Where To Go From Here

In Alaska I felt alive, so much so I can't stop talking about it. But talking about it helps to make sense of where I am now, because lately things have been feeling less alive and more "angsty". I have been on a great winding road and have crash landed back in Oregon. I am now left with the task of unwinding my trail and figuring out who I am now, what is important to me, and how to get where I aim to go.

In Alaska life was simple. I was at the beginning of my youth and my future was stored somewhere a great distance away. I worked to save and when I wasn't working, I played. My relationships were intimate, vibrant and constant. There was consistent life in my house where the couch was always open for late night beers and conversation or hours of friends making music. It was also easily moved to the side for our Fourth of July or Lady Gaga dance party.

In Alaska my beliefs were daily challenged, nothing ever lay dormant. My life was full. I hiked, I ran, I climbed, I zipped, I boated with whales, I camped and I laughed every hour. Free time was seen as opportunity. A random encounter with a stranger quickly became the meeting of a close friend. Life was community and love encompassed everything we gave and received. At the close of each day I felt an emotional and physical exhaustion brought on by every day life, and sleep camp easy. Sometimes I would be woken all too soon to hike a mountain at midnight in order to catch a 3 a.m. sunrise, other times I wouldn't get to sleep till 3 in order to catch a glimpse of the midnight sun or northern lights. I read and I wrote and I laughed and I listened and the miniscule amount of music I could independently make was enough. Each moment was vibrant.

When I decided to not return to Alaska for another summer, but to "plant roots" and be stationary for a while, life became a challenge. Being a born dreamer I was quick to see the things I would miss out on and my disappointment blinded me from the opportunities at home. Honestly, the transition back into "city life" was hard. Relationships took extra work, the outdoors were hidden behind concrete and scooted farther away. I allowed myself to become bored and accept life as dull.

I became busy with tasks and commuting and working and slowly I closed up into myself, allowing the crowd to swallow me up. During this time I dreamed of the life I wanted. I dreamed of going to Iceland and hiking its mountains, swimming its pools, dancing with its people. I dreamed of friends popping by. I dreamed of spontaneous outings. But I didn't take action because now I was limited by time and money and location and occasionally health.

I have since procured a job in travel, moved to Seattle and back, and am now working two jobs for the summer, in order to save money for my impending trip to Iceland (and to pay off student loans, obviously). I have decorated my new apartment, ditched the bus for biking as often as possible, and am devouring multitudes of books at once. I am working hard at making every day intentional. I plan on writing more words, reading more books, hiking more mountains, listening to more music, laughing with more friends (at least with the lovely ones I already have), and delving further into more beliefs. It is invigorating to see dreams taking shape and to realize what I do have control over. I am working hard to make my life like it was in Alaska. I am working hard at making every day an adventure, because every moment should taste this sweet.

Hello, Goodbye

Even in my short amount of days I have said a lot of hellos and a lot of goodbyes. I remember my first goodbye. I was around 3 and it was the neighbor boy. My dad explained that our friend had been playing power rangers with glass. He tripped and fell and the glass entered the side of his head, it went into his sacred temple. He didn't make it. That was my first experience with death.

The next few goodbyes, while still traumatic, were less grotesque. It seemed like every other year, starting when I was six years old, my best friends would move. And ironically or not they all moved to Texas. I grew an early hatred for Texas.
Then, when I was nine, my oldest sister moved out to go to college and my family life was changed. That which had ways been so routine and "stable", was altered.
Ever since it's been a cycle, meet people, move away, meet people, move away. Another sister moves. Hellos and goodbyes.
Eventually I did the moving. The most exciting part of moving was that I came with myself. Suddenly it was adventure instead of being left behind and I had a say in what happened. I felt liberated. I haven't been able to stop since. The freedom is intoxicating. And no matter where I
go there are always more people to meet. It makes the goodbyes less difficult.
But in my life I have been lucky enough to come across a few fellow travelers and adventurers.
Dreamers.
These people are not satisfied with living a "normal" life, or even believe that there is such a thing. They too have been taken a hold of by wonderlust. These are the friends that I never say "goodbye "to, only "until next time". While parting with them is still sad, it's more bittersweet. Their lifestyle is encouraging. Their presence is intoxicating. These are the friends that I know I will run into over and over again, no matter what state or country we inhabit. And I never feel like I truly leave them, because wherever I go a little part of them comes with me. And I know wherever they are, they hold pieces of me too.

The goodbyes and the hellos are what constitute life. It's what happens when you live. But I am lucky enough to know the different between "goodbye" and "see you later". I am lucky enough to get to experience the difference.

Dan Moller and Dreams Coming True

All my dreams are coming true. It helps that they aren't complicated dreams. Walking out to the Mendenhall Glacier on the frozen lake, snowshoeing in the Juneau woods, glimpsing the sparkling Christmas lights on Franklin Street and sitting at Heritage Coffee on a cold winter night sipping coffee, which I am currently doing. It's invigorating, liberating. To make long ago dreams come true. To have the power to make choices. To have the ability.

I've felt so empowered recently. I don't know if it's because my frontal lobe has fully developed, because I have had conversations I have been putting on the back burner, or because I have been trying new and somewhat scary things. I am more content than ever before. I have no more direction than before, no more stability, no more assuredness in the things I hope to believe in. But I am beginning to recognize the power of choice. That things can be obtained by just trying. And that things can be just as easily let go of if they become unhealthy and toxic. Life is full of possibilities and all we have to do is choose our paths- love or hate, adventure or repetition, flavor or bland. I choose the edge. I choose freedom. I choose love.

Snowshoeing today on Dan Moller trail was like magic. The snow was soft and clean. The trees had dressed themselves in delicate layers for our visit. The mountains slowly unveiled themselves behind curtains of fog and the clean air pierced our lungs and captured our noises. Feet stomping. Voices carrying intimate conversation between friends, family.

We left our prints. We explored our home. We made plans for ten years from now. Why not? Dreams are all we have. And we are the only ones who can make them come true.

I Am My Grandpa's Granddaughter

I've been thinking a lot about my grandpa Clarence. He died 6 years ago and I never really knew him well. But I always felt we had a secret. He was a wild adventurer. I wish he could have lived to know he passed that on to me.

Tall, lanky, solid. He was a firm man who smelled like a mix of coffee, cigarettes, and the faint open road. A truck driving man, the road was his home, my inheritance. And when you have that in your blood it becomes your responsibility.

As I drive the wild roads to the Grand Canyon, to the corner of the world he called home, I realize the last time I drove here was just after his death. I was taking my Grandma back home to pack their things and move to a new corner of the world, a world of her own. I find myself wishing I had more time with him. I wish I could have sipped a whiskey with him, drank stale coffee, or sat on the porch inhaling his second hand smoke as we shared our stories of the road.

His life must have been rich in his own kind of way, a solace kind of way, and I yearn for it, even if only second hand. But I still feel him with me just like I did then. And I realize it's been 6 years this very day since his death but I've always known he was still around somewhere. I've found him, here, in my cup of black coffee on the open road.

Written 11-11-2013

#atandywedding

The sun warmed our faces, but it was love that warmed everything else. Sitting in Joshua Tree, watching two dear friends pledge to be together and we, all family, pledged to be alongside them. As it was we each made this pledge with the time we took off work and miles we traveled in order to sit on those wooden chairs as observers. And it isn't for nothing. The love they give us, the culture they have helped create to keep us all together, it has repaid us ten fold and ten fold again.
And so it was that after the aisle was walked and the promises made, the tears flowed. We made our toasts, we drank our drink, and our feet tap tap tapped, legs jump jump jumped, and bodies swayed side to side. Because they have love. Because we have love. And because we have all opened ourselves to that gift of love from each other.

A toast to you my loved friends. May your life be one sweet dance.

Life's Constant Motion

Life doesn't necessarily happen to you. It happens, but that's not the same thing as it happening to you. "To you" suggests purpose, preconceived notions, a plan. As though you are important enough for life to make a special plan for you if you just follow the pre-paved path. As though you are some actor in a play you've never read, and you're supposed to say lines you've never heard. It's impossible. Life does happen though, constantly. It doesn't stop or slow or sleep. It is a collection of ideas, actions and non actions. If you sit around and wait for it, it will pass you by. It is motion. If you act on life, if you happen upon it and choose to happen to it, then you just might be able to hop on it and be swept away.

On Turning 25

I like having mile stones. It's nice to have a reason to stop and reflect. A reason to slow down and look around at where you are at, think about where you have been, and dream about where you are going.

I remember in middle school when one of my mentors turned 25 and I couldn't believe how old that was. He was married, had two kids, a real job, and lots of respect while somehow managing to still be a total goofball. I imagined at 25 my life would look a little something like that.

But here I am and my life is something totally different, and I am so thankful that it is. My life is my own and I have taken care to ensure it stays that way. There were things that I dreamt about for my future and I have challengws myself to looked them in the eye and to do them. I have been to many more places than I could have dreamed and seen so much more than I could have imagined. I have lived out my fairytale and it has changed me.

I have been blessed by the opportunities that have been laid down in front of me and I have been blessed by the people I have met along the way, people who have become family. People who have taught me invaluable lessons about loving and accepting love, about fearlessness and caution, about accepting myself and giving space for my feelings, about beauty, grace, forgiveness, slowing down, taking care of yourself so you can take care of others and allowing others to take care of you, about reciprocity and listening to all the sounds of all creation that are daily singing songs of these things.

In this birthday month I have had the chance to be surrounded by so many of these people, these family members. I feel full. Being 25 is something I have reached, but I have not reached it on my own. And however many years I have left, whatever big and little things life throws at me, I am lucky enough to know I won't be alone. I have so much love. This is the greatest gift.