…).
A word of advice: Enjoy the wandering.
It was a long day at work.
Thirty students, 10 hours on the clock, and one angry teacher. And besides, I had been excessingly healthy this week (after all, I do have two gym memberships now…) I started circuit training at the gym (not to be confused with circus training which involves elephants and acrobatics..)
That said, I deserved a drink. So off I went, stag at the local, margarita in hand and a plate of tex mex (Texas does make the perfect nachos)…deep in the heart of Texas.
I enjoy patronizing a good happy hour alone. I bring a book and sip a well-crafted cocktail. The paradox of being alone in an overcrowded room makes me feel anything but lonely. I am contently lost in a book and lost in my mind. A world of adventure has opened itself to me. I am in good company.
Sometimes, however, I wonder if traveling is the best choice for me. If I’ve driven myself hundreds of miles away from family and friends to chase an ideal. Am I youthfully foolish only to miss out in the end? John Mackey, founder and CEO of Whole Foods, promptly responded to these questions:
“In my early twenties, I made what has proven to have been a wise decision: a lifelong commitment to follow my heart wherever it led me–which has been on a wonderful journey of adventure, purpose, creativity, growth, and love. I have learned that it is possible to live in this world with an open, loving heart. I have learned that we can channel our deepest creative impulses in loving ways toward fulfilling our higher purposes, and help evolve the world to a better place.” (Conscious Capitalism)
To follow my heart, to cultivate my passions, to become stronger and wiser–this is why I’m here. The choice is clear for me, for now. Go stag.
Landa Park : You can walk. You can run. Or you can photograph. I chose the latter, camera bag proudly perched on my back.
And I made a friend.
And finally: A Texas sunset.
Happy 3-day weekend! …to those of you whose employers observe holidays. After spending much of my professional career in a hospital, I was most pleasantly surprised to find I had Friday and the entire weekend off (whaaaaat?!).
Some morning coffee, some new friends, some hiking, some reading by river
(yes, there is one in my backyard), and much sipping of wine throughout the day, everyday.
A pictorial account of this holiday weekend.
And more coffee!
Enchanted Rock. First visited circa 1989. Revisited March, 29th, 2013. Although just three years old when I first climbed this massive rock (more accurately, I was likely carried up this rock by my long-suffering parents), the feeling of standing at the top, looking miles around was forever impressed on my young spirit. There is a great something to be said for conquering a rock (or any piece of land for that matter). Raw and persistent physical exertion produces victory. So twenty-three years later, from the top of a massive rock.
And much thanks to a beloved Trader Joe’s in San Antonio. A lunch fitting for an afternoon of reading on the river.
smoked salmon and honey chevre on raisin-basil crackers
Now, off to enjoy the rest of this coffee.