Living in fear - April 19 and 20

I have often struggled against my mind's desire to over-analyze every detail it can latch on to. This struggle has caused me far more pain than elation, and though I have tried to calm it through various remedies, as far back as I can remember I have always been bombarded with images of plane crashes, of giant spiders inhabiting my bed, and of broken bones from dastardly falls. It seems my imagination loves to conjure up thoughts of events so dire that I become focused on their remote possibility and forget to enjoy the view.

One of the main goals of this journey is to stop fearing the worst and start living in the moment so that I can see as events and beauty unfolds before me. I have found that if I focus on the laws of probability I am calmed, as my mind cannot dispute percentages.

It is with this perspective that I entered into Joshua Tree.

The sounds of campers setting off for day hikes through the trails of Cottonwood roused me from my sheets and I groggily stuffed my backpack to join them. Walking down the dusty path towards a grove of giant palms miraculously living off but a trickle of water, I was met with a sobering reminder of the true inhabitants of this valley. Placards illustrated how the Indians, much like their plant life counterparts, once carved - literally, as seen by the foot deep bean masher holes painstakingly worn into the granite - an existence out of this desolate rock before settlers killed them off or created a dependency to an unnatural drink before marching them through tears to reservations.

I believe that in one of my past lives I lived as an Indian and that my days were spent bounding over hills and boulders tracking after game. This would explain my love of straying from beaten paths and it was through this joy of climbing and exploring that I was led to the highest point within view, a 120 foot climb over boulder and cacti to a perfect sitting spot atop a blustery hill.

Listening to the gales atop this outcropping of rocks I found peace knowing I was sitting in a spot touched only by a few souls, where no intervention other than nature resides. Sadly, my battle with an innate need to constantly move raged, and I was off on a pedestrian 3 mile hike to Palm Oasis.

The trail's paths and cliffs were too small to warrant any real adrenaline rush and so I hoofed it back to Bessie and drove off through Joshua Tree in search of more challenging terrain. Rounding a corner I was amazed to witness heaps of boulders, some upwards of 300 feet, resting peacefully in little piles. It looked as though an inquisitive God had just spent hours collecting and piling rocks, stone piled upon stone, and placing them in beautifully balanced stacks. Their place amongst the desert sand and brush made it look like they had been forgotten about, some cosmic calamity drawing attention away from their beauty.

I stopped to climb twice, each climb attempting to boulder as high as possible while avoiding death. At one point I climbed 40 feet wedged between two rocks and propelled myself to a point that caused my whole body to experience the spin my head felt.

Climbing these boulders I was struck with realization that much of what I was doing was for validation that it was possible, that I was capable of things the average person was not. All my life I have attempted to prove my worth, and climbing between those two stones, wedged like a brace, inching my way up between 3 feet of separation and 40 feet of height, validated that worth a little.

After a peaceful late afternoon drive north on route 66 I arrived at Navajo National Preserve and Mitchell caverns and fast fell asleep.

Invigorated by the climb the day before I woke determined to continue along my path of self challenge. I knew I wanted to see the caverns that made this area famous but was informed by a kind, middle aged couple from the Yukon Territories - like me traveling the US to see what the country has to offer - that the hike was a "guide only" tour. Hearing this I decided instead to climb to Lost Springs Oasis, a mile and a half trail that cut steeply into the mountainside.

After a half an hour of hiking I came to an area of dense vegetation that I could only guess to have been the oasis and lowered myself in. The tree's limbs and thorny cacti grabbing at my shirt, I crossed over a seep to see the path vanish up the hill and, since no sign had told me of the trail's end, I decided that I would continue on.

Climbing over boulders and cacti, up cliffs and across little switchbacks, I came to a spot where the path's clarity ended and broke off in two directions. I had already climbed over 1500 feet of elevation but desired to reach the peak, and though the true path had vanished, my innate sense of trails led me upwards into the cliffs.

During my climb up I was able to stand over various outcroppings - their views opening up my mind to the country below - until I finally reached a point that necessitated a hard decision: to go on meant to risk death as, if I had fallen, I would have surely been killed - or at least died a slow death from a broken, unmovable body - or stop here, 300 feet from the summit and 2300 up, and fail in my quest.

I decided on the surety of life and half climbed, half fell back down the mountainside trying unsuccessfully to avoid the numerous cacti grabbing at my clothes and providing resting spots for my weary hands. Chatting with the ranger back at the campsite I was disheartened to learn that the summit held on it a ledger and, had I made it up that last cliff, I could have signed added name to an achievement a select few could claim to share.

Twice now I have chickened out in favor of safety.

It has dawned on me though that perhaps being able to tell a tale of failure is better than having a tale of accomplishment told about you posthumously. Perhaps fear is just the mind protecting itself. Or, perhaps it is okay to push yourself to whatever limit you feel is challenging enough to elicit growth and awareness.

Leaving San Diego - April 18

With knowledge of the purpose of my journey - to gain the confidence and the trust necessary to step away from all that is comfortable and known - I left my friends in San Diego for the unfamiliar terrain and populace that lay before me in the parts of the country I had never before laid eyes upon.

Perhaps it was because I had built a connection to something comfortable and easy back home, or perhaps it was that I really did not know what I was doing out here - on this lonely road, trying to find answers to questions I didn't even yet understand - but I had trouble letting go of my fears and doubts. I thought this journey necessitated my traveling alone, but the stops at friend's houses and the good company and laughs made me realize that perhaps this was a journey best shared, at least in part.

My mind consistently balked at the idea of a traveling companion as I was under the self created impression that this trip was best served with no distractions, as this would maximize my focus on the dilemma of what it was I wanted out of life. But, over time, I had begun to realize that being with friends is one of the things that truly makes me happy and is too often a missing aspect of my life.

At Kyle's suggestion Tim thought about tagging along over the next few days but wrestled with the short notice. He feared that, should his recruiter call or a job opportunity fall into his lap, leaving unprepared would not be in his best interest. I too was hesitant to have him come - though I could see the benefit of having someone other than my own mind to bounce ideas and conversation off of - as I was headed to Albuquerque to see Amberlee, one of my ex-players from Corvallis who had become one of my closest friends. I had not seen her in a year and a half and worried that Tim would not feel included, that his lack of knowledge to numerous inside jokes would leave him feeling like a third wheel.

So with my trepidation over having to entertain, and his own distrust of the employment process, we left the decision to fate, that fickle and unknown, unbiased perception that we hoped would provide us a solid choice. The flip of a coin was our decider, heads being his travel, tails being his fear.

Fate was fickle that day and we went into the final flip tied one to one. Flicking it into the air I misjudged its reentry and it fell to the ground clanging noisily on the driveway. It finally came to rest tails up and I was off, minus one indecisive passenger, headed east across the state of California, my destination Joshua Tree National Park, a refuge of rock and plant life more well known in the artwork of a U2 album than in its own true and natural beauty.

The drive East was both barren and beautiful, a desolate landscape of red and brown. The highways were lined with sand and rock interspersed with plant life attempting to carve out an existence from the scraggly ground, their lives dependent upon what little water is provided. It was obvious the model people of the area had chosen to follow as they too attempted to scratch out an existence from the seemingly lifeless soil as towns sprouted up out of nowhere and mobile homes far removed from any real road sat lifelessly in the middle of the desert. I could only imagine the existence, lonely and boring in my eyes, and was reinforced in this belief when I came upon a tree adorned with shoes, their laces tied together and flung over every possible branch in a rite of passage or out of sheer boredom.

The landscape lining the road just outside of Joshua Tree was rife with beauty and little dirt paths roaming off into hills provided access to unseen camping spots, but I decided to make my way all the way into the park, a desire to see for myself what made this place so beautiful pulling me along.

Entering the southern gate late that evening I set about looking for a place to sleep and drove a few miles north until I came to a full Cottonwood campground. Instead of fighting for what few spots remained elsewhere in the park I decided that I would drive to the Cottonwood trail lot and park for the night - this is one of the great perks about having a camper, you really can sleep anywhere.

The remaining few moments of daylight were spent nearby climbing rocks and investigating the plant and animal life around me; the beauty of the area was offset again by my fear of the unknown and I found myself praying all the while to not run into any tarantulas, as their hairy legs and massive bulk scare the crap out of me.

That night I climbed out my driver's side window and lay atop my camper just staring at the huge sky and its abundance of stars. Lost again in contemplation as to why I was here and the purpose of this whole journey I found myself wishing I had someone to share it all with, someone to make me comfortable again.

Getting lost in someone April 8-16

While I understood the reasons for my return - a need to clear my head, attend the wedding of an ex-player, and see Katie - flying back into Portland just eight days after starting a three month trip I felt a bit like a dog who had lost a fight, tail tucked sheepishly between my legs. I was just starting to understand the reasons behind my trip and was finally becoming more comfortable with Bessie and the thought of having to fix her on some deserted road no longer scared me to death.

Not having seen Katie in over a week, and our relationship being young and held loosely together by daily text messages and phone calls, I expected nerves to surface once the plane touched down on the tarmac. They never came as the knowledge that she was as excited to see me as I was her set my mind at ease and I was thankful that she had agreed to pick me up at the airport after her class.

Seeing her little white Corolla weave its way through traffic at the arrivals section of PDX, I wondered briefly the protocol for meeting her: was I supposed to give her a huge hug and kiss, did she want me to drive, what would be appropriate in terms of saying hello? She pulled her car over to the curb at my feet and I threw my gear in the back, hopped in the passenger seat, and gave her a kiss. Our lips lingering just long enough to express how much we had missed each other and to say hello but not long enough to cause an outburst of horn blasts from impatient and weary travelers.

We sped back to Corvallis, bouncing along joyfully on worn shocks over every bump, her lead foot seldom letting off of the accelerator. We talked easily of life and the trip, the conversation flowing without thought or pause. When we finally arrived I felt worn down, the long day of travel draining me and we bee lined for bed and drifted into a peaceful night's sleep wrapped tightly around each other.

Upon waking up I wondered if my fatigue may have been a coping mechanism from a conversation earlier in the week with my most current ex. While in San Francisco at Lewis and Kelly's, my ex and I had our first real conversation since a bitter breakup months earlier. Her telling me she missed me, while at the same time saying all was well in her life and current relationship, brought to the surface more emotions than I had expected and the remainder of my time in The City I found myself going over the relationship in my head. When I added into my thoughts the visit to another ex in Pasadena, I found that I had become focused on understanding what I had been a part of for so long instead of what was right in front of me.

This quickly changed during the week spent with Katie as the ease of our relationship and her ability to both challenge and calm me in the same conversation kindled a spark that grew daily. For the first time I could recall in a relationship I was able to work towards understanding instead of arguing. If something was amiss we did not immediately argue, instead we talked until we could understand where the other was coming from, if I had somewhere to go or someone to see she pushed me out the door instead of begging me to stay, when I questioned myself or came up with excuses she was there to ask me why and challenge my reasons and rationales.

Sleeping next to her was so cozy and easy, our bodies fit together like worn puzzle pieces, and being with her slowly became the most comfortable place in the world. I took her to Casey and Lisa's, as much to show her off as to get their opinion, all the while fearing that she would feel out of place or nervous, but she fit in like an old friend visiting again after a few years. It is comforting to see the person you want to spend all your time with completely at ease in their own skin and confident in who and where they are in their life.

We dined on steak and gorgonzola, Casey the cook using us as guinea pigs, and chatted the night away while entertained by their three daughters: Josie, Ava and Bella. Josie was a typical one year old, laughing and smiling and loving on mom and dad; Bella, their beautiful five year old, loved having new people to talk to and entertained herself by making us all laugh; Ava, three and not yet like her sister, finally worked past her angst over new people, and no longer stared in fear at Katie like a deer caught in headlights, and instead smiled and begged for her attention.

The true reason - or at least the one I had conveniently convinced myself of - for coming home was to attend Bri's wedding in Seattle, but a miscommunication in reference to an RVSP left me without a name card and therefore no seat at the wedding. Instead of standing around like a stalker in the back, the only guy without a seat, I left and drove north to my mom's house, stopping in Marysville at Jack in the Box for a cheeseburger dinner made and served by characters straight out of the movie Deliverance - whatever remaining teeth they possessed black as tar, both looking like a cross between brother and sister and lovers. Lamenting the fact that I missed out on lobster and steak in favor of food I prayed would not crunch when I bit into it, I drove in silence, wondering what had caused my current situation and left me driving in a tie and slacks without a party to go to.

Though I missed the wedding, the timing was great because I was home for Easter and could see my mom again. As well, I was able to see my brother and his family. This trip brought with it a pleasant surprise as mom is smiling again for the first time since dad's death, closer to happiness than I have seen her in two years, and can finally talk about dad without crying. This hurdle she has cleared is so amazing to witness, she has suffered through so much pain and sadness caused by the loss of her rock of 42 years so abruptly to pancreatic cancer.

It was great to see Pete and Jenn again and I learned that they are moving back to Japan in September. This decision makes both of them happy and ends a long standing argument of where to live as Washington never suited Jenn and both are used to the comforts of a home in the Far East. Their kids will enjoy living there as well as Mathew is now old enough to appreciate living abroad and Ethan is privy to happily follow along in Mathew's footsteps.

While the trip north was relaxing and invigorating, it was great to come back to Katie and I could feel the connection between us growing a little more each day. To realize the true extent of her character and how genuine of an individual she is was amazing; while she was intent on taking care of my every little need and want, it was done not to appease, rather it was a true desire of hers to see me happy. More importantly, while she wants to take care of me, she is also willing to understand that I desire to take care of her as well and is able to allow me to do so. For her to think she has to cook dinner as well as clean the dishes afterward has been a daily struggle for us as I argue that she needs to allow me to help. Though she is slowly acclimating to my assistance I think she is liking the partnership.

We spent our remaining few days watching TV, sleeping, playing video games, talking and laughing. Leaving for the plane was harder than I could have ever planned for as the desire to stay safe and comfortable here in her presence tried again and again to trump my desire to travel the country and find myself. I left with a heavy heart but confident in the knowledge that I would be stronger upon my return.

How people change - April 5-8

It is interesting to witness the endless cycle that is time, the transition from childhood to adulthood is inevitable and the struggles created during these times of change is felt by everyone at some point, no matter place in life.

Looking back on my life I have noticed that years have become intertwined in memory and in this melding of days and months time has slowed, causing me a disconnect between reality and recollection. The friends I remember have become different people, adjusting to a new life, new responsibilities and new and larger expectations. What was once concern over place in high school pecking order now is concern over holding down a job; the concern over how to pay for a beer has become concern over how to cover a mortgage.

While there is a price to pay for living in San Diego's oceanic climate the monetary struggle created from houses so exorbitantly priced is offset by the physical and mental gains of a perpetual sun, and it is under these sunny skies of Southern California that three of my good High School friends, Tim and his wife Kyle, as well as Dan, have made their homes.

Tim was one of my basketball buddies - though, truth be told, he was more the guy who swatted me time and time again as I struggled to play a sport that emphasized hands over feet - and a good friend since our freshman year and Kyle was a transfer to Bishop Blanchet from West Seattle her senior year, a transition made easier by her looks and athleticism as she was the girl that caused more than one head to turn within our tight knit group. I have known Dan since middle school and his gregarious personality is much better suited to the sunny skies of San Diego than the gray ones of Seattle and his sales ability has made the transition an easy one.

As I drove south along the highways into San Diego, memories of summer soccer tournaments flooded my mind and I realized that even though Tim and Kyle had called this bastion of beauty home for close to a decade, I had only visited them when saddled with the care of 18 high school aged soccer players. I realized that I had never taken the time to understand and see why people paid so much to call San Diego home or why Dan choose to move down 5 years earlier.

Exiting off of the 8 into their neighborhood I was greeted with rows of small local businesses that fronted the main drive. A turn left led me down a lane of iconic little houses, all immaculately gardened and landscaped. Tim and Kyle's home was a beautiful tan stucco house nestled in amongst the trees and flowers, its feigned fortress roofing feeling more homey that guarded. The house's Mexican styling, swirls etched deep into the stucco, provide a distinctive flair yet suited the neighborhood well.

It turns out that Tim and Kyle's acceptance into the neighborhood was swift as their beautiful home was adorned for 30 years with cheap vinyl siding more suited for cookie cutter suburban neighborhoods than here in Kensington. Their decision to tear it off upon moving in elicited a ruckus of cheers from the entire neighborhood and endeared them to the locals.

The timing of my visit was poor since Tim and Kyle were already hosting Tim's mom and sister, in town to see the couple's first born, a beautifully chubby one year old named Ciarra. Thankfully Bessie provided a comfortable bed and my hosts and their company were gracious, making me feel like a part of the family by including me in all of the family outings and allowing me - perhaps mandating - to shower and share in the cooking duties.

I was impressed to see the level of landscaping throughout the entire neighborhood, every home was well kept. Though the seemingly requisite Mexican gardeners came by weekly, it turns out Tim and Kyle's garden was immaculate thanks to the gusto of Tim, an odd personality quirk I thought, as flowers were usually things he forgot about, even when needed for a high school dance.

Changes in personality are one of the biggest surprises in life, the biggest perhaps is watching how new parents interact and respond to their children and embrace the roles that are necessitated from taking care of a life one has created. Tim was never thought of as one who craved fatherhood, his tough guy exterior was always visible, but, as it turns out with many tough guys, give him a child and you will find a teddy bear, great with kids and house work alike. Kyle was perhaps the catharsis for parenthood, her motherly instincts always came out any time all of us would get drunk together and any of us needed taking care of.

I know Kyle, a 6' ex-University of Idaho volleyball player, will be happy with whatever sport Ciarra chooses but 6' 2" Tim worries every time he witnesses Ciarra dancing to the repetitive music so loved by one year olds and so often lamented by parents that basketball is in her near future as she pivots really well on her right leg. Though he loves watching basketball, the thought of sitting on the sidelines watching a girls game distresses him as he fears that a slower pace and his own inability to keep his mouth shut will bring out his desire to live vicariously.

Dan was always thought of as the domestic type; his cooking abilities were showcased early, the pinnacle for me being the watermelon he carved into a fruit basket. He brought his three year old son, a half Mexican and half American combination that gives high fives on command over to Tim and Kyle's house for introductions. Dan's biggest lamentation is that his son doesn't look a thing like him as his Mexican heritage is readily apparent, but he misses that his son's body type and body language creates a mini Dan, albeit one with black hair.

Being around friends again was truly a blessing; to see these guys and their families, how much they have grown and changed, yet remained true to themselves and their ideals, reminded me how important it is to stay connected. Connection is something I have lost somewhere along the way over the past few years and is something I am hoping to find again in my travels. The reminder of San Diego helps to bridge the gap.

Naming the Van

I have decided - and, after spending 48 hours traveling in her, my friend Amberlee will agree - that the name Bessie suits her as she is slow and plodding but easy to take care of and sturdy. I know, Bessie the Westy.... Some things just fit.

Thanks to all of you who gave your thoughts on this, the ideas were creative and elicited much laughter.

Ratchet stuck for awhile, the shape and look of Bessie adhering to one of my favorite Transformers, but the paint job necessary to fully embrace this name negated the desire.

Humbug was also a great choice, alas, VW has a bug, as so the choice seemed more fitting had I been driving a smaller, louder (though not by much) vehicle.

Crotchety Cruiser was a fan favorite though elicited images of purple haired women riding shotgun...

Godzilla was fitting, and perhaps the most introspective. Sadly, the only thing fear invoking about Bessie is her penchant for backfiring.

Gas'n'Go worked, especially with a slight adjustment to Gas'n'Pray in honor of a faulty fuel pump, but sounded a bit too much like a commercial.

Thanks to all.

I am writing

Knowing that it has been awhile since my last post I wanted to inform anyone still reading that I am indeed writing, though, at this juncture, all my musings are saved as drafts that I am now just finding the time to complete and edit.

My goal is to publish, by the end of next week, all of my entries up to date but I have found that my biggest hindrance has been my confounding pursuit to move forward - those ever present feelings of necessary exploits and embracing everything. These pervasive thoughts have been propelling me at a pace that has negated any true relaxation (save, of course, for those safe and comfortable moments back home around loved ones). I have, though, been chronicling in my mind all I have seen and experienced. But, as anyone who knows me will tell you, I possess a memory an elephant would be shameful of and know I need to embrace my early onset Alzheimer's and transcribe thoughts to computer.

I have thoroughly enjoyed all of your comments, please keep reading and giving me your feedback (right below each entry is the "comment" key - would love to hear any and all thoughts).

The ex - April 5

All of this below, as well as all of my writing in general, is my personal perspective on my life, how I have viewed and chosen to interpret what I have experienced. It is factual only in this context: that it is me experiencing it.

So much for karma....

Santa Barbara fading in the rear view I set a course for a point as far south as my weary brain would take me. Had I listened to logic my course would have never veered from the 10 but a damn Tom Petty refrain wouldn't let go of my mind and I exited towards Ventura with a curiosity about fate. Turns out fate and Tom don't always mix and all I found was myself lost - though maybe karma just works in odd ways.

This trip through Petty's lyrics directed me back to the 1, a path I would have avoided in favor of sick fixation on time, and I was soon back in my new found comfort zone of finding ocean side resting places. Sadly, the aforementioned fixation passed me by the perfect spot and I ended up pulling over to sleep not ten feet from the highway just north of Santa Monica.

The morning sun piercing through my curtains woke me from dreams of surfing on cars and I was off to visit my ex-girlfriend, who also happens to be my cousin - a note of clarification for all of you who are now sitting there with your mouths wide open in shock (please wipe those speckles of spit from off your monitor and reattach your jaw): I am adopted so there is no blood relation whatsoever, we rarely saw each other growing up - I can count the number of times on one hand - and, oddly enough, both of our parents (minus her father, who just thought it amusing) thought it was the grandest idea they had ever heard of (my biggest dilemma, where would the family sit at the wedding?).

As much as passion held us together during the good times, it wedged us apart during the aftermath, my anger not allowing me to forgive and her need to know not allowing her to let me be. Seeing her after all of these years should have been charged but the trials of my life's current course had minimized my emotional connection to all around me and we dropped straight into our normal conversation mode: long of wind and plentiful of interruption.

It seems that our relationship history (familial aside) boded for a harsh return to earth from the throngs of love: years prior I had stolen her from her current husband, a guy so nice that to do something so inherently evil almost made me think God Himself would come down and spite me - though, with the venom and hurt spawned from this relationship, maybe he did.

Our conversation was a long time overdue and through the course of a lengthy question and answer session we came to peace with the past but I couldn't help but feel like she was searching for more, her comments seemed to harbor more than just conversational goals. Logic tells me that it was just her penchant for shock and attention when it comes to conversations, both quirks of hers long forgotten during the years apart, but letting it slip from my mind proved difficult.

And so, both at peace and confused, I left, a short jaunt to a waiting barbecue in San Diego my goal. Unfortunately, this being LA, a quick stop off in Pasadena to see my aunt and uncle and typical LA traffic made this an impossibility.