I've been traveling.
Traveling, traveling.
Back in February when I said I was hittin’ the road I had no
idea what that would mean. And I am some sorry to say that I have done little to keep you in the loop.
And now, now that my fantastically magical lucky streak has
come to a gear grinding stall out, I decide to let you in. My, oh my how
fabulously tricky that little ego can be, eh?
Been all over the West the last eight months, Los Angeles,
San Francisco, Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, Seattle, Tacoma, Portland. And I will
tell you what, this shit’s been real.
Right now it’s 4am and I’m listening to a playlist on my new
computer comprised of the Sample Music Folder (oh boy,) enjoying a cup of
freshly brewed coffee at the one and only Hot Cake House.
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| Dairy Fresh Non-Dairy Creamer by Fuzzy Gerdes, May 2007 |
(To paint a picture - the
available coffee additives at the Hot Cake House are half & half, vanilla
creamer and non-dairy creamer all in the cold thermoses generally reserved for
soy, skim and cream, to ensure a healthy serving. The Hot Cake House is from another time zone.)
At this moment, with my bacon and egg long gone, I feel like
recounting some tales of true abundance.
When I started this adventure I had no money and when I say
no, I mean no, money.
Around the end of January I sent an email to my parents to
let them know what was about to become of me. (They live in Taluca, Mexico and
our contact time is all about briefing and debriefing.) I didn't get nor did I expect a response to this heads up.
And then, I received a great surprise. A $600 check from them four days before my departure date (a date I had only recently chosen.)
I paid a couple of outstanding IOUs and the remaining $150
got me up and out.
I remember most
vividly enjoying a ludicrously inexpensive oyster festival ($6 a dozen anyone?)
seeing Spike Lee live (free!) and watching Tangled in 3D for my birthday
presents from myself and a couple of friends.
Then I got on a train to Los Angeles.
I met a stranger on that train, a young German creative writing major from
Berlin full of beautiful melancholy. The train was late arriving at Union Station and the Metro had stopped running. So naturally I invited him to spend a night
on my brother’s couch.
He spent the rest of his California holiday, all four days, taking in the breathtaking view from my bro’s window, feeding me Salvadorean food, buying me roses, holding my hand and loving me.
I’ll just say wow.
Every step from that fantastic introduction to this day here
has been an exercise in a wildly optimistic level of Faith.
I used to believe that the amount of safety and support I
enjoyed could be directly correlated to how hard I worked.
(At one point I was working four different jobs in one day. From the lawyer or architect’s office in the
morning, to a lunch service shift, to happy hour bartender clear across the
city, finishing it all off with a cocktail shift at a night club back downtown.)
Finally I called bullshit on that.
I just stopped moving.
I stood still, very still, exhaled and lifted my eyes from
my feet.
We have talked about this before, about all the
realizations and enlightened moments this suddenly afforded me.
Like the realization that my abundance, being a naturally occurring
thing, was anything but earned. Like sunshine and rain blessed flowers I was a smiling many petaled thing that truly could want for nothing.
Thing is hitting the road with little to nothing in my
pockets and no defined destination was bound to put all that calm eyed focus
and presence to the test.
There have been some touch and go moments but none in 8
months compares to tonight. (Being at a Las Vegas resort an hour from the strip
at 12am, after a harrowing plane and taxi epic, with not enough cash for my
first night’s stay for some ‘high level’ business meetings meant to last a week
comes in a close second.)
After some barely detectable flubs today I find myself
without shelter and running water for the very first time. And wouldn't you
know it, in my haste to get myself to a guest house, that I found all too late,
I dropped my phone somewhere in the street.
Left my little ol’ self in the lurch, as they say.
Up creek, no paddle.
And yet here I am still breathing, still moving, still
smiling.
After a very enjoyable number of hours at the Gold Dust Meridian I took myself on a long moonlit walk to the only independently owned 24 hour spot in the city.
And hooray! I managed to NOT get molested by the really
drunk guy named Jose that started following me. In fact, I made five bucks on
the deal. Don’t ask me how because I really don’t know.
I just kept smiling and telling him to go home now because I
was sure he’d want to remember himself in the morning as a ‘good guy, not some weird,
drunk creep. ‘
I’ve got a plane ticket to Los Angeles for Saturday
afternoon and while that’s great I won’t be there long before I’ve got to come
back up to Washington and get my ass to class and the trekking continues.
This post is just a long way round to saying my tramping days are coming to an end. I have finally learned the wisdom in quitting while
ahead and with every visit Portland’s acceptance and reward of the faithful
following of my Heart increases.
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| by Amber Case August 30, 2008 |
Making a home here looks more attractive every day. (I find
myself looking in vacant windows and lingering in vintage furniture shops with
increasing frequency.)
In the mean time I’m gonna put Jose’s $5 in the juke box and
see if I can’t improve my soundtrack.
Ah, Joe Cocker AND a sunrise?!?
Life is good.
