Sonora pass

Well, I finally had a long-over due weekend all to myself. I’ve known that I needed more time to process my emotions after Damien and I broke up. But I have been on the go nonstop. Until this weekend. And it was wonderful.

It started out a bit rocky.  I was planning to drive up to Tahoe immediately after work on Friday and spend the entire weekend in solitude at my friend’s beautiful vacation home, but by the time I got home from work on Friday I knew I couldn’t drive. My stomach was tied in a knot of emotion. I was exhausted – the kind of exhaustion that comes from trying to hold things together. from depression, from sadness. I sat on the couch unmoving for about 20 minutes and let my mind race with thoughts. I fell asleep for a few minutes and then an odd dream startled me awake. I judged myself for not being more productive and then I curled up in a ball and tried to force myself to feel better and get moving.  It didn’t work. Finally, it dawned on me to do Tom Brown’s Long Form meditation.  Here is an abbreviated version. I laid flat on the ground and tuned everything out except for the guided meditation. After the first few deep breaths I burst into tears. It felt good. I cried hard and felt the knot in my stomach loosen up. There were no thoughts in my mind – just pure emotion.  I cried a few more times over the course of the meditation, and by the time I stood up, I felt completely different. Empty. light.  I made a decision to only do what I wanted to do for the rest of the weekend.

And next, I wanted to watch a movie 🙂 I watched Good Will Hunting for the first time.  It was perfect for the mood I was in. Then I went to sleep.

I woke up early on Saturday feeling rested, and planned to leave right away but for some reason, I kept resisting getting packed. I stopped and asked myself, “ok- what do you want to do right now?”  And surprisingly, I realized that I really wanted to clean the bathroom.  The house where I am staying has a messy bathroom. It has always bugged me, but I’ve never taken the time to do anything about it.  Until Saturday morning.  I scrubbed the entire thing. I fought back the thoughts telling me I was wasting time, and I was thorough. I actually really enjoyed it. It felt amazing. on some level that I haven’t figured out yet, it felt like it was me reclaiming a part of myself.

Next, I got packed leisurely and headed towards Tahoe.

About 30 minutes into my drive, though, I decided I didn’t want to go to Tahoe. (Maybe I was avoiding processing my emotions and being alone. Maybe not). All I knew was that I wanted to go somewhere that I could collect gray pine nuts and make jewelry. Sonora. I couldn’t get the place out of my head. I went rock climbing there 3 years ago I remembered that there were a lot of gray pines.  (I have only been able to find them growing in the foothills at about 3,000ft elevation).   I changed my route and headed towards Table Mountain in Sonora.

For about an hour, I drove behind a car with a license plate that read, “My Life”. Not sure what that meant for me, but I’m sure there is something symbolic in there.

When I got to the parking area where I had gone climbing 3 years ago, I knew something was wrong. Instead of the dirt trail heading back into the woods, there was a cul de sac. And a house. I sat in the car for a moment, confused and unsure of what to do next.  A friendly older man drove down his driveway on a 4wheeler.  I explained to him that I wanted to collect gray pine nuts.  He invited me up to his property. I hiked up a hill and stumbled across a massive shooting range he had set up in his yard.  I didn’t pay much attention to it. I just gathered what I wanted. On my way back down to my car, he rode up to me on his 4wheeler and invited me to explore his “village”.  His village turned out to be a handcrafted series of wooden shacks, each fully decorated and furnished, each with it’s own theme.  This is the one where he parks his favorite 4wheeler.

Sonora is close to Yosemite but I knew I didn’t want to drive near tourists, so I decided to drive through Stanislaus National Forest via Sonora Pass.

 (Ewok village?)

It was breathtaking.   I stopped to explore a rushing river, passed through areas that I had read about and never had been to before. I want to climb this next.

When I came out on the other side of the woods, in Nevada, I ended up finding a hot spring.  I waded in up to my hips.

Then I drove up 395. I stopped and gathered some heavy volcanic rocks for rock boiling. And I went into a few fun roadside stands.  As I drove I processed more emotions. Thought about sad things and happy things.  Mostly I sang to myself. I got to Tahoe in the evening and went out for Thai food.  I ordered Green Curry and Pad See Ew and ate everything.

Then I went to the house, made a fire, and watched a Nicholas Sparks movie.  Here is where I slept.

In the morning I woke up slowly and took a long bath. I read part of a novel, sang in the tub, and tested out all sorts of essential oils. I danced around the house a bit, and then wrote. (I’ve been needing to write for a long time, to get out my thoughts about the relationship, and I haven’t had the chance until this weekend. I wrote for a few hours). Finally, friends started messaging me and I felt like it was time to wrap up inside. I cleaned up the house and headed out on the back porch to do some flint knapping.

The day that Damien and I broke up, I found a piece of blue glass and saved it to remind me to listen to my heart.  I brought it with me to Tahoe and decided to chip away at it. I stopped myself before I knapped it away to nothing. It is smaller now. I’m still not sure what I’ll do with it.

Then I grabbed a smooth stone and started polishing away at my flex bow. It is a project that was long overdue.

Once finished with everything, I left Tahoe and headed out towards Grass Valley. I wanted to check out the gray pines there (and avoid traffic on rt. 80 leaving tahoe). It was a beautiful drive.  Smoke from the massive forest fire near Rt. 50 had drifted up, and I could smell it and see it in the air on my way down the mountain. Grass Valley was a cool little town. I snagged some more gray pine cones there.

I made a few pit stops on my way back to Mountain View. One of the best was visiting Benecia. I read about Benecia’s glass beaches when I first moved to California, and always wanted to check it out.  It was kind of a disappointment. Not much sea glass. But there were some yummy wild blackberries growing by the bay.  They weren’t as good as the ones I found in grass valley, though.

Now I am home. Happy and well-adventured.

My Black Backpack

This month I went on vacation to NJ for 9 days with Damien and Sean and upon returning I have been working so constantly that it feels like the only time I have to breathe is when I am asleep.

I am trying to juggle my last few weeks at Performing Arts Workshop, wrapping up the New Sector Alliance AmeriCorps Residency, and running my own wilderness survival school. Errands to run, like grocery shopping, picking up supplies for wilderness camp, returning the too-small shoes I bought last month, or finally going to the DMV to get a California driver’s license, have fallen to the wayside.

There are more pressing tasks at hand, like the day-to-day work I have to do, credit card payments to make, interviews for a new job, emails to reply to, and networking conversations to initiate. One obligation replaces the next as I try to clear my plate.

In a way, part of me is proud. My coping mechanism has been to become mechanically efficient – I record each task, process my lists, strategically calculate how to maximize my time, and then spew out the completed objective. No time wasted.

But in my robotic work pattern, something has been lost. I haven’t had the time to write.

Ah my journal. It makes me cringe just to think about it. Once my daily companion, it has been sandwiched among a stack of untouched leisure reading, pages cemented together with the sticky gray dust of neglect.  (The three books I’ve been working on are even worse. Their pages have been dog eared on chapters 1, 7, and – I am embarrassed to admit – the Introduction, since mid-May). To add insult to injury, I have banished the whole pile – books and journal together – to a ratty black backpack that slumps haphazardly against a wall in the bedroom.  “No time for distraction like that” my efficiency calculator tells me.

I avert my eyes from that darn backpack’s heavy gaze every time I enter the room.  “I just can’t right now.” I mutter…not when there are so many tasks to do. Maybe next week I will have the time. Before I can feel guilty I am blinded by the endless to-do list booting across my visual screen, assigning me to the next task.

—–

 At first it would only happen when I was at home – I would start to feel the backpack creeping its way into my psyche while I was hammering away at my laptop. It’d loom over my head like a summer storm cloud, its electricity making the hair on the back of my neck stand up as it whispered gently “write….write…write…”.

But now it is worse; manipulating its way into my mind at the most inopportune times. And not just gentle whisperings. No, the distraction is much more severe. During staff meetings, while driving to appointments, mid-conversation with friends, it doesn’t matter. The backpack interrupts me with paragraphs of creative language – words poetically placed in the perfect positions, laced together like a patchwork quilt.

They come crashing and cascading into my mind, those twisting, writhing words. Begging me to pause and WRITE them down.  Momentarily, it will override the computer, distracting me, interrupting my measured, patterned thoughts and driving me into a panic – where is my pen when I need it!!!!!!

But then, just like that, they are replaced by the whir of my work robot rebooting in glee with a curt: “no time for that, get back on task”, “let’s focus”. Feeling chastised for losing sight of my priorities, I sit in sadness and regret.

—–

I’m not quite sure what happened last night. Maybe it was the wind blowing slightly harder than usual outside my window, or the type of toothpaste I used, or the angle of my feet when I slept. But today I think my efficiency computer shorted out. And I wrote. I started in my journal and let the words flood out of my heart and onto the page. I wrote until the sticky mechanical pencil I found in the bottom of the backpack ran out of graphite. Then I opened my computer and wrote this. I keep glancing at the heaps of dirty clothes that surround me, the snack wrappers, and an unmade bed, and expecting that blinking red blinking TASK TO DO light to go on. But it hasn’t, yet.

I do feel a little bit guilty. Mostly I just feel alive 🙂

 

And now I am entertaining myself with things like this:

ahahahahahahaha  🙂 🙂

 

Bags of cherries and love

This Memorial Day Weekend was just great.  So much to tell. I’ll try to keep it brief.

Friday evening Damien and I picked up his son, Sean from school and drove home to Oakland. It had been a long week and we were looking forward to just relaxing…but our relaxation turned into 3 action-packed days.

We woke up early Saturday morning and headed out to Broom Bush cafe in Oakland/Berkeley… We are very refined classy when we go out to eat.

After breakfast we drove over the Bay Bridge into San Francisco for a special trip to Dogpatch Boulders.  The sun was shining so we put the top down and rocked out to the Kids Bop Pandora station.

Sean loves bouldering so he was in heaven when we got to the gym. The kids area has bug and dinosaur-shaped holds. They even have a castle with a slide!!

The climbing gym is right down the street from my office so we swung by and had an impromptu jam session with some drums and shakers and other musical instruments that Performing Arts Workshop keeps on hand.

By the time we got home we were all feeling pretty exhausted and cranky.  Damien ran out and saved the evening by picking up a bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, a card, and food for dinner 🙂  I think I am getting  spoiled….

Then Sunday morning Sean and I got up bright and early and started cooking. Eggs, bologna, waffles and OJ. I have been perfecting my Chef Laura act, which generally involves talking in a high half-British voice and balancing a bowl on my head as my chef hat while I pretend that pushing frozen waffles into the toaster is preparation for a gourmet meal. Sean is my Sous Chef. When we cook breakfast together he cracks the eggs for me and hands me the plates.

After breakfast we picked up a gift, and drove an hour down to the South Bay for Sean’s cousin’s 4th birthday. Complete with Hello Kitty cupcakes and a bouncy house.

We left at around 6pm and went to see EPIC. It is a nice movie about little human creatures who live with the plants! I think I enjoyed it more than the kids.

On the drive home, Sean slept in the car, and Damien and I reflected on our childhoods and the things that influenced us. We wondered whether it is the way we are exposed to things over and over that make us interested in them, or if it is that we are born with unique interests to begin with, so certain things will just pique our interest and we will remember them.

Monday, Memorial Day, we had a hike planned at Briones Park, and Sean and I were toiling away in the kitchen getting ready. I removed the chef-hat/bowl from my head just in time for our friends to start arriving at 10:30am.  By 11am, Emily, Todd, Kyle, Michelle, Damien, Sean, and myself were all set to go. We grabbed our picnic lunches, and got on the road.

On the way to the park we passed a large memorial. So special to be celebrating Memorial Day with a veteran. I’m so proud of Damien’s service in the Air Force 🙂 

When we arrived at the trailhead we discussed the contents of our lunch bags. Everyone had brought extra cherries to share.   I guess it was that kind of a day. (Or maybe cherries were just on sale at the supermarket).

It drizzled lightly during our hike, but the rain and breeze kept the temperature perfect as we hiked up through the hills. The air was filled with a warm damp smell, reminiscent of  an old barn, or Iowa. Emily taught us that the smell of the air and soil after rain actually has a name. It is called Petrichor. (And here I was thinking that was just the odor of the now-moistened piles of grassy dung plopped strategically along the trail).

After a good few hours of hiking plus a stop for lunch, we all fanned out and took a few moments to be silent and enjoy the view of the rolling hills. Damien, Sean, and I laid on a hill together feeling the warmth of the sun-baked grass and the earth, and listening to the birds and crickets chatter – excited that the rain had stopped.  After ten minutes or so, we made loud coyote, parrot, and cow sounds to alert the others that we were ready to go.

Back at home we had a nice fire in our backyard pit and made smores. Somehow we went through a bag of marshmallows between the 7 of us which equals roughly 6 per person…minus 2 people who didn’t have any and 2 people who only ate 2…so…  I’m still trying to figure that out…

In a sugary haze, we decided to throw together an impromptu dinner, resulting in zucchini, rosemary chicken, and a mac and cheese disaster delicacy that deserves a blog post of its own.

(Not to disclose too much, but key images I will remember are: Todd shoveling a clump of cheese out of the bubbling pasta and milk, directly into the trash can, Damien’s exclamation that it tastes like Play Doh while squirting lime juice frantically into the pot. Everyone’s hands in the pot at the same time, lifting up goopy strands of cheese, and the realization that Parmesan, Pepper Jack, and Cheddar cheese are not necessarily the best mix).

Following dinner,  we guzzled down cups of tea and ate a pan of thick Ghiradelli double chocolate chip brownies. Prompted by yet another manic sugar craze, the group spent at least an hour searching for a car commercial that plays on Damien’s Oklahoma Pandora Radio station… “Oooh La La Fowler Honda” (spoken in a deep country accent)…. will ring in my mind all week.

Despite all attempts, I could not find the commercial. The closest I could find was this equally hilarious and weird commercial for the same dealership.

Can’t wait for next weekend…

Loneliness

Two weekends ago I volunteered with Youth Enrichment Strategies – a Bay Area nonprofit that focuses on inner city youth and families.  I was helping out at their Family Camp, (a weekend-long retreat for families, held in the Santa Cruz mountains) co-facilitating the teen leadership program.

I set out for the camp on a beautiful Friday, afternoon. I was feeling liberated and grateful (mostly for my convertible), and could barely keep the smile off my face, as the road curved through winding mountain roads and redwood groves.  I was excited and looking forward to arriving at the remote camp with zero cell phone reception. I’d be teaching leadership and responsibility through wilderness survival skills, surrounded by people volunteering to do what they love – free from distractions and stress from home. I was making great time – I was early, even, and excited to meet my fellow volunteers and the 100 families who would be arriving via buses to the camp.

All of the ingredients for the recipe of a memorable weekend were in place.  And the weekend was certainly was quite memorable.  But not in the way I wanted it to be.

Before I knew it, the camp was set up, and the buses were arriving. Families unloaded and were greeted by their volunteers. It was chaotic, loud, and exhilarating.

Because I was managing the special teen program, I wasn’t assigned a family to work with, like other volunteers, and when the crowd cleared, I found myself standing around. Alone. Then, slowly, like black ink spreading along creases in wrinkled paper, a sadness and loneliness started to creep into my psyche.

The more I tried to ignore it, the worse it got. If only I could feel needed, I told myself. Then I wouldn’t be sad. Then I wouldn’t feel so empty… I busied myself with tasks, straightening up in the dining hall, hanging a sign that had fallen off of a door, picking up shreds of toilet paper on the bathroom floor and throwing them away (yes, I really did this)…I was satisfied momentarily. And then it was time for dinner. I wasn’t hungry at all, and the food was elementary-school cafeteria grade, at best. But I ate like I was a starving beast. I knew I was compensating for something that was missing inside.

By the time I slipped into my sleeping bag Friday night, I was introverted, sad, and feeling disappointed in myself.

Over the course of the weekend my thoughts and emotions were as tangled and circular as a robin’s nest. My inner dialogue went something like, “yikes, I am nervous to be here alone!”, “look at all these cool new people to be friends with” ,“no one wants to hang out with me” ,“It’s great to be alone in nature, glad to have time to myself and just wander”, “be happy, be happy”, “why are you sad? This is just great.” “JUST ENJOY YOURSELF!” “Take this experience for what it is”

The problem was, though, that it felt impossible for me to connect with anyone. The less connected I felt, the more I focused on the things I missed.  I missed my boyfriend, my friends, my family, even my ugly apartment and bedroom in Oakland. The more I let the loneliness consume me, the more I retreated. I sat alone outside during break times, in what probably appeared to everyone else to be a content, reflection on nature. In reality I was obsessing about external things…like my age, my relative new introduction to the organization, the way I looked and how I had been presenting myself. Trying to think of reasons why I hadn’t made the kind of close friends I’d wanted to.

On Saturday night, after the group campfire, as the instructors gathered to debrief from the day, I sat, ironically, on the outside of the circle, overcome with jealousy and loneliness brooding about why no one was sitting with me.

By Sunday morning, every smile took energy.  I said my goodbyes, gave half-hearted hugs, and feigned excitement to return in a few weeks for the second Family Camp. I walked back to my car: a sour taste in my mouth and tears in my eyes, just waiting to fall.

Driving back home I remembered something about positive psychology and subconscious reinforcers, and not wanting to be in a bad mood anymore, I forced the corners of my lips into a smile.  My timing was perfect, as I smiled just as a motorcycle riding club was passing by.  My angry smile turned into genuine laughter as I heard their engines revving in response to me.  Feeling a bit better, I allowed myself to reflect back on the weekend as I drove.

With each curve in the road I had a new revelation. All weekend I had been obsessed with the fact that I was the only one who felt alone.  But when I considered it in retrospect, I realized how even surrounded by friends, or family we can feel alone. Then it struck me that being alone is something that comes from within.  Yes it is comforting and nice to be surrounded with old friends, but that comfort will only be a band-aid until you are balanced within. …not necessarily the most novel thought, but enough to  lift off my gray lenses and help me view the weekend for what it actually had been.

It wasn’t that people didn’t want to hang out with me. It was that I was so self-obsessed and uncomfortable with myself, that I was avoiding the opportunities to really make deeper connections.  Rather than showing my own vulnerability and really getting close to people, I was allowing my insecurity to put up walls, and I was actively shutting people out.

For me, it was cool to realize that I have the power to change my circumstances…and sometimes it’s as simple as a shift in perspective.  I vowed that I would go back and try again at the next family camp in a few weeks.

5am thoughts on molecules that switch places

In December I was at Peet’s coffee at the Embarcadero in San Francisco, when I saw some pigeons waddle confidently into the building and settle down on the floor in the middle of a heavily trafficked walkway.  They preened and cooed and stood in line next to human patrons, as if they were waiting to get their morning coffee like the rest of us.  I laughed and looked around at my fellow customers. No one batted an eyelid. (I wish I had a picture of this)

I read once that pigeons were originally coastal cliff dwellers. They lived by the sea and nested high along rocky shorelines feasting on treats from the ocean.  With the emergence of tall buildings in cities they started inhabiting rooftops and manmade ledges….eventually they toughened up, got some street smarts and adapted to almost all aspects of urban life  (despite all of the traffic, how often do you see a pigeon that has been hit by a car in the city?). Now, pigeons are no longer just tourists, rather, they could be considered a defining piece of the modern-day urban environment. Such a fixture, indeed, that their presence inside of buildings goes practically unnoticed.

Seeing the pigeons got me thinking about how we, as humans go through similar transformations. We adapt sub consciously and consciously with every neighborhood we live in and town we travel through.  And in relationships, we grow and change in accordance with the mental space and spiritual level of the people we interact with. Until, like pigeons, we become part of the definition of our hometown, workplace, group of friends, culture.

I think it happens because our molecules are all moving and changing. Since on a molecular level, we are not solid, any molecules that we come in contact with can literally become a part of us!

Every hug, every sandwich we eat, every piece of earth that we touch, gets absorbed into part of who we are. And even though our skulls seem solid, they’re not…and so I think the molecules inside of our brains shift and change depending on what we hear and say and think. The curse words, the “I love you’s” All start to shape who we are and how we think.

With my new realization, negative people seemed really harsh.  I felt more sensitive than ever to littered streets and cracked pavements and other markings of economically and spiritually depressed areas. I decided I wanted to surround myself with only positive people, objects and places. It wasn’t until I had a great conversation with a friend, wherein we discussed molecules being different colors, that my whole perspective shifted.

Would a rainbow be as beautiful if it were only gradients of the same shade?

If each molecule from each place and person is a different color, then for me, I don’t think the key to life is to surround myself only with the things I want to be like (in my case, squirrels, plants, trees, the occasional barefoot person…etc), but rather to surround myself with diversity. Even if that means putting myself in challenging and uncomfortable situations…even ones that seem very negative. The key for me, is staying spiritually strong, and constantly interacting with so many different places and people that I don’t end up absorbing too many molecules and turning any one color!

Multicolored “soul”, get it? (I crack myself up)

Thank you pigeons!!! And friends.

Growing up is fun

Growing up is fun…

We don’t relate to “just out of college,” now. “Entry-level” feels belittling but is probably still true. We have had a few years out of school, and we really understand now, how life is not easier or harder than “they” said, it’s just that it starts to unfold faster than expected. (See: John Mayer’s “Stop This Train“). We are living adult lives with new uncertainties -how we will pay back loans, what the best health insurance policy for our lifestyle is, and whether or not we will live in the same city for more than a few years.   We smile when we hear recent grads complain about working 9-5’s, and acknowledge that we have become quite different than our 13year old visions for ourselves. We suddenly see ourselves filling the roles of those who taught us, and we realize, now, that there is no timeline or yearly course planner that will help us keep track of what we need to do to be successful.

We are professional, clean, and cultured, and we embrace art, music, and fine foods (as long as there are large portions). We check our email obsessively and strategize ways to make our workplaces, companies, and the world more efficient.   We debate and discuss politics, see all sides of issues and realize that there is no black and white except for when it comes to human rights…and even then, we find room for differences. We take pride in being part of a morally-strong generation. We love finding the specific interest group where we fit in and at the same time recognizing that we are part of something greater. We are angry and combative when others try to place us into boxes. We find ourselves intolerant of being talked down to.

We relocate. And as much as we love travel, the more places we visit, the more we appreciate the places and memories from our childhoods.  We are still excited about changes but stability is sounding sweeter and sweeter. We constantly ask ourselves, “When did I start thinking in terms of years and not seasons”? But that thought reminds us how quickly a year goes by and that we wanted to visit friends who live across the country before they move again. So we shrug it off, check our bank accounts and frequent flier miles, and shake our heads at airline ticket prices.  Often we find ourselves letting money be the basis for our choices, even though we swore we never would. We mention it guiltily to friends only to find them nodding in agreement and muttering about taxes and how maybe Republican fiscal policy isn’t so bad after all….

We are gradually realizing that none of the rules of dating are the same as they used to be, but that’s okay because we don’t want the same things we used to, either…or at least that’s what we tell ourselves. The phrase “relationships before sex” finally makes way too much sense, and meeting new people is just as monotonous as it is refreshing. There are weddings to go to. Long-term relationships are becoming engagements then marriages, or dead ends…leaving us to explore ourselves and the world with new eyes. We are starting to investigate religion and spirituality in an entirely different way. The little things bring tears to our eyes and the things that were big in the past no longer carry as much weight, if any at all. Our parents are getting older and our relationships with them are getting stronger. We love our families and friends and recognize their value to us on a daily basis.

We have spent hours talking to ourselves, writing in journals, and pouring our hearts out over the phone to our best friends from high school who we haven’t seen in person for almost a year now. We have long ago gotten over fads and phases and feel more self-directed, driven and focused than ever. We realize that our hobbies and friendships help us define ourselves, more than our jobs do…and it is in practicing what we love that we’ve found the truest connections and built the most solid relationships.

Now, the scary/exciting part is not in trying to make sense of it all, it’s in acknowledging the fact that we have already changed dramatically from the people we used to be. Crazy how a few years changes things.

simple adventures

Back on the east coast some of my adventures were with other people. Laughter in the shadows, wanders along lonely beaches with bare feet, cool breezes, and warm hands, hugs and kisses in empty parks underneath almost-full moons = friendships and memories that can never be replaced. Those nights I’d slip back into bed smiling as I drifted off to sleep. Knowing that the night was worth the inevitable morning fatigue. In Oakland things have been different.

Most of the time, out here, I’ve been adventuring alone.

A few days after moving into my apartment in Oakland I woke up restless at 4:30am. I walked out onto the back porch, down the steps leading behind my building, and pulled the hood up on my faded gray sweatshirt. Checking all around me to make sure no one was around, I carefully hopped a chainlink/barbed wire fence closing off the 15’x15’ foot patch of eucalyptus trees, overgrown fennel, and ivy plants behind the apartment complex. It was a gray dawn, quiet except for the sounds of the highway and construction vehicles packing up after nights work at the nearby BART station. Neighbors had their windows open so I stepped slowly to avoid making too much noise on the dried brush. Pushing away a bush I noticed a dark mass on the ground. I crept closer… It was a navy blue t-shirt, crumpled and semi-bleached by the sun.

I paused for a moment and grinned. I always seem to find clothes when I go on adventures like these.  I am fully confident that I could find a whole new wardrobe on the ground around the city if I ever needed one: shoes, pants, shirts, underwear, bras, stockings, purses, belts, you name it…I like to imagine that there are so many clothes around because there’s something inherent about human nature that makes us want to tear off our garments and run wild and free whenever we enter the woods. That that feeling, slight as it may be is the one thing that connects humanity…

I know, I know…. you are thinking, LAURA!! I NEVER WANT TO TEAR OFF MY CLOTHES IN THE FOREST. AND THOSE ARE NOT “GOOD CLOTHES” DO NOT TOUCH THEM!! THEY ARE DIRTY –evidence of an evening gone wrong, or someone’s shelter in the woods…  Don’t worry friends: I leave the clothes I find where they are, most of the time.

Snapping back to the moment I glanced up ahead past the shirt. The dark morning mist/fog was starting to lift and I could make out a thin pathway through the brush – an area that had been pushed down between the vines. The kind of markings that give away human presence: trampled bushes, leaves with brown, broken edges, and piles of trash emerged as the light illuminated the area. Adrenaline beginning to pump through my system, my senses went on high alert as I considered, suddenly, that there was the possibility that someone was residing nearby. I decided to cut out of the patch and across the backyard of the apartment complex on the street behind mine. Staying along the edge of the building until I was a safe distance away, I slunk out to the street and then walked casually around the block, checking to be sure no one had seen me.

Once I was away from the area I sighed. The birds weren’t awake yet on the west coast and none had made a peep during my adventure. The dawn chorus seemed to be missing altogether in the city – something I mentally noted would take me a while to adjust to.

When I go exploring I try to notice things. I talk to myself and the trees…and the sidewalk, depending on where I am. I pick plants and smell them or taste them. I feel. I practice walking silently and expanding my peripheral vision. Sometimes I get so lost in the moment that I lose track of time. Other times I block out the present and let myself get lost in memories. I giggle and trip. I get frustrated and replay scenarios from the day in my head. Sometimes I yell and dance and sing. I try to match my experiences with experiences from the past. And I wonder how my perceptions of the world have changed over time.

A few weeks after my first Oakland adventure, my second day at the Performing Arts Workshop (my Americorps/New Sector Alliance nonprofit consulting-ish host site in San Francisco) I took a detour while out for lunch and came across a rarely-visited park along the 3rd street dock. The area is much like Philly’s Navy Yard. An area built for factories and shipping but in the process of gentrifying to become the hip new “artistic area” in town. From the “park” (which is really an obvious superfund remediation sight, an obligatory “green space” meant to cover up some environmental ills that had occurred over decades of sloppy shipping practices), I could look out across the bay and make out the skyline of Oakland. Two homeless folks sat arguing on a bench, spitting occasionally into the green scummy water lapping onto the rocky shore- a park scene not intended for tourists’ eyes. I sat on the pavement for a moment and watched as another homeless man rocked back and forth, mumbling softly to himself in the shade provided by his cart of belongings.

Though the exploring is fun, the moments when I stumble upon people who have made their lives existing on the margins of society are not always the most romantic. They move along the edges often in waste and mental torment. Alone or allied. Watching them, the thought crossed my mind that it is truly how we spend our time when we are alone that makes us who we are.

The blasting horn from an 18-wheeler carrying a load of cargo behind me reminded me that it was time to get back to the office.

—-

This past weekend, almost two months into my west coast residency I spent a day at an acorn processing class. Getting there required renting a car. On my way back from the class, excited to harvest nuts, I pulled over every few feet to inspect trees and bushes. The first place I got out of the car I came across tufts of fur…which inevitably led to the discovery of a roadkill raccoon carcass. I debated taking the tail but it was starting to decompose. “The skull is whole, too!!” my mind raced, “Uses for bones…collection of skulls. No, no…” I told myself, “can’t take it. I live and work in the city now.” I grabbed a few sticks for consolation and got back in the car. The sticks (which I had thrown haphazardly in the back of the brand new Ford Focus rental sedan) stuck out at odd angles and poked me in the ribs while I drove. Crusts of bark and dirt fell around me in the car. After a few frustrating minutes I finally shook my head and threw the sticks out the window. I laughed and thought of a friend in Philly who would always say, “Laaaura, come on…” and I’d know that I’d gone too far and it was time to leave whatever wilderness treasures I’d found, behind.

Headed back home, I turned up the radio. It was playing a slow R&B hit from the mid-90’s and I started to get nostalgic. It was getting dark as I weaved the car back and forth down the one way streets in Oakland. Stopped at a traffic light near Jack London Square, I watched friends gathering outside of a Ben and Jerry’s. I could hear their laughter and it struck me that I had been alone for hours. I glanced at my phone and noticed that I had just missed a call from a new friend from the area.

My heart soared upon hearing the voicemail, “Come swing by my house if you still have your rental car. I want to show you a cool place.” Within the hour we were parked atop a hill overlooking the city of Oakland. Pointing out the window, my friend explained that the vacant lot in front of us was the site of a home that had burned down, revealing a spectacular view that otherwise would’ve been obscured.

Barely exchanging words, we got out of the car, hopped a chainlink fence, and wandered into the field of unmowed dry grass. Standing side by side we silently surveyed the city and watched headlights sparkling and illuminating the highways down below. I leaned into his shoulder and smiled. Sometimes adventures are better when they are shared…and I guess the West coast isn’t turning out to be so bad after all.