Verbal Excursions

My partner of five years and I called it quits in the middle of cross country RV road trip. We had left our home and our families behind, sold everything we owned, and launched this expedition together – and then nine months into it, one random summer day in Northern Idaho, he told me it was over. Due to financial restrictions and shitty circumstance, we agreed to travel together for several weeks before finally going our separate ways. I’ve taken to calling this The Exodus.

It was a long trip. And because I was not the one who initiated the break up, it was also completely fucking brutal. It wasn’t horrible – there were definitely times when it was good – we were happy and had fun and I would even forget that this was our break-up. And then the moment when that reality resurfaced was like having a tooth pulled – only instead of going to the dentist, let’s pretend that it’s your best friend removing this tooth, with zero anesthesia. Using an ice pick and a hammer. While they tell you that really, this is the best thing for both of you.

So, it was that pain that drove me into the woods. We had camped the night before, and today was the day we would be leaving. We were on the final stretch – just a few days left to go. And he made me a peanut butter sandwich, and the ratio of peanut butter to jelly was weird, and I was just about to ask him if he would make it differently for me next time, when I realized that it didn’t matter, because it was the only peanut butter sandwich he would ever make for me. There would never be another peanut butter and jelly sandwich shared between us, ever. And it was silly and it was lame and I couldn’t even tell him why my eyes were suddenly teary – because this was exactly the sort of thing he would have no patience for. So I stood up and walked into the woods. And I kept walking until I found the biggest tree I have ever seen in my life – and next to this tree was the stump of a smaller tree. And I sat down in the sun, just outside the shadow of this enormous tree, and I cried.

I cried from a place so deep I didn’t even know it existed. I cried so long, and so hard, that the crying stopped coming from inside of me, and instead stood up out of me and became it’s own thing. I cried so intensely that when the crying finally stuttered to a halt, my guts had been wrung out. And in the place where that crying had come from, there was all this space. All this empty, quiet space. And I rubbed my swollen eyes, and sniffled a few times, and realized that where I sat, the silence was profound. Every tiny leaf rustling, every bug buzzing, was precisely audible in the midst of this tremendous stillness. And I stopped sniffling, and I let the composure of that place seep in through my pores – and it was so serene. I stayed there for a long time, letting that tranquility settle into the hollow left behind by those tears – breathing it thick and deep. Inhaling it with the smell of old wood and deep needles and the soft smell of peaceful decay… recognizing that this is just the smell of compost. It is the old, being made new.

I <3 this site.

I wasn’t looking to impress
I was there to dance
so I wore pajama pants

with fuzzy zebras
and double-knotted
my sneakers.

I don’t booze anymore
so I tapped the caffeine
mainlined a strong fizz

and it wasn’t really
a club – but more
a shanty

not so much a scene
as it was
obscene

but that dj was mixing
songs like most people
mix metaphors

he threw down beats
like he knew
his day was coming

so I moved
like mine
already had

and I’m no saint
but I exercised
these demons

and it felt heavenly
to see that sun rise
swollen with exertion

so I tipped my hat
to it. It looked
choreographed

like I meant it to
So I turned thanks
into a dance move

This article by Danielle LaPorte was immensely valuable to me. I took it to heart, and I asked the questions – and I am very glad I did.

Funny enough – I sent these questions to about twenty people who I’ve known for a million years, and also created a public posting inviting feedback from anyone who cared to give it. Considering the size of the audience, the responses I got were very few… and they weren’t at all the folks I expected to hear from. In fact, two of the people who took the time to write had only met me once! But the feedback I received is still rocking me, months later… and I expect it will continue to do so.

So, my deep gratitude to Danielle. And amazing love to Lori, Jill, Harry, Tammy, Marcus, George, and my lovely sister Diana for responding. The depth of thoughtfulness in your words was truly touching.

*muchlove*

My best restaurant moment of 2009 was in September. I had attended the International Day of Peace celebration in Phoenix, and ended up at a new restaurant later that evening, surrounded by my family of choice. It had been a long day, but it had been awhile since we had all been in the same room together, so everyone was in high spirits and the mood was playful and light. We decided that each person would order a different entree, so that we could try as many dishes on the menu as possible. When the food arrived on the table, each person took a few bites of their entree, and then passed spoonfuls around the table to be shared. The food was outstanding, the vibe was awesome, and it was an amazing way to reconnect with my loved ones.

The restaurant itself was also amazing – great service, delicious healthy food, and good vibes all around. It’s called The Breadfruit (authentic Jamaican grill) – it’s locally owned (and operated with a conscience!). If you miss this one, you’re missing out.

I traveled for nine months in 2009, so you would think that I would have alot of trips clamoring for “best of”… but really, the best trip I took was just a short jaunt, within Arizona. It was totally unplanned – we were heading from point A to point B (I don’t even remember where), and ended up having more time than we had bargained to make the trip. We were passing through our home state of Arizona, and on a whim decided to visit a camping spot a friend of ours had been raving about for quite some time. This particular spot was a site frequented by geologists and rock enthusiasts, where quartz crystals occur naturally in abundance.

It was cold and it was wet and it was off-season (digging is only allowed in the winter, to protect the Ponderosa pines that grow in the area), but we spent five days walking up and down creek beds and hiking into the hills to find “hot spots” where the rain had uncovered hidden gems. We spent five nights going through our finds, under a dim RV light. We filled a shopping bag full of lumpy, mud-caked crystals. We filled a little egg crate with tiny, glass-like crystals that we decided that, one day, we should make into jewelry. But what I really loved about it was the spontaneity of it… In nine months, pretty much every second of my time had been planned… and unfortunately, not alot of that planning had included relaxation, or fun. This was really the first (and unfortunately, only) time that my then-partner and I had spent a solid chunk of time together, without any commitments or responsibilities or distractions or to-do lists. No phones were ringing, no computers were online, there was no agenda, and there were no plans.

For the first time since I was very, very young, I remembered what it felt like way back then. To dig in the dirt, and laugh out loud, and to be fully and completely engaged in a project, side by side with your best friend. To wonder at the world and how things came to be the way they are – and what we might be like if we could for one second understand the mystery of it all. To be in awe of nature, her amazing creations, and the perfect movement of the world around us. To be able to pause and take it all in, and enjoy it fully… and to share that with someone you love.

I spent five days disheveled and damp, with dirt under my fingernails and mud in my hair, and I didn’t care. It was silly, yes. It was childish, yes. It was also amazing – and I loved every second of it fully.

This is one of my all-time favorites – enjoy!