“And forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet and the winds long to play with your hair.” (Khalil Gibran)

I sob quietly as I maneuver through the heavy morning traffic. It’s a crisp, clear, cool day, and I’m listening to world news on the local NPR station.

The news is nothing new- a divided country, terror at home and abroad, children suffering for the decisions of old men they’ll never know exist. What sends me over the edge is a special interest piece, a spot about war veterans fighting their PTSD with long hiking trips. It’s a positive story with a happy ending, and I cry through most of it.

The crying is nothing new either; I don’t know precisely why I’m crying, but I’m long past the point in my life where I try to stop the tears. (For a more eloquent example of how to accept tears as they come, please read this short blog post- Weeping Creates a River– I came across it about a year ago, and it resonated incredibly deeply with me.)

There was a time when this sudden flood of emotion overwhelmed me, terrified me, stopped me in my tracks and held me hostage- every single time it washed over me. There was a time when an NPR spot about a baseball game left me unable to see the road through my tears (Why?! I don’t even like baseball!). There was a time when every single meltdown left me confused and angry. This morning, however, the tears slip sedately down my cheeks. Traffic remains visible, and I do myself a favor and turn the radio off. My mind embraces the silence, and I follow my thoughts where they lead.

Not for the first time, my thoughts drift all the way back to Death Valley.

I hit Death Valley back in…. good grief, back in March. I’d just come from San Diego, via Tucson, Phoenix, and my World of Beer Application. The very last stop I made before venturing back out into the wilderness was Scottsdale, a suburb of Phoenix, where I spent a long Easter weekend with friends from home. It was a wonderfully relaxing weekend; just what I needed after the whirlwind that was my World of Beer Application process. (A million, billion thank you’s Alex and Liz.)

After this respite, I made my way back to California. I was due in the small town of Aptos, just outside of Santa Cruz, for that farm-sitting gig in a couple days, and I had decided to drive the extra 4 hours to include Death Valley National Park in my trip so that I could try to catch the tail end of the El Niño induced super bloom there.

I did catch the tail end of the bloom- it took stopping my car along the road literally dozens of times, it took bending down and really looking, but I found some incredible desert flowers. And I even got a peek of the show at its height up at the higher elevations.

But even though I went to Death Valley for the flowers, my trip into our country’s largest designated ‘wilderness’ didn’t really end up being about the flowers. Death Valley was where everything kind of came together for me mentally.

For months I had been ruminating on the idea of pain, and the suffering that accompanies it. I had been thinking about the ways that we avoid emotional pain- mainly by distancing ourselves from others, hiding ourselves and hoping that no one figures out that we’re as vulnerable as they are.

… Really though, now that I think about it, this is something I had been pondering for years. I can vividly remember the first time I had a mini epiphany about the merits of embracing versus avoiding pain.

…. So, I love to go barefoot, I have my entire life. Growing up out in the country will do that to a girl. By the time I was eleven, however, my family had moved into town, and for the first time in my life my poor little feet had to face the hot summer pavement on a regular basis. It was an early summer day, and all I wanted to do was dash across the street to my friend’s house. And I remember standing there on the edge of our porch, vacillating between dipping back inside for shoes, or making a break for the relief of the yard across the street. School had only recently let out, and my feet weren’t yet the tough, callused things that I knew they would be by the end of the summer.

As I stood there, I reasoned that if I put shoes on for that trip, it was going to be that much longer before they got tough enough for the heat not to matter. And in that moment, it hit me- that’s the point. The longer I tried to avoid the pain, the longer the pain would be an issue. And so (after looking both ways) I dashed across that street barefoot.

Since then, I have made an effort to go barefoot whenever I can. And I believe in pushing my feet, even when it hurts, so that they can become tougher so that I can go barefoot more often.

For this reason, all along my trip I went on barefoot hikes. And sometimes it was amazing- at White Sands in New Mexico, the sand was so soft it literally made me laugh out loud. In Big Bend in south Texas, I abandoned my flip flops for what I thought was a half mile walk along a metal board walk that ended up being a very painful trip across some very sharp rocks. And I experienced every bit of that pain.

In Death Valley, there was another little half mile hike, and it’s Death Valley, so it’s all volcanic gravel of varying consistencies. But this one wasn’t so bad, because the gravel was deep. So, barefoot I went, and by the top, between the heat and the rocks and the fact that I’d been barefoot all day so my feet were a bit tender, it hurt.

But this time when I started feeling that pain, I was thinking about what my new friend the physicist and I had been talking about. We had been discussing feeling pain versus experiencing distress, and the fact that while pain is inevitable, distress is a byproduct of the human tendency to worry unnecessarily, and to dwell on all of the things that we can’t control. Then I thought about what Ted from Big Bend said about releasing pain instead of clinging to it. And I thought about reality- what was really happening to my feet when I felt pain? I wasn’t breaking the skin, there was no blood, it wasn’t hot enough to burn them (cause a blister). So what was the purpose of feeling the pain? To find my limits, to stop me before I did break the skin or cause a real burn. And if that’s the only real purpose for the pain, why did I need to experience it so deeply if I knew my feet were safe?

So, I let go of the pain. And the walking was easy. I felt what was happening, and kept track of the physical status in regards to real harm, but then I let go of it, moment to moment. …

Despite the baking sun, and the rough ground, I sat for a while at the top of the crater I had just climbed past and pondered the things that had been whirling in my head for the past couple months.

My metaphor about going barefoot isn’t a perfect one- the goal of me being emotionally vulnerable is never so that I can become emotionally callused. Instead, the ‘calluses’ on my spirit are lessons learned. With that in mind, I pondered the difference between pain and suffering, and the choices we all have, every moment, that shape the types of lives we lead. I knew I was capable of happiness. I knew that, given the right circumstances, happiness could find me- it had found me.

But perhaps there’s more. Pain is unavoidable. This we know. And so often, when we find ourselves in pain, we just put our heads down and slog through it, waiting for happiness to return. But what if there are other options? What if, every time we confront pain, we remember that pain is transformative, an opportunity for growth? That suffering is optional, a choice we sometimes make by not choosing?

And then I thought some more, and I realized- there’s more to this metaphor than just learning how to release unnecessary pain. Just as moving along a trail barefoot requires awareness, requires you to slow down and be more mindful of each step, perhaps living a life where you don’t avoid every possibility of pain helps you be more present? Walking along a trail barefoot helps me remember to really see what is around me. Perhaps living without our masks, without the preconceived notion that all pain is bad, helps us be more aware, more mindful of the world around us, and more mindful of others and their emotions.

Then, to take it just a step further, perhaps releasing our inherent, irrational fear of pain helps us be better friends. Instead of worrying ourselves when we see our friends making decisions that we think will so clearly end up causing them pain, we can be happy for them at a time when they are happy. And we can sit with them when they are in pain, and learn with them from that pain, instead of just trying to help them forget it.

… All of these remembered thoughts went through my head as I escaped the traffic the other morning and started scooping up pooches to take them on a hike. I still get sad. I still cry, sometimes a lot. In fact, pretty much every single one of my blog posts has been washed in my tears. But these days, I don’t stay sad. Generally, I choose to let go of pain, rather than cling to it. Learning how to do this- how to accept that pain exists, how to really feel that pain, and then how to not dwell on that pain- has been incredibly freeing.

That said, I’ve been wearing my shoes a lot more lately. Until this past weekend, it hadn’t rained in months in California, and there are a lot of little tiny thorns out there. And after I’d dug, oh I dunno, maybe the sixth one out of my foot, I realized maybe I was being a bit silly- sure some pain is inevitable, but did I really need to be asking for it?

So perhaps there’s a middle ground.

I’m going to keep looking for it.

“To travel is to take a journey into yourself.” (Danny Kaye)

‘It’s just rotting food, it’s just rotting food, it’s just rotting food.’

This is the mantra that I found myself relying on just a few hours into my first full day in Tucson. I was cleaning a fridge on the property that I had arrived at the night before- the property that I was supposed to be volunteering on all week.

My mantra served me fairly well, until I hit the jar labeled ‘humanure.’ … If you’re not familiar with humanure…. Well… just google it. Personally, I have no problem with the concept, but in that moment I found that I draw the line at storing it in the food fridge.

The entire time that I was cleaning this fridge, while reminding myself that I’ve encountered worse than rotten food in my line of work, I was struggling internally as I tried to decide what I was going to do about the situation I found myself in. … I had already agreed to stay on this ‘urban farm’ for a week, and I was seriously wondering how I’d make it through the day. Every stop on our tour of the property had left me more and more uneasy, and by the time I got to work, I was bordering on queasy.

I struggled for hours- while I cleaned that fridge and then weeded the garden by the sink hole, and while I escaped for a lunch not covered in flies, and then while I sat in a parking lot on the phone with my mother. I’m not a quitter, and I do want to help people follow their dreams. Was I just being unreasonable? I know there are people in the world who exist happily in worse conditions. Plus, I’d made a commitment. And what would I say if I did go? How would I tell this well-intentioned, although perhaps a tad delusional, man how uncomfortable I was?

In the end, I opted for allowing myself the space to be comfortable- it was plainly clear that any good I did that week on the farm would be negated by neglect almost immediately, and staying somewhere that would make me miserable would do no one any good. It was far from an easy decision, and it required a very awkward conversation. But it was clear that any other decision would have left me frustrated and anxious.

And so, I found myself car camping in Tucson, Arizona for a week.

Looking back months later (…. I really let my writing game slip, y’all), I can easily see the irony in my decision to stay in my car so that I could be more comfortable. I’ll never know what would have happened if I had stayed at that urban farm, but what actually happened included struggling to find safe parking places at night, one horrendously hungover day, and one day wracked in the grips of moderate, but still very real, food poisoning. (Lesson: Either keep ice in your cooler, or don’t try to store your Rueben in there for 8 hours… In the desert….)

But! I also had a pretty phenomenal week. … It was kind of crazy, but I finally was at a point where bad things happened and I never felt bad. (Well, emotionally…) I got to catch up with an old friend. I went on one of the most amazing hikes of my entire trip. And I found out about the World of Beer internship, which ended up shaping the next month or so of my travels (and even though I didn’t get the job, I’m still pretty thrilled with where the application process took me).

I also found inspiration in Tucson. I had the chance to probe the side streets of a magical city that was teeming with the most random tid-bits (and huge examples) of how neat and artistic people can be. And I made some pretty awesome new friends. I made a new friend who let me shower at his place (well, it was his friend’s place, but still- a hot shower!). I met a couple who took me in for a night, made me breakfast, and sent me away with parting gifts. And I met a physicist who inspired me in so many ways.

At the end of the week, as I headed for Joshua Tree National Park- via Phoenix- it was with a full heart and a racing mind. But this was a good race my thoughts were in. For once they weren’t swirling in circles, trying to beat each other to nowhere; my thoughts raced ahead of me- across the desert to San Diego, and across the months ahead to my future.

It was a good feeling.

The good feelings persisted as I explored Joshua Tree my first day there. Deserts continue to surprise and baffle me, and I had a wonderful time exploring a new one.

Ocotillo in bloom

Half Moon behind Joshua Trees in bloom

 

But I was feeling antsy, and ready to get to San Diego. And so, on the morning of my second day in Joshua Tree, I found myself in a coffee shop, trying to both write and weigh my options. I may never make it back to Joshua Tree, and I didn’t want to squander a chance to explore further. But what would I explore?

Fortunately, I ended up chatting with a few of the older gentlemen who were obviously regulars at the coffee shop I was sitting in. After discussing both farming and art, one of them told me about the world’s oldest living organism, the creosote bush that’s been carbon dated to 11,000 years old- the creosote bush that’s somewhere not too far away, on a non-descript piece of land off of a road with an incredibly unassuming name. The King Clone creosote bush.

Well, forget writing and I guess I know what I’m doing with my day. A google search and an hour later, I found myself slipping between the top and bottom wires of a two-wire fence a forty-minute drive from Joshua Tree and into a protected area comprised almost entirely of sand, rocks, and creosote.

Having done an unusually good job at following directions, I found the “King Clone” fairly quickly (at least, I have to assume I did- there were no signs)

King Clone

 

And then I was faced with the question- how do you honor the world’s oldest living being? Something that has managed to replicate itself for centuries upon centuries, through climate changes and geographical changes and changes in the very air it breathes.

… I read once that they’ve proven that tomato plants enjoy being stroked (“petted”). I quickly extrapolated that when I read it- it seems so obvious that most plants would enjoy being caressed. Isn’t that what we all crave? Isn’t that the best part of the mammalian experience? … But the leaves on this creosote bush were far too small to caress. So I settled for cupping a branch in my hands. And then I realized what I could share- my breath. Concentrated CO2. In exchange for O2. Energy, life, freely given, freely shared.

As I breathed in and out, and the smell of creosote became stronger, I realized that I was sharing something else, too. The moisture of my breath was collecting on the waxy leaves, and it occurred to me how rare such wetness was.

As I looked up from the creosote bush, and around at the vast expanse, surrounded by rolling hills and gentle peaks, I breathed extra deep and took a moment to appreciate where I was. I was in the middle of the desert, and it was a gorgeous day. I had just met a plant that most people will never even know about, and I had just spent the night beneath the speckled sky in a part of the country that I had never been to before. …. It was all so incredibly special, and even though I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, where I was was pretty unexpected, and pretty amazing.

Plus, it was already clear my next couple months would be full. It was an exciting prospect, and as I climbed in my car and headed towards the Pacific Ocean, music blasting, I was again engulfed in joy.

Ok. In my next update, I finally get up to the present day. … That’s the plan at least.

“Your heart knows the truth of openness and suffers the tense lie of your closure.” (David Deida)

 

Coming into the Guadelupe Mountains as I left Texas (the view that would distract me, to the severe detriment of my car…)

 

Well, as may have become apparent, I decided to allow myself a little writing sabbatical whilst staying on the farm in Aptos. (And then, as my time on the farm extended past what I expected, my break from writing did also…)

I’m in the process of transitioning to a new location, and so will also transition back to sharing my words.

Ok, picking up where we left off.

… So, I left Big Bend with an incredibly full heart… and a mind still full of worry and anxiety.

Isn’t that how it goes? We can grow, and learn, and come to understand so much, and still our minds will subvert us sometimes. . .

Well, I headed north to spend a few days in Roswell, New Mexico with a mind that was subverting me at every turn. Fortunately, I made some incredible new friends in Roswell, and the laughter and joy that I shared there helped me deal with my wild, challenging, and sometimes uncontrollable thoughts and emotions.

Sunrise over Roswell

 

“How does one who has zero interest in aliens or conspiracy theories end up in Roswell, New Mexico?” you might ask… Well, I’ll admit, even though I have very little interest in aliens or conspiracy theories, I was still fairly intrigued by the idea of visiting a placed so steeped in history, even if the history is of the more recent, and bizarre, variety.

And so, while looking on helpx for a place to spend the weekend on my way to Tucson, I kept coming back to Roswell. And it just so happened that there was a lady in Roswell who was open to short term guests (most helpx positions have a minimum stay of two weeks). So, I made contact with Karen, the motorcycle riding sports reporter who hosts short and long term helpers. Her main concern is making sure her llamas, goats, and chickens are taken care of, as her work schedule often keeps her out until all hours of the evening. Karen also just really enjoys meeting new people from around the world, and so doesn’t really mind if those new people just want to come hang out. That in itself it pretty rare for a helpx gig.

Early morning view of Karen’s place

I pulled into Karen’s little homestead on the western outskirts of Roswell around lunchtime on Friday. Karen was upstairs resting, but one of the couples who was staying with her long term was just making breakfast. Within minutes of walking in the door, I was being jovially razzed by the cheeky Brit Iain, and I spent the next four days attempting to keep up with him and his humor. Iain’s partner Kristina is as sweet and kind as Iain is jocular, and as I got acquainted with them, I slowly met the other wonderful souls that I would be sharing space with. Karen made her way down, and not long after that the other couple visiting, Mak and Greg, came out of their bedroom to greet the day and the new arrival.

Karen’s home is everything you could possibly want from a little farmstead on the outskirts of Roswell. The library is extensive and almost exclusively sci-fi, Karen’s spirit animal is dragons (and so there were dragon figurines everywhere), and the llamas gave the place the last little kick of surreality that helps one feel as though one has really arrived in Roswell (without ever having to actually venture into Roswell).

 

The mantle I spent the weekend sleeping under.

I passed such a wonderful weekend with these folks laughing, sharing travel stories, discussing international politics, and helping them with general animal chores. I took a couple llamas for a walk, vetted a sick chick, and helped introduce a new goat to the herd. It was nothing I expected, and everything I needed.

On the way to Roswell from Marfa, the town where I overnighted upon leaving Big Bend, just before I crossed the Guadalupe Mountains from Texas into New Mexico, I managed to somehow hit the only cantaloupe sized rock lying in the road. This resulted in a fair amount of damage to my car, and necessitated finding an auto repair shop in Roswell. And so, on Saturday morning I made what would be one of my only trips into Roswell proper to get my car worked on. Other than that, and a trip to the grocery store, I really didn’t explore much more in the city (and yet, somehow, I still feel like I got the full Roswell experience). There was just too much fun to be had out on Karen’s little farm.

Plus, I wasn’t feeling particularly adventurous by the time I got to Roswell. Not only was I pretty burnt out (literally…) from my time in Big Bend, I was also pretty down emotionally.

Because my mind was subverting me.

… Why was my mind subverting me?

Well, along with getting a flat tire, I also penned a pretty emotionally charged email on my way out of Texas. I had been corresponding with… alright, alright, I had been corresponding with a boy, and in the process of trying to establish some guidelines for continued communication, I leveled with him about just how strongly I felt about him. And then, after days of back and forth emails, I didn’t hear anything else from him once I sent that email. And, naturally, my mind managed to do pretty much the worst possible things with that development.

I knew I was being a tad dramatic; this guy was in the process of preparing to leave his job and move overseas. Where I had hours of free time for my mind to spend spinning every day, I realized that he probably had little to none. And I was sure that, given the gravity of the information- and emotion- imparted, he wanted to take the time to respond accordingly.

And so I tried to reason with myself. I tried to remember everything that I had discussed with Ted in Big Bend. I tried to remember that I am a strong, confident, beautiful, independent woman- despite whatever insecurities I may have been experiencing at the moment. I tried to just not worry.

But, in the end, the most effective remedy was doing pretty much anything with Iain and Kristina- making a meal, or walking the llamas, or riding around with them in the farm truck. Those two beautiful souls, completely unwittingly, kept me sane that weekend. Whenever my mind’s subversive side was overwhelming its rational side, a conversation with those two was enough to subdue both sides. Really, I cannot possibly convey to you all how absolutely hilarious Iain is. He had us all in stitches, pretty much constantly.

Thus passed my four days in Roswell. Too quickly, Tuesday arrived, and although I would have loved to have stayed, I had already set up a volunteer position in Tucson, and I was due there Tuesday evening. And so, after visiting the White Sands National Monument and grabbing coffee with a friend from Louisiana on my way out of New Mexico, I crossed into Arizona.

I finally made it to Tucson around 8 at night, and immediately headed to this property. The owner greeted me and explained that as the helper’s lodging wasn’t ready, I’d be spending the evening with one of his tenants. …. Another unorthodox occurrence, but these little hiccups I can deal with. After introducing the two of us, the owner headed to where he spends his evenings, leaving me to figure out dinner for myself.

As I was still being subverted by my mind, I wasn’t in a position to spare too much energy worrying about things so inconsequential as food and shelter. My first order of business was relieving the mental pressure I was feeling, and I realized- suddenly- that there was an easy answer to this problem, one that didn’t involve chiding myself back from an emotional ledge, or relying on other people to distract me.

I needed to ask for help.

Alright, maybe ‘easy’ answer is a bit of a stretch.

… … I’m not sure how it is for everyone else, but I imagine that a lot of people have difficulty asking for help. As a friend of mine has often pointed out, Americans attempt to exist as ‘rugged individualists,’ often to our detriment. Still, this is what we’re taught- to ask for help is to expose your vulnerabilities, to appear weak.

And asking for emotional assistance is significantly more difficult that asking for physical assistance. This is often seen as emotional neediness, and as another friend of mine pointed out so succinctly- being emotionally needy is often not conducive to having your emotional needs met.

And yet I find myself attempting to live by different rules.

… I have never been good with conversational boundaries- even though I have always inherently understood how to be polite and appropriate, I had to teach myself how to not share too much of myself. Always, my natural inclination is to be entirely open with every single person who crosses my path. This can obviously be a problem, and I spent my high school years trying to figure this out. It was around then that I learned the hard way that we all wear masks for a reason, and walking around without one is pretty dangerous- handing every part of yourself to every single person you meet leaves you impossibly open to being irreparably damaged. And so I learned how to censor myself, and hide parts of myself, even though it felt dishonest. (And then I spent years in a relationship with a man who discouraged vulnerability and ‘emotional neediness’ at every turn, and so this lesson was pretty well cemented in.)

Recently, however, I have reconsidered my role in this conversational collusion that we all take part of. I’ve spent the past six months trying to figure it all out again, this whole mask business, and whether or not wearing one is doing me any good. Because I’ve realized something about our tendency, as humans, to wear a mask, and I’ve realized something about my tendency, as me, to want to throw my mask to the ground- our masks are what hold us back. They are what keep us separate from those around us, when we could be living such significantly fuller lives if we were all willing to risk the possible pain that can sometimes come with being exposed and showing our true selves.

As I’ve traveled across the country, I have practiced being absolutely transparent with every single person I’ve met; I’ve practiced admitting my flaws openly, and sharing my deepest wishes and hopes without hesitation. And over and over again, I have had such wonderful, amazingly deep and life changing conversations. Over and over again I’ve realized that this is how we were meant to communicate with each other. Maybe sometimes it leads to pain, but always it leads to a deeper and more real understanding of the people we encounter.

And I’ve realized that the risk of possible pain- this isn’t the risk I once saw it as. Pain equates to growth, and isn’t that my ultimate, number one goal right now? I am big enough and strong enough these days that it is much more difficult for the random passerby to cause irreparable damage. Past that, I am big enough and strong enough these days that, when there is damage done, the repairing process is a wonderful, special time of growth.

And so, after ruminating on all of this for months, I decided to put this to the test- to drop my mask, even further, with someone who was hurting me. I decided to ask for help, even though this had the potential to leave me even more vulnerable than I already was.

So I sent another email, and made every attempt to keep it as light hearted as possible, while still being honest about what I was feeling. I let this guy know, “Hey, this is the kind of situation that encourages the irrational side of my mind to kind of run wild.” And then I tried to let the whole thing go.

Surprisingly, this was much easier than I expected. But really, I should have seen that coming- over and over again I am finding that when I drop my mask and am honest with the people around me about the negative feelings that we all so often hide, that act alone can help calm those feelings. So often, just expressing myself, clearing the air, relieves so much emotional tension.

But I didn’t have to let it go for too long- before the evening was up, I had heard back from him. He was kind, understanding, appropriately contrite, and we finally established boundaries for continued communication. But more importantly, I had exposed myself- at pretty much my very worst- and it had ended positively. Throwing my mask to the ground, asking for help- this hadn’t proven that I am an emotionally weak person.

In fact, looking back now, I think it highlighted my emotional strengths. Sometimes it takes strength to ask for help, and sometimes it takes strength to be willing to acknowledge your flaws.

That night as I fell asleep, my mind finally resting after days of spinning in circles, I turned my thoughts forward. I had a week in Tucson, and- now that I had mental room to consider the current situation- it was looking like it’d be a quite interesting week.

…. Little did I know just how interesting it’d be.

Again, I’m going to leave you hanging. Sorry, California calls (literally, I can hear the quail right now), and I’ve got goats to milk this morning.

Until next time.

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself…” (Paulo Coelho)

“… And no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dream.”

Life at the Oasis…

 

Ok friends. Let’s see if I can do this.

The words haven’t been coming as easily lately. … Well, that’s not entirely accurate. The words have been flowing in, but they have been diverted lately. They’ve been diverted by my correspondence- instead of writing to myself in my journal or to a vague audience on this blog, I’ve been exchanging thousands of words with friends I’ve made along the way. The back and forth over the past month has really picked up, and I’ve found my creativity and thought focused on those exchanges.

Also, I’ve been focusing on real life things. Survival in the desert, while never a real concern, took up a lot of my energy- deserts are no joke. And then there was appreciating the desert- taking the time to really experience everything going on around me, and to try to wrap my mind around how amazing deserts really are, with all of their subtleties and little nooks and crannies of life.

Then that World of Beer internship application took up a lot of my physical and mental energies, and a fair amount of my emotional energy, as I tried to focus on the possibilities rather than the statistical reality of throwing my hat in with so many others. I knew that the application would be pointless if I didn’t make absolutely every effort possible, and even though I didn’t get the job, as least I can rest in the fact that I didn’t get it honestly; I made my best effort.

And then there has been my arrival in Aptos, CA to farm sit for a pair of kiwi (the fruit!) farmers who were heading to New Zealand to visit their daughter who’s studying abroad there. I literally sat down yesterday morning and realized I’ve been here for 10 days, and somehow it still feels like it should be right around April first or second. My first week here was so full, and so wonderful, that it absolutely flew by.

But there’s another reason this post has taken so long to get started- I had some pretty monumental experiences as I made my way across the desert, and I experienced some pretty fundamental paradigm shifts along the way, and I’ve been struggling with how to relate those experiences and shifts.

Finally, I think I’m ready to make a go of it.

And so let us backtrack in the story telling, all the way back to Texas and Big Bend National Park. (Which I reached via the charming town of Alpine and the odd little ghost town of Terlingua…)

Oh Big Bend. My first experience in a real desert.

(An aside: Something occurred to me as I walked through my first forest in Texas, about an hour north of Houston, before I even hit Austin. I was walking alongside a lake, but I was breathing some of the driest air I had ever experienced. And it hit me- I had never been in a desert before. I’ve read about so many different deserts over the years, imagined them countless times, over and over again. I’ve imagined the deserts that bordered C.S. Lewis’s Narnia, and the desert where Stanley Yelnats and his friends dug holes and avoided spotted lizards in Louis Sachar’s aptly titled Holes. I’ve imagined the deserts of the American southwest that Edward Abbey so lovingly described, and I’ve investigated the politics behind the water theft in those same deserts- thank you Marc Reisner, careful researcher and author of Cadillac Desert. I’ve even tentatively planned trips in real life to go visit some deserts. And so, in spite all of that imagining, and more I’m sure I’ve forgotten, I was stunned to realize that I had never actually been within 500 miles of an actual, real life desert. … Funny how we can tend to make other’s experiences our own- the power of words and our imagination.)

So, I thought that I had experienced dry air in that forest north of Houston. Then the climate got drier as I headed west of Austin. But no amount of reading or imagining or peripheral experiences could have prepared me for Big Bend, a place so dry that I opened a brand new loaf of bread, made a sandwich, immediately started eating, and still the last few bites were so stale I could barely chew them.

Plus, I thought I was hot walking around that research center outside of Austin. Again, I was ill-prepared for that deadly combination of heat and lack of humidity that I met in Big Bend. A friend of mine, every single time he mentions his few trips across the southwest, seems to slip in somewhere a more colorful variation of “Screw the desert.” … By the end of my first (admittedly very hungover) day in a real desert, I was pretty much on board. But then the sun set as I was coaxing my poor little station wagon down a road that gave the term “washboard” new meaning to me, and I immediately had to take back every single unfair thought that I had had over the course of the day. Ok, the desert is for real. For real hot, for real dry, for real dangerous, and for real beautiful. Good grief.

Also, I saw more wildlife in the couple hours straddling twilight than I had seen yet on my trip. I saw coyotes, road runners, javelinas, hawks, jack rabbits, cottontail rabbits, lizards, song birds, and deer. So really, what’s not to love?

Well, I remembered again about midday the next day, when the irony of collapsing from dehydration and heat exhaustion in the middle of February flitted across my mind. … Again, never any real danger, although I did resort to huddling in the meager shade beside a mid-sized boulder… more than once… as I fairly sincerely regretted my fairly impulsive decision to double my hiking distance for the day- in the middle of my hike.

This wouldn’t have been the biggest problem, except that I brought what I felt like was a sufficient amount of water for my planned five miles. After chasing interesting lead after interesting lead (and ending up at a pretty cool waterfall that doesn’t seem to be on any trail maps), I then had to make my return trip on half the water I should have had. By about mile 8, I was seriously questioning my decision making process (this happens fairly often, I’m realizing, and perhaps someday I should look into reevaluating the way that I make decisions…). Fortunately, right around mile 8 and a half, the sun had sunk low enough that I had my first truly shaded mile of the day.

 

So everything works out.

Then, around mile ten, with one mile left until the visitor center and my car and the promise of recovering from near desiccation, I was mentally side tracked from my distance calculating and self-pitying. Within moments, I had plunged into one of the most intense, interesting and informative conversations that I’ve had in my life. By the time I hit the campground- probably a half mile detour from my ultimate destination- I had been so thoroughly distracted from my dehydration that I stood there for another half hour finishing the conversation.

It happened like this-

Just after getting back to the main trail that I had started on, I passed a group of three older hikers going the same direction as me. As I walked ahead of them, I overheard them discussing the trail that I had come from, which was marked only by the trail name. So I turned around to tell them what I had found, mainly to save them the trouble of being misled by the name of the trail (like I was…).

Which was how I ended up walking and talking with them. After a few minutes one of the gentlemen stopped me and asked if he could honor me. … A little nonplussed, I said sure. So he stops walking and looks at me, bows slightly, and tells me how wonderful and strong and brave I am for hiking alone.

I wanted to hug the man.

I never, ever get this response from people I meet on the trail, especially older people. Pretty much everyone that I encounter on the trail either (A) cannot believe that I am hiking alone, it must be so scary, or (B) lectures me on being more safe. This is always a little frustrating for me because (A) it’s not scary, and it breaks my heart to meet people so wrapped up in worry and fear that they can’t enjoy the world around them and (B) there is always this level of condescension wrapped up in a lecture given on being more safe- I am a strong, confident, independent woman, who also happens to be an adult who is capable of taking care of herself.

I don’t say any of that to imply that I am not grateful for the concern these strangers are showing me- I truly, truly am, and I appreciate any goodwill sent my direction; I know these people mean well. Even so, it gets a little disheartening to constantly encounter negativity in the midst of what are some of the best times of my days.

Which is why this man (I would later learn his name is Ted) was initially so special to me. How wonderful to finally have someone see my hikes the way I see them. And so I asked if I could hug him, and he said yes, and our ensuing discussion about the importance of hugs was what really set our conversation off.

Within minutes the couple that Ted had been walking with had pulled ahead to find a bathroom, and in that same span of time, Ted and I had become absolutely engrossed in a conversation about nearly everything that I had been exploring thus far on my journey. It was almost immediately apparent that I had stumbled upon one of the most enlightened people I have ever met.

Our verbal exchange ranged from global consciousness to attachment theory to love to Buddhism. I learned that Ted is an engineer who’s a (kind of) Buddhist, and I told him about my trip thus far, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Ted validated ideas that I had been forming for years, and he offered so, so much support for the journey that I am on. It was as though this man saw to my very core- but the most remarkable part was that he was impressed by what he saw there. How incredibly encouraging to have a complete stranger believe so sincerely in the path that you are on…

Ted also suggested new ways of viewing issues that had been confusing me. By the time we reached the trail split (campground one way, visitor’s center the other), I wouldn’t have abandoned the conversation for my car if you had paid me. (Fortunately, the campground also had potable water.)

I’m so glad I stuck with the conversation, because the most immediately monumental part of the conversation came at the very end. Ted and I were standing in the campground, the sun was sinking quickly, and I had already given up on finding a good sunset view. Ted and I were discussing relationships with other people, and how complicated they can be, and how necessary it is to just love everyone and accept that everyone is trying their hardest. People are going to hurt you, pain is a part of life, and, really, pain is not a completely bad thing. We grow from pain, and pain allows us to appreciate pleasure and joy all the more.

These are all things that I had already touched on mentally, and it felt good to have someone else agree so completely.

 

But then Ted made a suggestion, and my life changed forever.

Ted suggested that perhaps we don’t need to hold onto our pain.

To explain what he meant, Ted told me a story (and I have no way of contacting him, and so I hope sincerely that wherever he is in this wide world, he doesn’t mind me sharing his story). Ted talked about going through a box of memories during his divorce from his wife. Every memento that he picked up was special, and every single one brought him joy as he remembered that happy time with his wife. But then, as he held onto every moment, remembering, he became more and more sad… Then he would set down the memento, and move on to the next. Again, that cycle of happiness, followed by sadness. Ted, ever the engineer, devised an impromptu experiment. He played with his emotions, testing this phenomena of happiness to sadness to setting the memento (and the sadness it brought) down. He realized that he was in control of the sadness- he was in control of how much pain he endured.

His experience with that box of memories was a direct example of our ability to choose, at any given moment, between clinging to the pain that we inevitably encounter, or releasing the pain and moving on to a more positive emotion.

What a simple idea. And yet, the ramifications are deep, varied, and far reaching.

I was in the midst of a fairly emotional day (… week… month…), and I was struggling with feeling rejected. And feeling rejected hurts. But then Ted suggested that perhaps I didn’t need to keep feeling that pain of rejection. Why hold onto pain, if I can make a choice to experience the pain, learn what I can from it, and then go back to my default state of happiness?

Why indeed.

As I finally headed for my car after hugging Ted goodbye, I tested this new paradigm for myself; and it worked. When I decided to release the pain I felt, rather than dwell on it, I was free to turn my attention elsewhere.

And suddenly, pain- the potential for it, the reality of it, the absolute assurance of it- was infinitely less intimidating to me. Why fear pain, why go to great lengths to avoid pain, if it can be as fleeting as I choose for it to be?

… This is an idea that I would continue to explore, in all of its various iterations, over the rest of my trip across the southwest.

But those stories will have to wait. I’m just easing back into this blogging thing, and I have a dozen other tasks demanding my attention this afternoon.

Until next time, friends.

“Blessed is the mother who gives birth to a brewer.” (Czech saying)

Well.

I seem to have fallen behind on this whole blogging thing.

I promise, I have some pretty phenomenal excuses though.

After I left Austin, I headed down to Big Bend National Park, via the ghost town of Terlingua, and from there I made my way across the southwest. I spent a long weekend in Roswell, New Mexico and then visited White Sands National Monument. I had an absurd and uncomfortable and (yet still) magical time in Tucson, Arizona. I visited Joshua Tree National Park on my way into California. And then I spent a ridiculously busy week in San Diego.

And yet, today I find myself back in Tucson, and I find that I’m still not quite ready to write about the southwest…

The experiences I’ve had and the people I’ve met over the past few weeks have changed my life. (Alright, alright, yes- every day is life changing, especially when you’re on a trip like this. But really though, these past few weeks were extra special.)

But I’m still trying to figure out how to explain it all. . .

And so, in the interim, I will talk a bit about San Diego, and my other excuse for my allowing the writing of words to fall by the wayside- this World of Beer internship application that I’ve been focusing on.

The last time I was in Tucson a couple weeks ago, I happened to find myself sitting in a World of Beer location. I needed to catch up on some correspondence, and since my lodging for the week had fallen through (a long story that, unfortunately, will have to wait for now), I was relying on coffee shops and breweries for space to work. I had seen the World of Beer earlier in the day, and resolved to return once it opened. Somehow this chain had slipped below my radar until Tucson, but it seemed like the kind of place that I needed to check out.

It indeed met and exceeded expectations, and I settled in at the bar with an awesome IPA and my laptop to make an attempt to answer the backlog of emails that I had acquired during my time in the desert. (Of course, I ended up making friends and abandoning the emails, opting for an adventure in downtown Tucson, but again- another story…) In my perusal of the menu, I noticed an ad for open interviews for traveling beer interns. I incredulously asked the bartender, “Is this really a thing?!” He replied in the positive, and in that moment, my life shifted ever so slightly.

I was instantly intrigued, and the more I thought about it as I finished my drive out to San Diego, the more I realized I wanted this job. I needed this job.

So when I got to San Diego and again had internet, I really looked into it. Essentially, travel all summer finding good beer and good food. The description reads, “Whether you’re a photographer or a writer, social media maverick or beer blog surfer, we are looking for you. Adventure seekers and storytellers… Creative types… Friendly folk who love meeting new people, sharing stories with strangers… Outgoing personalities who can talk to anyone… Travelers who love to hit the road every chance they get.” Ok, not only do I need this job, I’m perfect for this job. This is literally everything I’m doing already.

Well, mostly. Another part of the job description calls for social media nuts. Uh, there I’m lacking. Maverick I could see. Nut, not so much. … I would say I’m closer to a social media dabbler. I’ve just never made the time to really cultivate my online persona because I find that I prefer human to human interactions. Also, I’ve never really been one for the whole cataloging every experience on the web thing, mainly because I’m generally too interested in having that experience- really having it, in the moment, without worrying about what it says about other’s perception of me.

However, for this job, I could become a nut.

And so that’s what I did in San Diego- I began my foray into being a social media nut.

…. And it was actually a lot more fun than I anticipated.

Fortunately for me, the friend I was staying with in San Diego is also a craft beer fan (we actually met at a brewery on the eastern shore where she tended bar for a while). Currently Nicole is studying for her level one sommelier exam, and so of late she has been focusing on her other passion, good wine, but she was kind enough to take some time away from her studying and explore the San Diego craft beer scene with me.

If ever there were a place to decide to apply to be a traveling beer intern, San Diego is quite possibly that place. Yet again, I found myself overwhelmed by all of the possibilities. And so yet again, I stopped short of doing everything, and settled for just doing everything I possibly could. We had a whirlwind week, and I had so many incredible, amazing, wonderful beers, and I met so many incredible, amazing, wonderful people.

We visited White Labs, which supplies the various yeast strains for brewers. Pretty much, if you’ve had beer, you’ve had White Labs yeast. And so in their tasting room, visitors have the opportunity to see what a difference the strain of yeast chosen makes in the outcome of the beer. Every beer that they have on tap is on there in quadruplicate; they split every batch brewed into four different fermentation tanks, and a different strain of yeast is added to each tank. And so, you could go there and try their hefeweizen (like I did), and you could have four distinctly different hefeweizens, that are distinctly different only because of the strains of yeast chosen. It was pretty incredible, and appealed strongly to my science background.

We also visited a plethora of breweries. We hit Ballast Point, Culture, Pizza Port, Fall, Modern Times, and Belching Beaver, all in a couple days. And while we explored, I got the chance to catch up with a really good friend and her boyfriend, two people who I care about so deeply, and who I don’t talk to nearly enough. We had a wonderful couple days together and we were joined on the second day of our adventuring by another Maryland friend, Megan. It was a wonderful introduction into the San Diego beer scene.

Then, once Nicole and Sean and Megan had to return to their respective jobs, I set out on my own. I explored farmer’s markets and various neighborhoods. I made friends with bartenders and butchers and barbers. I saw places that I had heard about my entire life, having been born in San Diego, and having left within a few months of my birth. And I visited more breweries. Over the next few days, I made it to Acoustic Brewing Experiment, Karl Strauss, Hillcrest Brewing, Bolt Brewing, Barn Brewing, and Oggi’s Pizza and Brewing.

It was a long week, and I definitely left San Diego short on sleep, but completely full of love and contentment.

And as I drove back to Arizona to attend the open interview at the Phoenix World of Beer location, I thought about everything that has been happening on this trip, and how different this trip has been than what I’d imagined.

… When I left the plantation I was managing, I just knew I had to leave. Running that farm defined me, and that definition came to overwhelm me as I became more physically and emotionally unwell. I just had to get out, but I figured I was just getting out to get well and then get right back in.

When I left on this trip, I thought that I was leaving to (mainly) find a new place to farm. I knew there’d be some adventures, and that I’d meet some new people and visit some friends. But my goal was figuring out where I wanted to explore my next iteration of being “Frannie Farmer.”

But this trip has turned into so much more. And I’ve realized- I had to leave the farm because I needed the chance to discover every other part of myself that was being smothered by my title of “farmer.” I needed to go on this trip because I needed the space and the time to delve into every other part of myself that I’ve always been too busy to explore.

I never knew I was creative. I never knew I harbored the room inside to love so many different things- dancing and photography and poetry and sharing myself with others through my writing. And I never knew that that harbor also contained an infinite amount of space for getting to know, and learning to love, every single person I meet.

In the same way that I always thought that I was reading books in bars just as a way to enjoy a good book and a good beer, I thought that I left on this trip to find a new farm. And in the same way that I’ve discovered that I’m reading in bars because it’s the best way to make new friends, I’ve discovered that I left on this trip so that I could really find myself (as glaringly cliché as that sounds).

… And in the same way that I’m learning to love every single person I encounter, I’m learning to love myself- deeply, with abandon, and without expectation.

I’m not sure if I’ll get this job- I’m sure the competition is fierce. But I’m thrilled to be able to spend a couple more days in Tucson, and I’m thrilled to find out what the rest of this trip holds in store for me.

Whatever happens, I’m sure it’ll be just perfect.

 

“A mind that is stretched by new experiences can never go back to its original dimensions.” (Oliver Wendell Holmes)

Today is a bit like a birthday for me.

One year ago today, in a bamboo temple in a forest in Costa Rica, I woke up after my first experience with Ayahuasca. And my life changed forever.

The journey to get to this particular forest was not a straightforward one. I had been aware of Ayahuasca, and the chemical compound dimethyltryptamine (DMT), for a few years. I had done the research- I had heard the stories about DMT being used to treat everything from anxiety and depression to heroin addiction, and with astonishing success rates. I’d seen the documentaries and explored the science. I knew that Ayahuasca was my last option before turning to pharmaceuticals to attempt to drag myself out of the mire that my mental life had become. I had looked into the spiritual aspects behind the drug; I had heard the claims about DMT being the ‘spirit molecule,’ the one chemical chain that every living being shares. I knew that there were people who maintained that ingesting Ayahuasca gave you access to global consciousness, to the Universe at large.

However, upon leaving the US in the fall and heading to Costa Rica, I had very few ideas about where to find Ayahuasca, past, ‘go to Peru.’

Don’t get me wrong- there are plenty of people in Peru with access to the internet who are trying to get you to come stay with them, pay lots of money, and have a healing experience. But I didn’t want it to be like that. As with any natural or traditional solution in today’s world, the growing popularity of Ayahuasca has invited as many charlatans as there are tourists looking for a quick fix to their problems or for a story to tell back home. And so the plan that I developed with my boyfriend at the time, who I was traveling with for the winter, was that we would head towards Peru from Costa Rica, and plan on spending a month or two there meeting locals and feeling out the situation. If Ayahuasca found us, great. If not, we weren’t going to push it. Better to have no experience at all than a bad one.

Alas, our plans were thwarted within a couple days of flying into Costa Rica. It seemed that the Darien Gap, a small strip of land located at the border between Panama and Colombia, would be keeping us out of South America. (Central and South America are contiguous- technically. However, the political climate and guerilla warfare in northern Colombia ensure that traveling from Central to South America by land is essentially impossible, at least using public transit. This we figured out once we were in Central America, and planning on heading south to spend most of our trip in South America… Poor planning strikes again.) Because the Darien Gap is essentially impassable, that put flights and boats from Central to South America at a premium. It was going to cost us more to get to Peru from Costa Rica than it would have if we had flown straight there from Washington DC.

So, since we weren’t going to push it from the beginning, we just let go of South America mentally, and turned our focus to Spanish lessons and surfing in Costa Rica, Guatemala, and El Salvador.

Then, through an incredible set of chance encounters and with a fair amount of serendipity, I found myself back in Costa Rica at the end of our trip. Just a week before our flight home we rolled into a little community about an hour inland from the coastal town of Dominical, where we would be staying for about five days. The schedule included morning yoga sessions, a sweat lodge, and an Ayahuasca ceremony, all within the context of this healing community that uses nutrition, plant based medicine, and music to help people heal and grow.

I was out of my element, I was scared to death of what I was going to have to face during the ceremony, and I was absolutely starving the whole time I was there (they maintained a mainly vegan diet, with no processed sugar or caffeine, to ensure physical well being during the process of all of that spiritual growth. We also missed a few meals due to ceremonies. All around, my body was not thrilled, although I’m sure it did me some good.).

But I was there. And because I was there, I am here now- sitting in Austin, on this road trip, building this new life.

When I realized yesterday morning that exactly a year before I had woken up to the morning before the ceremony, I had to take a minute. This was a huge event in my life, and I wanted to honor it, somehow. So I reflected on the past year, and I flipped through my journal to what I had written this time last year.

Then I realized that even though I still haven’t caught up on my writing about Louisiana, I wanted to write about this experience. It almost feels like a duty. I know one of the secrets to mental stability and building a happy life. It’s not the only way, but it’s a way that worked for me- and worked well. I personally believe that every single person who is even minutely open to the idea of Ayahuasca should experience it at least once in their lives. Make the effort, find a shaman, prepare for the experience, and then just do it. There is no one who wouldn’t benefit from having their mind opened and their secret fears exposed to themselves.

And so, here is my story. What is in italics are direct excerpts from my journal, and the rest is added for clarification. (There is a lot in here that is challenging to traditional sensibilities, and I’m not presenting anything as absolute truth, just the truth as I understood it twelve months ago.)

 

(2/21)

Well, I have survived a sweat lodge. And of course, I have mixed feelings about it. Not surviving- that’s good. But the experience.

[…]

My mind wanders easily right now. I’m not sure if it’s the setting, or the mindset, or the lingering effects of the Peyote. The latter might be a small stretch- we were only given 2 small doses. But I guess it’s still possible…

It took a while to get things going yesterday. We were invited to start making our way down to the fire shortly after breakfast, but we probably didn’t start the sweat until around 1. Some people got a bit agitated by this, but I was at the point where nothing was in my control, so why sweat it… (get it?).

[…]

So, once we got started- we were swept with sage smoke, given a dose of Peyote, and we entered the sweat lodge. Girls on one side, guys on the other- everyone moves in a circle, clockwise. Once I found my seat, I added a bit of water to the granulated Peyote in my hand, and then ate it- it is not tasty. Then they started bringing rocks in from the fire. Before they even shut the door, we were all sweating. Then after the door was shut, and once water was poured over the rocks, it was stupendously hot- sweat was literally pouring off of us. Everyone sang, and listened to Vismay [the shaman]. I listened, but didn’t feel like singing.

[The center of all of the healing work done at this particular location is music. They have entire song books for both the sweat lodge ceremonies and the Ayahuasca ceremonies, and participants are encouraged to learn the songs before hand, and to participate in the singing, which is pretty much constant throughout both ceremonies. I did not sing at all, outside of the songs before each meal, because I was just too caught up in my own mental space, and fortunately that was okay with them also.]

At that point, I was reluctant to move lower to the ground, because even with my sarong to sit on, I was going to be covered in dirt/mud. So I sat. Pulled my knees up and put my head between them to get some relief from the steam. By the time Vismay opened the door, I was lightheaded and tingly, with sweat literally blinding me. I stumbled down to the river and immediately got in. Then went back in and started again.

The cold and wet had broken through the Peyote, and so the sensations calmed back down. I also had a talk with myself about my pride and accepted that I was going to get dirty, and reminded myself that that’s ok- it washes off.

From there on out, the going was somewhat easier. But still extremely uncomfortable. There were 4 rounds- for the 4 elements- with a longer break in the middle, followed by the second dose of Peyote. By the time we were done, it was almost sunset.

[The granulated Peyote they gave us wasn’t intended to be enough for a real trip, but rather enough to open us up to what the sweat was meant to accomplish- physical and emotional detoxification, with the goal of preparing for the Ayahuasca ceremony the next night. When looking at the schedule for our visit, I was entirely uninterested in participating in the sweat- I’m not one for voluntarily being uncomfortable- but I decided to follow their advice and really participate in the whole experience. If I was going to be subsisting on salads and veggie soup, I may as well sweat a lot too.

During the sweat, I would have told you, “Never again.” In retrospect, I do see the purpose and the functionality of the sweat, and would definitely participate again if I returned for another Ayahuasca ceremony.]

2/22

Last night felt like drinking the Kool Aid. And then I got it…

[Allow me to set the scene- the Ayahuasca ceremony started just after sunset, and lasted most of the night. It took place in the temple in a clearing in the center of the property. The temple was lit most of the night, and everyone was arranged on small mattresses around a small tabletop altar in the center of the temple. Again, guys on one side, girls on the other. Everyone was asked to wear white, and to begin with everyone was standing and singing. Doses of Ayahuasca were given by Vismay; one by one we went to him and took our dose, then returned to our mats. Everyone was free to move about, but was also encouraged to remain close. There were three total doses offered over the course of the evening, although most everyone (myself included) only took the first two.

One of the side effects of Ayahuasca is that it makes you vomit. Traditionally, this is seen as the physical manifestation of your emotional purging, and it’s understood that allowing yourself to vomit is the beginning of the real experience. Most retreat centers provide buckets to participants specifically for this purpose. Where we were, in an open air temple in the woods, we were encouraged to step outside to vomit. I guess this saved a couple steps in the composting cycle.]

After the first dose of Ayahuasca, I became aware that I was taking part in an ancient ritual. We’re in the jungle, in a bamboo temple, standing in a circle, dancing and singing, worshipping the Earth. We’re all taking the same hallucinogen and laying down together to trip face. To be connected to the Universe. My mental conditioning rejected being a part of the scene, even though I do believe in the basic premise of it all. It just felt so… cliché, in a way- exactly what you would imagine. And then the medicine kicked in and – in a real way- I got it. I still was a little uncomfortable, but I understood. And from there, the night only got crazier….

It was overwhelming, it was wonderful, it was eye opening…

I really expected a dark trip, because I really expected to have to work through so much of what makes me so sad. But almost nothing negative happened. I worried about Nate and Kivie helped by checking on him. After that, I was free to explore and learn. I glimpsed the Universe, feeling our pain with us. I saw the trees loving us. Molly was a fairy, carrying fire. And then everyone walking around was. … And at one point, I got to peek into the astral spaces. […]That was probably the single most trippy experience of my life. I don’t know now if it was real. But it felt real. So very real…

[That was pretty much all that I wrote at the time about the actual experiences I had on Ayahuasca. The night lasted for hours, and so many different things happened. But to attempt to put it all into words would have cheapened it. Even now, after a year’s worth of time to process it all, I still have trouble describing what I saw. Fortunately, I also made a list of all of the things I learned over the course of the night, and I have included it at the end…]

It’s amazing. I hadn’t realized how terribly nervous I was until I was standing in front of Vismay to take the first dose. I knew I was nervous, I’d been a wreck all day. But standing in front of him, I was almost shaking from fear. [I can be honest now- I was actually, literally, shaking.] And that was the worst part of the night.

The singing helped, for sure. The support I’d received all day also helped. But also, I realize now, I helped. I had so little to face because I face it on a daily basis. I’m honest with myself. I’ve been working towards this for years. And what a treat to be rewarded with such a blissful trip.

[Most people who seek out Ayahuasca to treat a mental or emotional issue have very dark first trips. In fact, they will continue to have dark trips every time they take Ayahuasca until they sort through whatever is causing the negative emotions in them. Having done my research, and going into the experience specifically because I had been depressed, I fully expected my experience to be negative. Fortunately, it wasn’t, and that mere fact gave me loads of insight into the root of my emotional issues, and how to approach them from there on out.]

What I Learned:

– Anything is possible. We are infinitely capable. There are guidelines.

– Some things are better left unfinished, than finished in a hurry. [I still don’t know what this means, but it was a recurring theme over the evening.]

– It is ok to be in pain. The Universe feels all of our pain with us. We are not alone. It is ok.

– The trees are aware. And they want so badly for us to understand. […]

– Hugs are important.

– Every soul is struggling with their body. Everyone is trying.

-My body is perfect. I love it.

– Again- pain is ok.

The thing with Ayahuasca is that- they have proven this scientifically- it literally rewires your brain. That is why it is so effective at treating addiction and depression; it directly targets and opens your serotonin receptors. Even beside the possibility of DMT really giving you access to the Universe at large, the possibility of a chemical change in my brain was my main reason for seeking this medicine. (I realize that I just made some big claims, and that this, if anywhere, is where I should cite my sources. To start, if you are interested, the documentary The Spirit Molecule is on Netflix, and I recommend it. Past that, a short breakdown of the science can be found at the end of this article. … If you’d like to know more, get proactive. It’s been over a year since I did this research myself, and at this point, either one of us can use Google.)

A year later, I can absolutely add my firsthand experience to the pile of evidence that supports this idea. I was depressed before. I’m not depressed now. And regardless of science, and religion, that is a big deal to me.

But there is also everything else that I’ve been able to realize as a result of my experience with Ayahuasca. Learning firsthand how capable my mind is, how infinite my mental powers can be, has given me the courage to do so much in the past year. Learning to approach the times I am sad, or just generally restless, from a new angle has allowed me to learn how to deal with the wild emotions that sometimes strike me. And then there are all of the little epiphanies that still find me.

I am positive that I would have, eventually, gotten to where I am now on my own. But I am also positive that my experience with Ayahuasca expedited my mental growth. What would probably have taken me a decade on my own, I’ve accomplished in a year. And that’s something to write home about.

There’s more I could say- I could probably write a book about this single experience- but I’ll stop here. Again, I have written more than I meant to.

But I am so very passionate about seeing others grow and be happy, and I really believe that Ayahuasca is one of the best ways to incite growth and happiness. If you’ve read this and would like to know more, please, please feel free to contact me. I will do everything I can to answer your questions, or to help you find someone with better answers than me. If you are interested in the community that I visited, I can connect you with them also.

No matter what though, here’s my take away for today- we are all infinitely capable. Whether or not I really had access to the Universe that night, my mind came up with some pretty phenomenal stuff. Honestly, it’s even more phenomenal if it was just me in there that night. And we all have these magnificent organs, these brains, that make us so very different from every other life form on this planet. Which means that you’re infinitely capable too. You really, really are. Magnificent, beautiful, and infinitely capable.

How very exciting.

Baby.

“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” (Henry Miller)

Ok, let’s see if we can (finally) get totally caught up here… You’ll have to bear with me, this may take a while.

Once I warmed up that first morning in Nashville, I tried to get a plan together. I found somewhere to stay that night, and I verified that my friend Sam would be coming into town the next day. Then I set out to see if I could experience all that Nashville has to offer, even though I (quite typically) had done zero research into what Nashville really has to offer…

… Ya know how, upon falling in love with someone, every single other prospect you meet just cannot possibly compare? Well, I’m sorry Nashville, but in the midst of my post-Asheville ardor, I’m sure you didn’t get the attention from me that you deserved. I’m equally sure that you are a wonderfully enchanting city, with magical nooks and crannies to be explored and appreciated. Alas, I did not try that hard to search out those nooks and crannies.

But I did manage to find a great city park, and then a pretty rad pizza shop, with an amazing beer selection, and on that day, that was good enough for me.

Nashville Pizza

Getting to catch up with Sam the day after that was well worth all of the hassle of coming into Nashville with such poor plans. Sam is a friend that I met in college, and who I had not seen since… well, probably college. However, she is a fellow gypsy soul, and it seems we understand each other on a fundamental level. And so, after spending a couple hours catching each other up on the details of how our stories have progressed, we passed an easy evening of exploring craft beers and sharing thoughts, plans, and philosophies. It was an amazing night, and I very seriously considered staying an extra night in Nashville.

However, there were people waiting on me in New Orleans, and a massive snow storm was threatening to impede my progress if I waited to leave.

The fact that there were people waiting on me in New Orleans was another unexpected turn of events in a trip filled with surprising twists and turns; my original plan for New Orleans was to just pass through as a couch surfer. I figured I’d stay about five or six days, then head to my helpx gig in Lafayette.

I had visited New Orleans for the first time last year on a previous road trip, but the two days we spent in the French Quarter just left me feeling vaguely as though I had missed something. Or rather, I felt as though the glimpse that I got of New Orleans was so skewed that surely I had missed many, many somethings. This was surely a city with magical nooks and crannies, if ever there was one. And so I wanted enough time there to find a nook or two, and at least a couple crannies.

My plans for my return to New Orleans changed, however, when I received an email from a guy named Hudson. He is a fellow helpx-er who had planned a very similar trip to mine, although he is traveling without his own form of transportation. He found me through the helpx companion wanted page, and reached out about traveling together for a while. The first stop where we would cross paths was New Orleans, and he had already lined up a volunteer position there, and there was room for one more if I was interested.

Although my original idea behind the companion wanted ad had been to just give people rides, instead of traveling together long term, Hudson and I had too much in common for me to ignore this idea of traveling together. This seemed like it might be an opportunity for both of us to help each other out, and to help each other grow. And so I agreed to meet up in New Orleans and volunteer with him, and see what happened from there.

What happened from there were 2 of the best, busiest, and blurriest two weeks I’ve had in quite some time.

Upon my arrival late Wednesday evening, I had pretty much zero idea what I was walking into. I knew we were volunteering for the Louisiana Himalaya Association; I did not understand what this group did, or what I would be doing for them. I had an address to go to (that I acquired before leaving Nashville, if you can believe that!), but I had no concept of where in the city of New Orleans that address actually lay. And I knew that the person I would be reporting to was a man named Neil, but- you guessed it- I could not have told you a thing about Neil.

So I spent the next couple days trying to be helpful, and trying to figure out what was going on.

Ok, that’s not entirely accurate. My first day in town was Hudson’s day off, and it was absolutely gorgeous. So we took the day and explored. Found an incredibly cool coffee shop called Fair Grinds (an entirely fair trade coffee shop, located next to the fair grounds in Mid City). Then we walked over to City Park, which is probably the most impressive city park I have ever stepped foot in. (Or, at the very least, it gives parks like Central Park a sincere run for their money. But since it was January and I was walking around barefoot in a skirt, I’m gonna go ahead and call it the winner…) The best part of City Park is all of the wonderful, amazing, enormous live oak trees. Plus, there are multiple ponds, an art museum, a sculpture garden, a giant live oak full of wind chimes, and probably plenty of other things that I didn’t even get around to finding. (City Park is also where I found my first four leaf clover on this trip, so… yeah. Magical. Nook 1, down.)

After this wonderful introduction to life in New Orleans outside of the French Quarter, I got down to work the next day. It turned out that I showed up just over a week before the LHA’s annual Mardi Gras Ball, and so I essentially spent my time there helping them prepare for (and then, to a lesser extent, recover from) this massive party.

In the process of all of that, I learned about their mission. The Louisiana Himalaya Association is a non-profit that focuses on aiding Tibetan refugees in India. Over the years they have provided these refugees with food, clean water, education opportunities, housing, help finding employment, and more. Every year, the LHA hosts a Mardi Gras Ball, and every year all of the proceeds go to a specific project in India. This year all of the money raised went to the LHA soup kitchen for Tibetan refugees in Dharamsala.

(To learn more about the Louisiana Himalaya Association, and the work that they do, please check out their website. If you feel moved to become involved, there are so many ways to help, from financial donations to volunteer opportunities in New Orleans and abroad.)

Meditation Hall

 

I also got to know the people I was temporarily sharing space with.

I got to know Neil, the president of the LHA, a Louisiana native, who discovered Buddhism during his travels in his early life, and who has built a life where he splits his time every year between New Orleans and India. I knew immediately upon meeting Neil that I liked him; he is so obviously a gentle, compassionate, purpose laden soul. And the more I got to know him, the more I appreciated everything that he does. This is a man with a mission, and he knows how to get things done. At the same time, he is infinitely patient, approachable, and friendly. One of the highlights of my time staying in the LHA’s compound was a guided meditation that Neil was kind enough to tailor for Hudson and myself. It was this level of thoughtful kindness that permeated every interaction I had with Neil.

I also got to know a few of the others who live in the group of houses that surround the common courtyard, garden, and community center that is the LHA headquarters in New Orleans. The two that I got to know the best were Kate and Dean, who were both immensely kind to Hudson and myself as we integrated into the community and the city. In both of them, I began to get a true sense of what it is like to live in New Orleans. (Pro tip- lots of costumes. And open mindedness. And a flair for unusual adventures.)

And of course, unbeknownst to me, I had arrived right in the middle of the Carnival season in New Orleans. This essentially meant a lot of parades, and a lot of debauchery. Mostly at the same time. My fourth night in town, Kate, Dean, and Hudson invited me to the Krewe du Vieux parade, which is apparently the most ridiculous of all of the parades. (… And by ridiculous, I mean wildly inappropriate. The theme is, essentially, sex. We were late, and distracted, but the most notable float I caught sight of had as its figurehead a nude grandmother astride an incredibly large phallus. It was pretty remarkable, and I wish my words could do it justice…)

The rest of the parades that I made it to were less bawdy, but were equally as magnificent. My favorite parade was the Krewe of Barkus, which was the dog parade on Sunday afternoon. Pretty much pure heaven there. The other notable parade that I made it to was the Chewbacchus parade (think Star Wars style nerds, for blocks and blocks). It was an incredibly cool parade, but my absolute favorite part was the most awesome throw I have seen yet. (For those who are- like I was- unversed in Mardi Gras culture, ‘throws’ are what is thrown from floats. Simple concept, I know. But these things get pretty impressive as you get deeper and deeper into the season.) This particular throw started with one of the women in the parade coming up and taking a picture of me and the guy I was standing with- both of us in costume for the Apocoplypse Ball that night with the LHA. Then, a Polaroid prints out, she hands it to us, and walks off. It turned out to be a really phenomenal picture. And who has Polaroids anymore?!

Parrots in the puppy parade.

 

Then there was the actual ball that I had been helping prepare for, which was pretty much one of the most amazing things I’ve ever experienced. However, attempting to explain it would just leave you confused and me sounding inarticulate, so the best I can do is recommend you doing something good for charity and yourself next year and finding your way to this amazing event.

There were other nooks and crannies I discovered in New Orleans that had little to do with Mardi Gras. With my new friend John from Illinois, I found the best fried chicken I have ever, ever had (Willie Mae’s Scotch House, right between Mid City and the French Quarter). Then one night I went to an incredible open mic night in the 7^th Ward; this was the kind of open mic night where it’s just a group of old friends who get together and play every week, and anyone else who wants to play with them can get up and do a few numbers. Also, if you’re sitting near the dance floor, expect to be cajoled into dancing. (I would tell you the venue, but the name on the building is not the name of the club there now, and I don’t remember either of the names anyway…) Another night I ended up at Pal’s, the little neighborhood bar just down the road from where I was staying. While sitting there enjoying my book, it came to light that I was sitting next to not one, but two other people who share my name! Both were guys, and so the spelling was different, but still! Three Francis’s in a row!

Then, my last night in town, I went into the French Quarter with my new friend Robby. He had been a pedi-cab driver there for years, and so was able to show me around a bit, and give some context to the things that most visitors see, but never understand. He also recommended the absolute best restaurant ever, Cane and Table, where I had the best roast duck I’ve ever, ever had. (It was a week for eating phenomenal poultry, I tell ya.) And so, my last night in town I passed sitting on a patio in a courtyard, away from the hustle and bustle of the rest of the French Quarter, relaxing over amazing food and wonderful wine, discussing Buddhism with a new friend. (Robby recently returned from an extended stay in Nepal, where he was studying Buddhism with the locals.) Then we moved the conversation to the bar next door, and then to this amazing little music lounge called Ooh Poo Pah Doo Bar, where I first danced to (marched in?) the Mardi Gras song; little did I know how many times I would hear/dance to that song in the coming week.

Random, amazing mural in the Garden District

… There were other adventures in New Orleans, but at this point it would be redundant to try to convey the experience. The point of it all is that my time in the city was absolutely completely different from my last visit, and the experiences that I had there were ones that most visitors never gain access to. This was due to multiple factors, including the wonderful, wonderful people I met while I was there. But I think the take home point here is to remember, as we visit any place with a thriving tourism industry, that no matter what you are being handed and told is that place’s “experience,” there is more there.

Much like every person we meet has an intricate story- a story so intricate that we could never begin to guess at all of the various chapters- every place we visit has an intricate story. We all wear masks at times, because it’s simpler, and sometimes less painful for us and more comfortable for others. (New Orleans is a city with overwhelming poverty in places, and a tumultuous history that can be uncomfortable to consider as an outsider.) But to truly begin to know any person or any place (and its people), we have to be willing to risk the discomfort, we have to be ready to be compassionate, and we have to put in a fair amount of effort. Because it is when we lift our own masks, and ask politely to see behind someone else’s, that we can truly begin to connect. And in every single case, it is well worth the effort.

I missed out in Nashville, but someday I will return and give it the attention it deserves.

I got a glimpse of New Orleans, and someday I will return and continue to explore. Hudson ended up staying there when I left, and I really couldn’t blame him. There really is so much to see, explore, and experience. I get the feeling you could spend years there, and then still be surprised fairly often. . .

For now, however, as I prepare to leave Breaux Bridge and head to Austin, I will start to prepare myself for a new place, new people, and new stories. (And my next contra dance!)

“All that is gold does not glitter/ Not all those who wander are lost.” (J.R.R. Tolkien)

The road not taken in the Slickrock Wilderness Area….

 

Today was a travel day.

And travel days are always emotional roller coasters for me. (Alright, let’s be honest- most days are emotional roller coasters for me. But especially travel days.)

This morning, I was sad to be leaving New Orleans. I really gave the idea of staying some serious consideration. Between everyone’s exciting Mardi Gras plans, and the sincere feeling that there was so much more to learn about the people I had met, staying appealed to me. But it always does (at least for a little while), and I knew that it was time to move on.

 

Then, as I drove off, I was so incredibly full of love and joy. I don’t like goodbyes, but they do serve to magnify the depth of emotion that comes along with interpersonal relationships. Everyone I met in New Orleans was just absolutely wonderful, and I felt such a strong affinity for every single person who entered my life in the past week and a half. … Again and again, I wonder if I have the room inside me for all of these amazing friends. And again and again, I find that no matter how many new people I fall absolutely in love with, there is still more love and joy waiting for the next new person. But it does get a little overwhelming when you have to leave so many wonderful people at the same time.

Tulip Tree

 

Later, as I arrived at my next destination in Breaux Bridge, I was full of anxiety. New people intimidate me. A lot. And as much as I am finding that I have an infinite amount of love waiting to be shared, I also seem to have an infinite amount of anxiety, waiting to seep out and add unnecessary stress to my experience. (Although, lately, the love wins out over the anxiety far more often than not.) And so, upon my arrival at my next temporary home, another helpx gig, I found myself so incredibly full of trepidation about the next couple weeks. Even as I instantly connected with the people I will be staying with- this really does seem like the perfect situation for me- I still found myself worrying. Am I going to fit in here? Is this going to be a positive experience? Would I prefer to just head out and spend some time alone in the woods?

Really, that last part is not an exaggeration. There is always a part of me that wants to run away right at this point. The point where I have yet to assimilate into a new community, and everything is unfamiliar and scary and it seems like just so much work to continue to put myself out there and accept the risk of staying.

(But really, what am I risking? … I can think of nothing concrete. Perhaps I might “waste” a week, but that idea seems preposterous- even if, by some wild chance, things end up being horrible and I’m miserable in a week, I will surely have learned something. About myself, about life, about humanity.)

Rosemary

 

I had to remind myself that this is how I always feel right now. It’s how I felt my first morning in New Orleans. Just ten days ago, I seriously considered not staying. Then, today, I seriously considered not leaving. Obviously my negative “arriving” worries and emotions are entirely unfounded in reality.

And so, as I sit here listening to my host practice her guitar skills and the “gulf weather” rain drum on the roof, with a belly full of beef bone broth soup, and a garden sitting outside just waiting for me to go out in the morning and start digging around, my roller coaster coasts into the station for a brief respite. The emotions don’t go away, but they mellow out a bit, and I can take a step back and appreciate each one.

 

…. As a friend and fellow writer once put it, I seem to have jumped in mid stream here. Sorry, it seems the writing has fallen by the wayside over the past couple weeks.

(Wow. How has it been so long?! Answer: simply put, New Orleans. That city got me. I’m still recovering from what an amazing time I had there.)

For tonight, I think I will sign off. In the next couple days, hopefully I can start to process the thoughts and experiences between Asheville and Breaux Bridge. There are plenty, and I can’t wait to figure out how I feel about them so that I can share them.

Until then, friends.

She comes in peace.

“I know of no better or quicker way to step into my greatness than to step out of what’s familiar.” (Vironika Tugaleva)

I feel I may owe you an apology, friend. If you’ve been following along, then you probably read my last post, and it was a bit of a downer. Sorry about that. My only excuse is my penchant for honesty; my inability to find a positive light for the month of December suggested that perhaps I just needed to be willing to share the rough parts of this journey, along with the exciting, euphoric parts. So I did, and now we are moving on.

To Asheville.

Where, it’s official, I am in love.

This city has stolen my heart.

I still have a little crush on Vermont. But even though the weather was unseasonably warm while I was there, always in the back of my mind was the knowledge that the winters in Vermont are brutally cold. And I don’t do cold well. So as much as I have a thing for Vermont, I was careful not to let it get too deeply under my skin.

Asheville, however, has worked its way right to my core. The irony, of course, is that I arrived in Asheville right at the beginning of their first brutally cold spell. And yet, still, this city makes my heart flutter. Just being here makes me want to be a better person.

Life between the tracks

 

 

There are a lot of qualities that I adore about Asheville. The energy here is top notch- there is the sense that around every corner, magic is waiting. (And, around most corners, it really is.) And, naturally, it’s the people that give a place its energy. There are so many wonderful people here, and as a result, there are so many wonderful things happening here. The live music scene is thriving, as are the local food and craft beer scenes; three things that top my list of important qualities in any city. I came to Asheville knowing these things were waiting here for me.

What really sealed the deal for me, though, was something I never anticipated- contra dancing. I couldn’t have anticipated this because, before my ride down, I had never heard of it. But I was clued in by my new friend Luke, who needed a ride back to Asheville from Virginia and who made the six hour drive from my dad’s significantly more enjoyable than any other ride so far on this trip. Along with a plethora of other information, Luke imparted a bit of locals only knowledge about this must-experience social scene.

(Luke is a local ecologist who makes his living educating others about the ecology and natural history of the area. He is an incredible resource, and if you are ever around the Asheville area and would like to gain a deeper understanding of the natural world around you, I strongly encourage you to check out Luke’s website and see if he is offering any classes.)

And so, on Monday evening, Tori and her friend and I made our way to the Grey Eagle, where they have been hosting contra dances for years. And I was introduced first hand to one of the most beautiful things that I have ever seen in my entire life. I feel as though I could spend a lifetime watching contra dancing, and perhaps another lifetime dancing myself.

For those of you who have not yet encountered this particular distraction from the daily grind- contra dancing is a lot like square dancing. It’s usually set to folk music (we had the incredibly good fortune of hearing a phenomenal fiddle player the night we went), there is a caller who instructs the dancers, and there are set moves for every song. Unlike square dancing, contra is danced in lines of couples. Every repetition of the dance moves calls for a move down the line, and so every repetition is danced with a new couple. And that’s where the beauty is most striking. The dance floor is full of an incredible variety of people, from young to old, and from incredibly diverse backgrounds. And when the dance starts, the physical and social boundaries that our society relies on to maintain a safe distance from those around us dissolve. All that is left in their place is joy, as everyone spins madly around with the stranger across from them… This is magic. This is life worth living.

Best buds

 

 

There have been other magical moments here. Scoring a last minute ticket, for free, to see Railroad Earth play at one of the best venues in Asheville. Sitting at the top of a mountain, basking in the sunshine and warm conversation. Kindness exchanged with strangers. But perhaps one of the most magical parts has been seeing two people I care for deeply literally living their dreams.

I am staying with my friend Tori, who is one of the brightest, shiniest souls in my life. Tori is a friend that I don’t talk to all that often, and who I only see every few years, but every reunion is amazing, and I am eternally grateful for Tori’s insights and support over the years. The last time I visited her and her husband, they had just moved to Asheville, and they were still figuring everything out. Now, two years later, they are fully immersed in exactly the lives that they set out looking for. Tori is the lead teacher in her Montessori classroom, they just bought a home, Billy is thriving as a local musician, and they have an adorable new family member, Murphy the cat.

And as much fun as I have had being chased around the house by Murphy, it’s been Billy’s shows that have been some of the most magical parts of this visit. He plays solo, and with a funk band, and with his band, Hustle Souls. And so I have had plenty of opportunities to see him play, and every single one has been just incredible.

But my absolute favorite shows are the Hustle Souls shows. It’s hard to put your finger on the genre, but I imagine that if Ray LaMontagne were happy, he’d sound like Hustle Souls. (For clarification, they identify as “southern soul.”) Whatever you want to call them, they are absolutely amazing. Billy is legitimately one of the best songwriters that I have encountered, and the passion that every single one of those guys has for the music is obvious to even the most casual observer. Hearing them play absolutely fills me with joy, sheer ecstasy, that makes it hard to imagine ever being anything but thrilled about life.

(If you would like to experience this ecstasy, please check out their Facebook page and website. To hear my favorite song of theirs, just click here.)

Hustle Souls playing at Burley Oak in Berlin, MD. (Photo credit: Tori Litz)

Another magical moment here was a trip out to a local homestead. After the laziness that permeated the last month of my life, I needed to get out during the days and do something productive. So, I did kind of a weird thing and contacted a work exchange host in the Asheville area and offered to help them- even though I didn’t need somewhere to stay. I figured they could feed me lunch and we could call it even. I initially was under the impression that I would be doing something farming related, but when the appointed day arrived, the project at hand was painting a garage door. Not quite my area of expertise, but within my skill set, I’ll admit. And so, I headed out of Asheville and up into the surrounding mountains.

I had a wonderful morning and afternoon painting with Susan, the owner, and Lois, another “helpx-er” (the website I have been utilizing is helpx.net). It was a beautiful day- I was barefoot in mid-January- and the company was phenomenal. After a wonderful lunch- taken on the back deck in the sunshine- Susan had to head out and Lois and I went back to painting. And talking. As our conversation easily drifted from our travels, to our fears and hopes for the future, to our understanding of our own self-worth, I realized I was in the presence of a kindred spirit. Lois and I are from different parts of the country, different backgrounds, and different generations. And yet our journeys are so very similar.

Our conversation was a wonderful reminder of so many things- the magic of this life, the fact that it’s ok to not know where you’re headed, the need to cultivate your own personal growth. But most importantly it reminded me to live outside of my comfort zone.

Summit.

Comfort zones are safe. Sometimes they can be fun. But by their very nature, they are restrictive. They don’t allow for change, and they don’t allow for growth. I have found that growth only occurs in the face of hardship; I don’t learn nearly as much about myself when I am happy and content as I do when I am facing heartache or disappointment. As much as social situations scare the crap out of me, I never meet any of these new, exciting people when I’m curled up on the couch re-reading Harry Potter. Taking risks, exploring, going new places and trying new things- this is how you fully experience life.

Monday night when we went to the contra dance, I didn’t even bother attending the lesson for beginners; I had no plans to dance, I only wanted to see what all of the fuss was about. Then, a few songs (and beers) into the evening, this random guy literally dragged me onto the dance floor. Every protest I could come up with was met with, “It’ll be ok, it’s just dancing.” And so, I stumbled through a contra dance song. Every single move was lost on me, and I eventually just gave in and allowed everyone else to literally move me around the floor. It was mortifying, and I felt awful for interrupting the beautiful rhythm these people were moving to. But then, by the very end of the song (which I legitimately worried might never come), I was getting it. Well, I was getting every fourth step. But I had gotten over feeling bad, and was able to laugh, and swing madly around with the stranger across from me. I had left my comfortable spot by the door in the back of the room, and made my way to directly in front of the stage.

And while I retreated to my spot by the back door as soon as the song was over, I owed my dance partner a solid thank you. Contra dancing is beautiful to watch, but to be even a confused, clumsy participant in contra dancing is absolutely exhilarating.

… In this way, contra dancing is the perfect metaphor for the kind of life I want to be living.

(By the way, I found a contra dance in New Orleans, and I will be attending the beginner’s lesson.)

“Life is a shipwreck, but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats.” (Voltaire)

Rehoboth Beach, DE

“My thoughts, unanchored, are adrift- I can’t pin one down for long enough to think on it, evaluate its content, make some use of its presence.”

I encountered that line in the midst of re-reading my journals recently, and it stuck with me. I’ve felt the same way, over and over again, during the past few weeks. I often become overwhelmed by everything going on in my mind, and I end up in these mental circuits, my thoughts running laps around my skull. My consciousness, eager to find meaning and purpose, tries to snag them as they race past. However, my drifting thoughts generally manage to elude any attempts to capture (and make some sense of) them.

Part of what is so overwhelming is that the thoughts are all so varied. There are so many things that I find to fret over. My day to day reality- I’m not doing well with not having a purpose. My future- where am I headed next? My future further down the path- where will I end up? Finances, friendships, farming, family. All of it adds to the mire that is my swirling ruminations.

…

…

I wrote those few paragraphs, and plenty more, a couple weeks ago. But I couldn’t pull any of it into a cohesive something that I was willing to put out there for the world at large. My thoughts were just that muddled. So I gave myself a break, took a step back, and decided to sit on all of the words until I was in a position to organize them.

In the mean time, I also took a break from traveling. Mostly.

This, at least, was planned; I’m still not sure where I’m ultimately headed, or how long I will be gone. So I decided that I should take the holidays and spend them with my family. Between running the farm, and then resort town work schedules, and then traveling, it’s been a while since I had uninterrupted weeks with either my father or my mother. And not only have I missed out on time with them, but also time with their families. My mom has a 14 year old son, and my dad has 10 and 11 year old daughters, and missing them growing up is one of the hardest parts of always being busy, always being on the move.

So, for Thanksgiving, I headed down to my dad’s in Virginia, where I spent nearly a couple weeks. The first few days I was there, I didn’t tell anyone I had arrived. After nearly two months on the road, visiting people and moving constantly, I just needed some down time. I hung out with my little sisters and finally caught up with my step-mom, Martha. I worked out and read and relaxed. Then after Thanksgiving, I started catching up with all of my friends in the area.

I had lunch with a childhood friend who I hadn’t seen since I’d moved away when I was ten. Went to a rock show in Richmond with my friend Brett. Spent an afternoon on a nature walk in an incredibly charming little park in Virginia Beach with my friend Aaditya. Hung out with my two youngest aunts, Hannah and Emily, at Emily’s new home in Surry. Stayed in Virginia Beach for a night with my brother and his wife and daughter, where I played the doting aunt. And I visited the plantation that I used to work on.

That one was particularly interesting. Just after the last post I made, the friend that I lost when I left the plantation job reached out to me and invited me out to the property. I was hesitant at first- I still wasn’t entirely sure I was completely over it all. But it had obviously taken courage to suggest the visit, and at the very least I realized that I needed to honor that fact. I am so very glad that I did; it ended up being a wonderful day, full of reconciliation and catching up. Also, returning to the farm for the first time since I left over two years ago gave me the chance for a final sense of closure. It was far more than I could have hoped for.

After I left Virginia, I headed to Frederick, MD once again. Lisa and her boyfriend were going on a much needed vacation, and needed someone to housesit. Since I happen to be fairly enchanted by the area lately, I gladly accepted that chance. So I got to spend a week hanging out in Brunswick. Started the week off right with a Christmas themed beer tasting (wearing the obligatory ugly sweater). Spent some time down on the Potomac River, just watching it flow past. Hung out at Beans in the Belfry for some live music. I also took advantage of having a kitchen to myself, and finally got to cook a few real dinners, something I rarely feel comfortable doing when I’m on the road.

 

$6 sweater and Christmas beers ranked. Success on all fronts.

But, even with those diversions, I still had an incredibly lazy week. Most days, I’d turn around, and it’d be an hour ‘til sunset, and I’d still be in my pajamas on the couch watching my seventh episode of The Office and playing my eighty-sixth game of Spider Solitaire. At that point, I’d chalk the day up as a loss and promise myself that I would wake up earlier the next day, I’d get outside, I’d write, I’d do something. I generally try to honor lazy stretches like this- I can be a somewhat frantic person, and it’s difficult for me to remember that everyone needs down time. If I have a to-do list, and I can still sit around ignoring it, obviously some part of me is benefitting from this mental check out. However, other parts of me are constantly in motion, and so it’s never all that easy to accept not accomplishing something every day.

Finally, on Friday, I did accomplish something- I went back out to my friend Amanda’s farm and helped her feed the animals and work on some of their sheep. Good grief, it felt incredible to finally be outside, moving, chasing something (the sheep were not on board with our treatment plan), sweating, having a purpose. Every sheep I released was better off once I was done with it. In just a few hours, I accomplished more than I had in… well, in some respects, months. And that felt good. … Then on Saturday, I made it out to Maryland’s first on-farm brewery (Milkhouse Brewery in Mount Airy) for a Maryland Young Farmer’s Coalition mixer, which was also pretty stinking cool.

BACON SPROUTS!

After Lisa made it home, I made it back to Delaware, where I stayed until Christmas. This was also a fairly lazy time for me, but I did manage to sneak in a paddle, some bike rides, a Christmas party with friends from work this past Summer, and a couple music shows. One of the highlights of my time there was going down to the Burley Oak brewery in Berlin, Maryland. A good friend’s husband was playing with his Asheville based band Hustle Souls. Even though I will be visiting them in less than a month, it was still too rare an opportunity to pass up.

“The river delights to lift us free, if only we dare to let go. Our true work is this voyage, this adventure.” (Richard Bach)

In addition to these mini adventures, every morning I got to hang out with my mom and her husband, which is something I haven’t had the luxury of in years.

On Christmas day I headed back down to Virginia, where I will be for a few more days. I don’t have much planned, and I’m trying to take advantage of more family time. I’m also, finally, a little less mentally cluttered, and so I’m trying to use that space to emotionally prepare myself for this next trip.

…

Leaving is rarely hard for me- I do it fairly often, and I’m always excited to be getting somewhere new. However, preparing for the longest, and loosest, trip I’ve taken in quite a while has not been entirely easy for me. It’s meant saying goodbye to friends I don’t particularly want to leave, and closing doors I don’t particularly want to close. And I really don’t do well with doing things I don’t want to do. … It seems I’m rather impulsive.

Which is part of why my mind was so muddled for most of December. Generally, when I want something, I allow myself that something. But I’m exploring my impulsiveness currently, and what my impulsiveness leads to. And as much as I don’t like to admit it, sometimes doing what you want to do in the moment isn’t the best thing in the long term.

… I do realize that this is a fairly simple concept; I’ve just managed to avoid facing that fact head on by focusing on other emotional shortcomings. Finally, I can escape reality no longer- I need to deal with my impulse control to be ready for the next stage of my life.

I’m still not entirely sure what that means, or how I will go about overcoming this particular mental hurdle. But I know it will come to me eventually. And I know that every bit of emotional hardship that I encounter is a chance to grow.

So, for now, I just do what I know needs doing. I’ll re-pack my car, say my goodbyes to friends and family, and let my friends in Asheville know when to expect me. I try to take a walk every day, to give my mind some room to organize itself. The weather and the circumstances weigh on me a bit, but I feel the excitement of an upcoming trip building. This is the path I’ve set, and it promises to be … well, so many things. Interesting. Educational. Enjoyable. Exciting. A chance to grow.

And really, isn’t that exactly what I set out looking for?

Rest for the weary…