Why do people seem to think I am such an easy target? I think I have you all fooled... I am not an easy target. I seem nice and naive, but I know exactly what's going on beneath that schmoozy smile of yours. I know what you're thinking between those ears of yours. You think I don't know, but I know. My good vibe radar is always on and it works pretty damn good if you ask me. How do you think I've stayed safe after all these hitchhiking and traveling shenanigans? I've invested in my trusty good vibe radar, and all has been well since.
It was even working for me that one night that Quality Beer bar was opening.
Saturday night. Opening night. And Rachel's last hooh-ha before she left for the Peace Corps in Rwanda. My good vibe radar is working just fine. By bad vibe radar starts blowing up when I start attempting to order my first beer and Tall Strange Man starts talking to me. Tall Strange Man has a charm, but it's a forced charm. He eyes my Illinois tattoo and says, "Hmmm, based on blah, blah, and blah, I'm going to say that you're frrrrommm.... Chicago?". Well yes, how ever did you know?
And then there's me, "I'm nice, I'm too nice, blah blah blah, look at me be nice to you even though my bad vibe radar is flashing in my face".
"Wow, well I used to live in the Chicago area. I used to live in Naperville. You know Naperville?"
"I know Naperville. It's snooty. I like to call everyone who lives there Naper-villans. (Hehe)."
"Well, my all time favorite story from living in Naperville was when I was looking out my window from my apartment one day, and this GIANT yellow Hummer pulls up and parks on the street. This girl opens the door. This teeny tiny girl in this teeny tiny short skirt opens the door and she can't get out because her skirt is too short!"
Oh. my. god. Rachel? Help me? I elbowed my friends chatting on the other side of me. I turn around after they get my attention (with my beer sitting there on the bar open for play of course). And then I decide to let him finish his story because I'm too nice. Remember?
He continues, "Well, I watched this girl for a good ten minutes while she's trying all these ways to get out of her giant Hummer in her tiny skirt, but she just cant get out without her skirt coming up. So I watch her look around, hike her skirt up, turn around, and jump out of the Hummer... she was wearing a THONG! Can you believe that!? I just couldn't believe I got flashed by a girl in a thong in Naperville. I just love that story. I just love it."
Man. I really know how to attract the good ones.
"Well that's just great. Sounds like Naperville to me."
"You know, I live in Mohamett, but I come to Champaign on the weekends to play. I'd love to hear about your traveling stories. I'd like to take your phone number."
"I'll think about it." I replied. And turned around.
And around and around and around.... is the room spinning? Nope. That's probably the roofies kicking in.
One of our regulars from Pekara spotted us at the bar and came over to tell us how much he loves coming in there, and how great of an atmosphere we make the place. He want's to buy us all a round of drinks. Rachel and I are, of course, ecstatic. This is ourr looovvaahhh. He comes in looking all handsome working at Corkscrew (a wine place in town), smiles, and tips us a couple of bucks each day. So here I am trying to turn on my charm, which really isnt working about half-way through my ONE beer where the room is spinning and I can't quite see which face of his is the one talking to me.
"Excuse me," I say to him once I finish my beer, and ask a friend to escort me to the bathroom since I'm not quite sure I can make it alone.
I smile, giggle, and walk away saying, "Hehehehe, I think I think I'm going to throw up! Hehehe!" And I do. It's on my shirt, it's in my breath. But mostly in the toilet. And I walk back to our looovvaahhh thinking things will be okay now. Of course! Who doesn't love a girl with beer on her shirt and vomit on her breath? Oh, and, isn't this drunk feeling supposed to go away once you actually get it out of your system? Maybe not when there's a roofie in it. I drink beer. I can drink more than ONE beer, and I have never. ever. ever. felt like this before. This. is. terrible.
Rachel decides that now is a good time to take me home where I stumbled into my sister's house, and couldn't go any further. I couldn't bring myself to change my clothes or brush my teeth. I made it all the way to the bathroom only to feel my body get terribly heavy, and feeling so nauseous I can't keep my eyes open. So I lay down in front of the shower for the night, and sunk into the ground hoping I'll feel better in the morning.
Morning came. Laying there on the bathroom floor, and I was sick on the couch drinking ginger ale and crackers all day praying that I could just vomit out my insides so I don't feel like this anymore.
A hangover from one undigested beer? Or a hangover from a Tall Strange Man roofie?
I never would, but ladies, don't ever go out to a bar without someone you trust with you. Kapish?
Friday, May 27, 2011
bittersweet
There is always, always, always a sadness in my heart when I leave an old destination and head out for a new one. Seattle was once my saddest departure. Champaign has crept it's way up to the far lead. Let's just get this out there... I sort of love humidity. I love my jogs down University Ave drooling over all the beautiful houses (perfect for starting a small hostel in...). I love nights at the Blind Pig where I always end up meeting new people. And of course running into people I'd rather not meet again. I miss my family. And I miss watching girly movies with my sister. I loved waking up every morning early to the birds chirping over my tent. I loved being able to get anywhere on my bike in ten minutes or less. I loved walking downtown and inevitably running into someone I know, and of course love. I even miss working at Pekara and greeting my regulars with my most friendly smile. I miss getting roofied at the new bar in town... err... actually I don't miss that. Should I even tell that story..? Yikes.
I thrive on hospitality. It's a bit hard to be hospitable to people in a new setting. I'll find a way. I always do.
I'll see you again soon Champaign.
I thrive on hospitality. It's a bit hard to be hospitable to people in a new setting. I'll find a way. I always do.
I'll see you again soon Champaign.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
The road is not always fun and games
I did. I pulled over last night numerous times, calling my dad in tears to check the weather again... and again... and again... and...
There is something eerie about the sun setting where you can't see it. The only thing I could see was the glow it gave the cumulus clouds that sparked with a flash of lightning off to my left. The roads became scarce after entering I-76. There were only rolling hills and highway in the distance. No tail lights ahead of me, no headlights behind me. Deserted exits from the highway were few and far between. The rain was loud. My car was being whipped around by the wind, and every once in awhile I'd hydroplane a little bit sending a shock wave of terror through my veins. Totally. alone.
A wet night on the highway is no place for tired eyes. When the storm finally passed me I pulled off at the next Walmart I found and marched into civilization to buy a snack and a redbox movie. Parking off in a tucked away corner, I situated myself in my car and let the glow of a lighthearted movie on my laptop finally lull me to sleep in my little Abigail Von Wedge. And I sort of loved it...
There is something eerie about the sun setting where you can't see it. The only thing I could see was the glow it gave the cumulus clouds that sparked with a flash of lightning off to my left. The roads became scarce after entering I-76. There were only rolling hills and highway in the distance. No tail lights ahead of me, no headlights behind me. Deserted exits from the highway were few and far between. The rain was loud. My car was being whipped around by the wind, and every once in awhile I'd hydroplane a little bit sending a shock wave of terror through my veins. Totally. alone.
A wet night on the highway is no place for tired eyes. When the storm finally passed me I pulled off at the next Walmart I found and marched into civilization to buy a snack and a redbox movie. Parking off in a tucked away corner, I situated myself in my car and let the glow of a lighthearted movie on my laptop finally lull me to sleep in my little Abigail Von Wedge. And I sort of loved it...
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Welcome home you dirty hippie
I love being greeted into a Rainbow Gathering. "Welcome Home!" everyone shouts, and everyone crowds around to give you a hug and you always part with, "lovin' you sister, lovin' you". It's so sincere. They are lovin' on you. They're lovin' on each other. They're lovin' in the woods.
My greeting yesterday was the same. But rather than a forest full of hippies, I was surrounded by a forest full of trailer trash and dirty punk kids... and then that one guy... who was fabulously flamboyant, but insistently straight. They were all sitting in the oven that they built into the dirt. There were sticks jutting out of the ground with tarps and blankets draped over to make what was the main kitchen where makshift tables were set up and a tent FULL of food was standing next to it. I met Crab, Captain Rainbow, Taco, and all the other so-and-so's. Those are their "family names". Their given names like Jack and Conner were what they called their Babylon names. Of course it's kind of hard to remember a bunch of names like Joe Shmoe and So-and-so. But it sure is fun to try.
As soon as I sat down in the kitchen to make myself comfortable the eleven year old fat girl started pestering me to go swimming with her. Her mom was mean to her and always said 'no' to things, so anyone who is remotely nice about something (like myself), even if they're saying no, she takes it as an almost yes and will do her best to manipulate, bat her eyelashes, and get all up in your face until you say yes. And I wasn't having it. Until she asked if she could tattoo me with a sharpie.
"Ehh, Okay." What's the worst she could to? "Just nothing on my face." I told her. So she sat in front of me, looked me up and down, opened her sharpie and went to town on my arm. She started drawing a cross. Well that's sweet, I thought. I can dig this. I stared off into space for awhile, and when she finished I looked down to a giant cross on my arm with a blacked in snake slithering around it, and the words, "We love you" in chicken scratch nearly up on my shoulder. Oh god I hope this comes off tomorrow.
I decided right from the start not to stay for a long time. I didn't like the vibes. I'm big on the vibes. Gotta trust my vibes. You know? So I hiked up to the meadow where all the overweight people told me NOT to go because I'll HATE the hike (which actually wasn't that bad). I pitched my tent there and hiked around a bit, helped make dinner, and contributed my two jugs of water to my Rainbow Family. That was going to be it for me until the next morning.
The only other young girl at the gathering was not friendly by any means, and all the young guys (well, the ones that actually spoke every once in awhile) just talked about smoking pot and how they want to stay in he woods forever doing nothing. Not my idea of a productive life.
Later in the night we gathered around the fire for a drum circle, a time of discussion and suggestions for the gathering, and I skipped out to bed right before the "om". I've got different idea of spirituality than these folks, and I didn't quite want to hold hand with them around the fire chanting and making myself vulnerable to a spirituality that I'm not sure I am completely comfortable with. I walked back to my site and prayed my own prayers to my own God and fell quickly to sleep after journaling.
Until.. that is... around midnight a couple of drunk kids walked back to their tent which was right next to mine screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs to the people on the other side of the meadow for a GOOD twenty minutes. I heard one whisper now and again "I think people are trying to sleep man," and the response to that would be, "GET OFFFFFFF MY PORCH MOTHER FUUCKKKEERRRRRRRR. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOH OH OH OH. YI YI YI YI YI. OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. WHERE YOU AT BOY!"
Twenty minutes.
This morning I packed up my tent, peeled the snails off my tent, and hiked back into the woods. I hiked down the hill and thought, well this doesn't look familiar. And hiked back up to the meadow. Examined the area a bit. Well maybe I just don't remember what it looked like. That's probably it. So I hiked back down again. I got the same spot and thought, well crap, I can't go down there. That doesn't look familiar. Once again, hiking all the way back up to the meadow, back to the Quit Your Bitchin' Kitchin' (as they liked to call it), and asked for help from a brother who walked me all the way back to the fork in the road where I got lost in the first place. Yep. I went the wrong way and would have ended up in the middle of nowhere Iowa in the middle of nowhere in the woods!
One hundred miles later I am in Omaha at a Starbucks where I washed myself and brushed me teeth in the bathroom, and got myself some beloved coffee. Welcome to the open road.
Nebraska, I hate you. I've got 450 miles of nothingness ahead of me until I hit Colorado.
And Champiagn, actually, I miss you lots. And all the people you have there. I'll be back.
My greeting yesterday was the same. But rather than a forest full of hippies, I was surrounded by a forest full of trailer trash and dirty punk kids... and then that one guy... who was fabulously flamboyant, but insistently straight. They were all sitting in the oven that they built into the dirt. There were sticks jutting out of the ground with tarps and blankets draped over to make what was the main kitchen where makshift tables were set up and a tent FULL of food was standing next to it. I met Crab, Captain Rainbow, Taco, and all the other so-and-so's. Those are their "family names". Their given names like Jack and Conner were what they called their Babylon names. Of course it's kind of hard to remember a bunch of names like Joe Shmoe and So-and-so. But it sure is fun to try.
As soon as I sat down in the kitchen to make myself comfortable the eleven year old fat girl started pestering me to go swimming with her. Her mom was mean to her and always said 'no' to things, so anyone who is remotely nice about something (like myself), even if they're saying no, she takes it as an almost yes and will do her best to manipulate, bat her eyelashes, and get all up in your face until you say yes. And I wasn't having it. Until she asked if she could tattoo me with a sharpie.
"Ehh, Okay." What's the worst she could to? "Just nothing on my face." I told her. So she sat in front of me, looked me up and down, opened her sharpie and went to town on my arm. She started drawing a cross. Well that's sweet, I thought. I can dig this. I stared off into space for awhile, and when she finished I looked down to a giant cross on my arm with a blacked in snake slithering around it, and the words, "We love you" in chicken scratch nearly up on my shoulder. Oh god I hope this comes off tomorrow.
I decided right from the start not to stay for a long time. I didn't like the vibes. I'm big on the vibes. Gotta trust my vibes. You know? So I hiked up to the meadow where all the overweight people told me NOT to go because I'll HATE the hike (which actually wasn't that bad). I pitched my tent there and hiked around a bit, helped make dinner, and contributed my two jugs of water to my Rainbow Family. That was going to be it for me until the next morning.
The only other young girl at the gathering was not friendly by any means, and all the young guys (well, the ones that actually spoke every once in awhile) just talked about smoking pot and how they want to stay in he woods forever doing nothing. Not my idea of a productive life.
Later in the night we gathered around the fire for a drum circle, a time of discussion and suggestions for the gathering, and I skipped out to bed right before the "om". I've got different idea of spirituality than these folks, and I didn't quite want to hold hand with them around the fire chanting and making myself vulnerable to a spirituality that I'm not sure I am completely comfortable with. I walked back to my site and prayed my own prayers to my own God and fell quickly to sleep after journaling.
Until.. that is... around midnight a couple of drunk kids walked back to their tent which was right next to mine screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs to the people on the other side of the meadow for a GOOD twenty minutes. I heard one whisper now and again "I think people are trying to sleep man," and the response to that would be, "GET OFFFFFFF MY PORCH MOTHER FUUCKKKEERRRRRRRR. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOH OH OH OH. YI YI YI YI YI. OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. WHERE YOU AT BOY!"
Twenty minutes.
This morning I packed up my tent, peeled the snails off my tent, and hiked back into the woods. I hiked down the hill and thought, well this doesn't look familiar. And hiked back up to the meadow. Examined the area a bit. Well maybe I just don't remember what it looked like. That's probably it. So I hiked back down again. I got the same spot and thought, well crap, I can't go down there. That doesn't look familiar. Once again, hiking all the way back up to the meadow, back to the Quit Your Bitchin' Kitchin' (as they liked to call it), and asked for help from a brother who walked me all the way back to the fork in the road where I got lost in the first place. Yep. I went the wrong way and would have ended up in the middle of nowhere Iowa in the middle of nowhere in the woods!
One hundred miles later I am in Omaha at a Starbucks where I washed myself and brushed me teeth in the bathroom, and got myself some beloved coffee. Welcome to the open road.
Nebraska, I hate you. I've got 450 miles of nothingness ahead of me until I hit Colorado.
And Champiagn, actually, I miss you lots. And all the people you have there. I'll be back.
Friday, March 25, 2011
in time of trouble...
"The Lord is near to me with my broken heart, and he saves me with my contrite spirit."
"for in the time of trouble... He shall set me up upon a rock."
"I will set my dwelling in and among you. And my soul will not despise or reject or separate itself from you. And I will walk in, and with, and among you and will be your God, and your shall be mine."
How?
To know that the Lord will never forsake me, but to feel worthless and rejected. There's not much I can do here. All I have the desire to do is wake up and cry as I look into the sky. Wish for the black hole to swallow me, because somewhere in my heart I think that no one will remember or care much anyway.
But the Lord, He'll set me up upon a rock. I am His.
These words are helpful words, but they have not sunk into my heart. There's something there that's taking up too much space. There's a feeling in my heart that refuses to let these words comfort me. No matter how much I desperately want, and how much I desperately need them to comfort me.
Why must such terrible feeling exist? Why does it seem like there's nothing I can do about them?
My sister, Kimberly, encouraged me to not let being forgettable become part of my identity. But I've been forgotten for so many years, and I'm afraid it may already have. I'm afraid it has become part of my identity since childhood. Making this feeling all the harder to shake.
And.
there is
nothing
I
can
do.
How can God comfort me now? Where is the rock He's going to set me on? I feel like it's just been thrown at me. For the first time a feeling so deep has left me feeling hopeless about it's departure from my life. Usually there's a glimmer.
Not today.
"for in the time of trouble... He shall set me up upon a rock."
"I will set my dwelling in and among you. And my soul will not despise or reject or separate itself from you. And I will walk in, and with, and among you and will be your God, and your shall be mine."
How?
To know that the Lord will never forsake me, but to feel worthless and rejected. There's not much I can do here. All I have the desire to do is wake up and cry as I look into the sky. Wish for the black hole to swallow me, because somewhere in my heart I think that no one will remember or care much anyway.
But the Lord, He'll set me up upon a rock. I am His.
These words are helpful words, but they have not sunk into my heart. There's something there that's taking up too much space. There's a feeling in my heart that refuses to let these words comfort me. No matter how much I desperately want, and how much I desperately need them to comfort me.
Why must such terrible feeling exist? Why does it seem like there's nothing I can do about them?
My sister, Kimberly, encouraged me to not let being forgettable become part of my identity. But I've been forgotten for so many years, and I'm afraid it may already have. I'm afraid it has become part of my identity since childhood. Making this feeling all the harder to shake.
And.
there is
nothing
I
can
do.
How can God comfort me now? Where is the rock He's going to set me on? I feel like it's just been thrown at me. For the first time a feeling so deep has left me feeling hopeless about it's departure from my life. Usually there's a glimmer.
Not today.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
unforgettable
Last Autumn I was living in Seattle with a sad feeling that sunk deeply into my heart. I don't quite know where it came from, but it was so heavy on me for an entire four months.
On one particular day I'm sure I had been crying, lying in bed all day, and reading. My dad called later that day to see how I was doing. He has this way of asking questions, digging deep, and helping me figure out the root of my feelings, or just my feelings in general. I only remember two things about that conversation. One: the phone was slippery and wet from all my sobbing tears which felt absolutely disgusting on my cheek. Two: I had discovered the root feeling of so many tears over my lifetime.
He had been asking me questions of, why do I get angry when "this" happens, and what triggers my sadness, and so-on. Finally, there was a short silence.
I answered to my dad in tears, "I'm afraid of being forgotten"...
I swear he could feel my despair through the telephone. His voice quivered, "There's a giant hole in your heart there, isn't there?"
"Yes." I realized.... and I lost it.
I am afraid of being forgotten. Every once in awhile that wound gets rubbed back open and bleeds a lot, and hurts a lot.
Right now, it hurts a lot.
My biggest fear in life, and I don't say this lightly, is being forgettable. I don't even ask for some great big space in peoples hearts. Just to simply be there.
And more often than not I feel as though I have failed. I feel as though I am perhaps the most forgettable person in peoples lives.
I don't say this as 22 year old woman waving, smiling, "DONT FORGET ABOUT ME FOLKS!"
I say this feeling small, like a four-year-old not loud enough to call out to her friends who have trailed so far ahead of her in a vast cornfield, "guys, hey, I'm back here, please don't forget about me".
Hey guys, I'm back here...
On one particular day I'm sure I had been crying, lying in bed all day, and reading. My dad called later that day to see how I was doing. He has this way of asking questions, digging deep, and helping me figure out the root of my feelings, or just my feelings in general. I only remember two things about that conversation. One: the phone was slippery and wet from all my sobbing tears which felt absolutely disgusting on my cheek. Two: I had discovered the root feeling of so many tears over my lifetime.
He had been asking me questions of, why do I get angry when "this" happens, and what triggers my sadness, and so-on. Finally, there was a short silence.
I answered to my dad in tears, "I'm afraid of being forgotten"...
I swear he could feel my despair through the telephone. His voice quivered, "There's a giant hole in your heart there, isn't there?"
"Yes." I realized.... and I lost it.
I am afraid of being forgotten. Every once in awhile that wound gets rubbed back open and bleeds a lot, and hurts a lot.
Right now, it hurts a lot.
My biggest fear in life, and I don't say this lightly, is being forgettable. I don't even ask for some great big space in peoples hearts. Just to simply be there.
And more often than not I feel as though I have failed. I feel as though I am perhaps the most forgettable person in peoples lives.
I don't say this as 22 year old woman waving, smiling, "DONT FORGET ABOUT ME FOLKS!"
I say this feeling small, like a four-year-old not loud enough to call out to her friends who have trailed so far ahead of her in a vast cornfield, "guys, hey, I'm back here, please don't forget about me".
Hey guys, I'm back here...
Saturday, March 5, 2011
fell to sleep, and fell to peace
This morning I woke up with an overwhelming peace.
I lay in bed last night with a sudden urgency to pray. There was a sense of uneasy spirits in the air around me, and I prayed to be protected in my heart, mind, spirit, and body. It's been a long time since I've had that uneasy feeling, but it has happened often, and I do believe that our spirits are so vulnerable when we sleep. Nightmares used to terror me since I was just a little girl.
My sleep had been very peaceful for so long... until this moment last night. And then I prayed. I prayed for sweet dreams sent from God Himself.
I'll be honest, dark dreams have occurred so often that there was a tinge of faithlessness about God actually protecting my dreams last night. But as I fell into my sleep I was met with a fantastical dream where I was standing inside an airplane flying over the Earth. Not just any airplane though, a skydiving airplane. I was so calm here in this place. I didn't know what to do, but I felt the need to jump so I did. When I jumped the leap sent me into such a peaceful soar through the sky where I remember seeing such beauty surrounding me. There was no heart racing adrenalin or anything. I smiled and took as much in as I could in this short moment.
As I neared the ground I remember not knowing if I had a parachute on, but I trusted that the Lord would guide me even though I was just the slightest bit fearful. When I found the parachute I didn't know how to land, but knew to trust my instincts and do what came naturally as I landed so quickly on the green grass of the Earth.
I remember smiling so big, wishing I could do it all over again because of how peaceful it was, and I didn't quite get to see enough of the beauty that was everywhere. It was such a comfortable, and new place as I was free falling through the air.
A crowd of people ran up to me asking me all these questions about it thinking, of course, that it was like any other skydiving experience you'd expect. I explained that it wasn't at all like a normal experience. It wasn't all what they thought. This was different. What I had done was wonderful.
Whatever I had experienced up there put a very, very deep peace about me. And peace is the only word I have because of its overwhelming hugeness in my dream. The peace was not ending there at my landing, but just beginning.
What a wonderful feeling to wake up to. What a wonderful God to protect my sleeping vulnerability and gift me with such great things.
I lay in bed last night with a sudden urgency to pray. There was a sense of uneasy spirits in the air around me, and I prayed to be protected in my heart, mind, spirit, and body. It's been a long time since I've had that uneasy feeling, but it has happened often, and I do believe that our spirits are so vulnerable when we sleep. Nightmares used to terror me since I was just a little girl.
My sleep had been very peaceful for so long... until this moment last night. And then I prayed. I prayed for sweet dreams sent from God Himself.
I'll be honest, dark dreams have occurred so often that there was a tinge of faithlessness about God actually protecting my dreams last night. But as I fell into my sleep I was met with a fantastical dream where I was standing inside an airplane flying over the Earth. Not just any airplane though, a skydiving airplane. I was so calm here in this place. I didn't know what to do, but I felt the need to jump so I did. When I jumped the leap sent me into such a peaceful soar through the sky where I remember seeing such beauty surrounding me. There was no heart racing adrenalin or anything. I smiled and took as much in as I could in this short moment.
As I neared the ground I remember not knowing if I had a parachute on, but I trusted that the Lord would guide me even though I was just the slightest bit fearful. When I found the parachute I didn't know how to land, but knew to trust my instincts and do what came naturally as I landed so quickly on the green grass of the Earth.
I remember smiling so big, wishing I could do it all over again because of how peaceful it was, and I didn't quite get to see enough of the beauty that was everywhere. It was such a comfortable, and new place as I was free falling through the air.
A crowd of people ran up to me asking me all these questions about it thinking, of course, that it was like any other skydiving experience you'd expect. I explained that it wasn't at all like a normal experience. It wasn't all what they thought. This was different. What I had done was wonderful.
Whatever I had experienced up there put a very, very deep peace about me. And peace is the only word I have because of its overwhelming hugeness in my dream. The peace was not ending there at my landing, but just beginning.
What a wonderful feeling to wake up to. What a wonderful God to protect my sleeping vulnerability and gift me with such great things.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Always... I mean... Never ride with strangers
Whenever I'm in an absolute blissful time in life, I know that a year from that moment I'll be looking back with deep nostalgia with my head in the clouds... "a year ago today..." I'll think. I know, I know- I must live in these precious moments that are now, or else I won't have the joy of wonderful memories.. blah blah blah.
I do know that, and I am continually learning how to take captive these moments of now. But last night I was thinking of all the adventures I've had because I'd been gutsy (maybe stupid), trusting my wonderful God, and... not having a car.
It's been over a year, with the exception of a couple of months, of not having a car. Last January after the long haul from Seattle to Chicago in 40 straight hours, my car was stolen in Chicago with almost everything I owned in it. Of course I cried, that sucks! But two days later I was laughing while I packed my remaining belongings into my adventure pack. No, I did not go mad after my car was stolen. The hilarity was that it was a blessing.
Three days before I walked up to an empty spot in the road (the place where my car was violated and then passed into another life.. poor mary-jane) I was packing it up telling my dad, "How did I get so much stuff? I wish I could get rid of it all and fit everything into a backpack, but there's just certain things you can't get ride of." Unless of course one parks her car on Hazel and Wilson downtown Chicago.
Thus began my trek across the country, again, but this time with mostly strangers.
I've told the story of my car ride with that psychotic woman from Denver to Fresno (emphasis on the "no"... meaning, "no, don't ever go there"), however, all in all it was a blessing to have her graciously give me a ride, and I have a lot of fun telling that story. Just don't ask me to tell it in person. Oral story-telling is not my strong suit.
Two months later, after living in San Luis Obispo for awhile, learning how to make all kinds of food from scratch, seeing a new kind of community, learning that the sun shining every damn day is really a terrible curse, and enjoying everyone in that hostel so very much, (and inventing nackers), it was time for Aaron to come visit me in California and whisk me away to Branson. But I desperately wanted to go pick him up at LAX. The problem was that I was about three hours north of there.
As always, craigslist to the rescue. In California there is not a shortage of laid back people to offer a seat in their car. In this case from SLO to LA Jeremy would offer his seat to me free of charge and I would talk his ear off of my travels as we drove down beautiful highway 101. Jeremy was on his way to a work conference and offers rides on craigslist now and then because he enjoys helping people out. Like most people share with me when I've caught rides, Jeremy told me, "I'd rather it be me giving someone a ride than let someone who might want to cause harm give a ride." A noble cause. Much appreciated.
Jeremy picked me up right at Hostel Obispo, and when we neared Santa Monica he felt compelled to help me out. He asked if I had enough to eat for the next couple of days (knowing I was totally broke), and said that if I couldn't get a ride to the airport the next day to call him. When we finally got to Santa Monica Jeremy took me to lunch for some gyros. Afterward he dropped me off at my Santa Monica hostel, got my pack out of the trunk for me, he handed me $20. Blessing after blessing.
"I can't take this from you. You've already helped me plenty!" I told him.
"Please. I'd really like for you to take it. It's a lot more to you than it is to me right now. Please."
So I took it with a huge smile and a lot of gratitude. I went to check in to my hostel wondering if this experience was really more helpful to me, or to Jeremy. He shared with me that he was very inspired by my stories and where I had gone, what I had done. I am continually inspired by the hearts and the generosity of humanity. It's part of the reason I love taking the risks I do.
Really, it helps me love Jesus even more. I get to see a small portion of what He sees in us.
________________________
On a side note: let this be a lesson to you... rid yourself of mary-jane!
Hehehe... Just kidding.
I named my car mary-jane out of complete naivety, by the way.
The end.
I do know that, and I am continually learning how to take captive these moments of now. But last night I was thinking of all the adventures I've had because I'd been gutsy (maybe stupid), trusting my wonderful God, and... not having a car.
It's been over a year, with the exception of a couple of months, of not having a car. Last January after the long haul from Seattle to Chicago in 40 straight hours, my car was stolen in Chicago with almost everything I owned in it. Of course I cried, that sucks! But two days later I was laughing while I packed my remaining belongings into my adventure pack. No, I did not go mad after my car was stolen. The hilarity was that it was a blessing.
Three days before I walked up to an empty spot in the road (the place where my car was violated and then passed into another life.. poor mary-jane) I was packing it up telling my dad, "How did I get so much stuff? I wish I could get rid of it all and fit everything into a backpack, but there's just certain things you can't get ride of." Unless of course one parks her car on Hazel and Wilson downtown Chicago.
Thus began my trek across the country, again, but this time with mostly strangers.
I've told the story of my car ride with that psychotic woman from Denver to Fresno (emphasis on the "no"... meaning, "no, don't ever go there"), however, all in all it was a blessing to have her graciously give me a ride, and I have a lot of fun telling that story. Just don't ask me to tell it in person. Oral story-telling is not my strong suit.
Two months later, after living in San Luis Obispo for awhile, learning how to make all kinds of food from scratch, seeing a new kind of community, learning that the sun shining every damn day is really a terrible curse, and enjoying everyone in that hostel so very much, (and inventing nackers), it was time for Aaron to come visit me in California and whisk me away to Branson. But I desperately wanted to go pick him up at LAX. The problem was that I was about three hours north of there.
As always, craigslist to the rescue. In California there is not a shortage of laid back people to offer a seat in their car. In this case from SLO to LA Jeremy would offer his seat to me free of charge and I would talk his ear off of my travels as we drove down beautiful highway 101. Jeremy was on his way to a work conference and offers rides on craigslist now and then because he enjoys helping people out. Like most people share with me when I've caught rides, Jeremy told me, "I'd rather it be me giving someone a ride than let someone who might want to cause harm give a ride." A noble cause. Much appreciated.
Jeremy picked me up right at Hostel Obispo, and when we neared Santa Monica he felt compelled to help me out. He asked if I had enough to eat for the next couple of days (knowing I was totally broke), and said that if I couldn't get a ride to the airport the next day to call him. When we finally got to Santa Monica Jeremy took me to lunch for some gyros. Afterward he dropped me off at my Santa Monica hostel, got my pack out of the trunk for me, he handed me $20. Blessing after blessing.
"I can't take this from you. You've already helped me plenty!" I told him.
"Please. I'd really like for you to take it. It's a lot more to you than it is to me right now. Please."
So I took it with a huge smile and a lot of gratitude. I went to check in to my hostel wondering if this experience was really more helpful to me, or to Jeremy. He shared with me that he was very inspired by my stories and where I had gone, what I had done. I am continually inspired by the hearts and the generosity of humanity. It's part of the reason I love taking the risks I do.
Really, it helps me love Jesus even more. I get to see a small portion of what He sees in us.
________________________
On a side note: let this be a lesson to you... rid yourself of mary-jane!
Hehehe... Just kidding.
I named my car mary-jane out of complete naivety, by the way.
The end.
putting on my hitchhiking lens
Sometimes I held up a sign, sometimes I didn’t need to do anything but walk. In rare bouts of goofiness I'd dance with my thumb out. There must have been something about my loaded backpack and the fact that I was walking entirely too close to the cars on a road that had no sidewalk. Each time a car would pull over and roll down the window a thrill of excitement would jolt down my back. Rarely was there fear- just the wind of the cars who blew past me as I approached my next ride out of town.
All I heard were rocks under my footsteps, and the passing cars that were once loud filtered quietly in the background. There was never a certain type of person who would pick me up while I was hitchhiking that short few miles between town and my current "home". Once a middle aged woman, another time an older Morman business man- he gave me a ride and I gave him directions. A quiet, non-talkative young-twenties couple picked me up in their disastrous car filled with the aroma of pizza on their way out of town. That day it took me a bit longer to catch a ride.
Every time I stepped into a new car I got to step behind the life of another American citizen living their life, and being generous. The fulfillment they seemed to get from “saving me” (as some would put it) “from the creepers out there” was no doubt contagious. Hitchhiking for those three weeks wasn’t just a form of transportation. It was an exchange of gifts between two people: the driver and the passenger. Each time the exchange would shine all the more hope on the goodness of what is in the human heart.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Seattle, Seattle
It's not a place that I plan to move back to. But it's a place that is very dear to my heart.
Thinking about Seattle..
Seattle's overcast skies don’t put a damper on the vibrancy of life. There is crispness and excitement in the air. Cloudy days are beautiful, and it makes the sunny ones all the more exciting when the clouds decide to part. A modest beauty surrounds the city. Seattle knows it’s glory and the glory that surrounds it, but it keeps it secrete until that special sunny day when the ocean glistens and Mt. Rainier tantalizes the Seattle skyline with it’s snow-cap diving into the ceiling of the atmosphere. It’s surrounded with natural beauty, all four seasons, yet with a perfectly mild flavor and a general harmony with the earth. This is where city and nature meet. It’s where Mercedes and VW buses enjoy each others company on the road. It’s where healthy and indulgence realize that they don’t always have to be at odds. Seattle welcomes the corporate world, family lifestyles, and radical subcultures.
To me, there has never been a more well rounded city.
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