The mountains are calling, and I must go...

Journeys aren’t built by one long continuous path, but by a series of twists and turns, stops and starts. A path dragged out too long, and you’re bound to get weary, miss the wonderment in the surroundings, and forget why you were walking at all. 

For the last couple of months, there has been the nagging whisper of my inner disciplinarian in my ear, disappointed that I have not been producing regular blog entries here. Occasionally, I would open up the page to read my latest writing in the hopes that some thematic element would inspire a natural evolution into an new entry.

Obviously, not successful. 

For a while, I told myself that I would start again when “life made more sense”, “calmed down” or “had direction” again. I thought this meant when I found a new job (which I did), when I found a new place (which I did) and when I returned to more hobbies and personal projects (which is a battle). 

But when I did all of these things, and life was feeling just a bit more manageable again, I still didn’t know what to write about. 

And that’s because this is the end of that path. 

I’ve always been a project-starter, not a project-finisher. The “C” word (completion) scares me because then it can be evaluated. Then it can be a failure. I don’t think I recognize exactly how many ways I prop up this fallacy in my behavior and decisions. And it is certainly one I would like to start combatting more conscientiously. 

Most blogs I’ve started (if not all) have simply ceased by default, with no sincere good-bye or reflection. I didn’t want that to happen here. I kept revisiting some inner pressure to carry out this blog because to not keep posting just felt like another way the chaos of life had thwarted my personal goals. Just another way of failing my expectations.

But I no longer have goals of expectations for this blog. And it isn’t a failure. 

This blog houses five years of growth, transformation and inner wisdom. It paints a whole picture that was sparked once upon a time by one decision: to take myself West. It is the muddled fumbling of discovering independence tracing shapes and sounds of the world with the exhilaration of a baby discovering their first words. It was a tool that let far away loved ones grow with me, and in turn let us sustain a growth in our distant relationships. And even now, I can go back into the memory trove and regain perspectives and insights that life can throw off kilter. And I can only hope that somewhere along the path, I inspired others in some small way. 

I’m not exploring the transition from Mitten to Mountains anymore. I’ve created new ideas of home, new relationships, new hopes for the future and they go far beyond two coasts. 

I’m not quitting. I’m not failing. 

I’m completing, so I can begin. 

Finishing February with Family

I have admittedly been very detached from the person I see as my most centered self, hence the irregularity of posts. I’ve recognized that the current circumstances of life have caused me to detach from more of my reflective luxuries, pooling all of my energy just to react to one plot twist or challenge after another. To function this way, I’ve relied on friends and pockets of enjoyment. 

Its not a sustainable approach, and I’m well-aware. Sometimes the best we can do is move through the motions until that rapid-fire, chaotic energy is reigned into some cache in the deeper reservoirs of the self. At least, this is how I tend to operate, and I can finally feel a slowing down, a steadying of that force, bringing me back to me. 

In the mean time, though, I marked my still places with special occassions, this last one being a visit from my mom. Our last face-to-face encounter had resulted in temporary termination of all communication during a particularly pivotal mitten visit . After I returned from my ten-day meditation in the fall, we were able to begin initiating regular phone conversations with minimal friction and before I knew it, we’d decided that she would come visit in February. 

A large part of the development of our relationship during my last visit had been about acknowledging a different level of independence and a breaking away from some of the emotional entanglement that is so deeply rooted in our mother-daughter dynamic. Then and since, I’ve had a lot going on in my life - a relationship, where I work, where I live, even how I spend my social time - that she has been completely unable to be a part of. While she was rightly nervous about meeting new people, my nerves about our visits had always come from anticipation of the inevitable clash where I would once again paint myself in the light of an older, more childish self. I was nothing but excited to approach her from my new, albeit currently unsettled, life with a new sense of growth and emotional maturity. 

On Thursday afternoon when she arrived, our plan was to head immediately to Packwood in order to have some space to ourselves and because, well, Packwood. Her and Leo did have a brief opportunity to meet before we hit the road and no one ran screaming to the hills, so we were off to a good start. 

The drive gave us a good amount of time to have some heart to heart catch up and once we made it to Packwood, we kept a pretty low profile, beside stopping to visit Debbie, Jim and Gaven. Loren and Joan were kind enough to host us and we shared dinner and a bonfire which Loren had offered after I’d expressed desperate longing for one earlier that week. 

What a great sight to wake up to. Packwood, you gorgeous. 

Part of the inspiration for a Packwood visit had been an opportunity to take her up to the Pass in the winter. However, broken ribs give no fucks about plans and after cracking mine on the mountain a few weeks before, downhill seemed like suicide. So in my naive understanding of winter sports, I suggested cross-country as a less physically demanding alternative. 

Oh yeah. We can do this. Like a boss. 

And the snow gods laughed. 

Oh yeah. We can do this. Like a Melli. 

I will never underestimate the athleticism required of cross-country goers ever again. 

After our humbling discovery of our lack of Olympian Cross-Country capabilities, we came down the mountain a bit earlier than expected, and restored the balance of daily bad-to-good decision ratio with scheduled massages with Cathy. (mostly) restored, we bid adieu to Packwood and drove back to the city to meet up with Leo for the evening, breaking our food cart virginity with delicious Egyptian cuisine and finishing it off with cider flights. 

We were too caught up in games to take pictures.
so here. Have a picture of me acting strange. 

On Saturday, we followed a quintessential Portland tour itinerary and balanced some indoor entertainment at OMSI with a trip out to Multnomah Falls. It happened to be the first time Leo and I had the chance to venture into the science museum as well so that was new for all of us. Daniel and Alaina had planned to meet us there and while we were waiting for them to arrive, we caught a Planetarium show on Black Holes. Through Leo’s explanations and the conversations we’d had on the subject, I’d developed a Layman’s understanding of how they work, how common they actually are, and how completely unknown the results of being sucked into one are, given the information we have. But the visual execution of OMSI’s show dug beyond the logic and the science and really tangled up my heartstrings as well. After carrying us through the evolution of black holes, building from the demise of massive stars that build enough gravitational pull to create the dense tunnels of energy, webs of gasses and matter enveloped the room and pulled us through a wormhole in an attempt to convey what such a trip would actually be like. Around this time, the narrator was beginning to address the lesser known theories of Black Hole Phenomenon: Maybe the end is the beginning. As we were virtually dragged through a worm hole, our known galaxy becoming warped and obscured, an eerily visceral sensation came over me. In my own way of relating and understanding the cyclical nature of things, this was sort of like simulating the hypothetical death and re-emergence the soul. I am not one of those people who can easily say I’ve grown to be comfortable with death on the deepest level. That unknown can still shake me if I think long and hard enough on it. But here, in this macro context, I felt a sudden stilling within, even as the graphics and the music and the narration all sped along above me. 

Planetarium shows are always a treat in my book. But one of the reasons we’d chosen to meet at OMSI that day was due to the allure of their temporary exhibit on gaming. They had consoles from the birth of the industry tracing all the way up to the very edge of possibilities that are being explored now. Even for someone who is not very well versed in the history or specifics of any one game type, I found it incredible to be able to trace how the small spark of imagination that began in two-dimensional lines and drawn-out mathematic equations or simple win-lose objectives became its own universe in which to explore collaboration, art, societal structures, invention, and what it takes to push the envelope into other realities. We’d met up with Daniel and Alaina before entering the exhibit and they got lost in conversation with my mom somewhere along the way, while Leo and I ventured through on our own time.I watched him bounce, wide-eyed, from game to game to show me some of his favorites and we both got drawn in to boggle our minds with the more aesthetic and abstract creations of recent years. It was getting to be mid afternoon by the time we all met back up so we parted ways with Alaina and Daniel to have time to visit the falls before dinner. 

Note the elusive lantern creature in the
bottom left

With enough sun left to take the scenic route, we stopped at the Vista House off of highway 30. The last time a group of us had come up was on a blustery post new-years day. And blustery feels far to tame a word. The wind up there had been so strong that it was physically impossible to stand still outside. It was a nice change to be able to take our time with the view, and for the first time on my several drives, the building was open for visitors as well. The story of the Vista House centers around a recreational and conservational vision for the area dating back to the early 1900’s. For the regality of its design, the building served a very plain purpose: to attract travelers, serve as a rest stop, and acknowledge those that had ventured west. Imagined by engineer Samuel Lancaster, it now houses a small informational gallery in the basement, which traces the history of the Columbia River Highway project that Lancaster supervised and the various ways that the area has been reconstructed and developed over time. While there wasn’t much on the Vista House itself (more can be found here), it was neat to see how travel and recreational use of the area was considered and read about the construction of the first tunnels and bridges that are now widespread along the gorge. What stuck with me most though, was learning that the 70+ miles of Gorge territory is home to the largest concentration of waterfalls in the world. I knew that I was surrounded by an immense amount of beauty to be explored but I didn’t realize what a coveted acclaim the area holds. Believe me, waterfall exploration is top priority once the fundamentals make more sense. 

had to do the classic pose thing

Reaching Multnomah, we decided to test our ambition and see how far up the trail we’d be able to venture before the sun gave up on us or we gave up on our legs. I’d say it was about even…although the sun was probably being more generous than we claimed. Next time, Multnomah, next time! 

couldn't pull it off twice

Timing did actually work out well though, because we made it back to the north end of town right on time to meet Mary, Lewis and Marilyn for dinner at the Oregon Public House. After dinner, with some festivity still running in our bones, we twisted my mom’s arm to go across the street for a few more drinks, where they would have a good supply of board games to choose from. We ended up with Pass the Popcorn, an amusing movie trivia game that was surprisingly enjoyable and even more surprisingly, I did not completely fail at. 

Waiting with appetizers: Melli-face edition

Waiting with appetizers: Polite imposter edition 

Sunday had been reserved for lazy-day board games, but everyone woke up with incompatible needs, feelings and energy levels. Instead, my mom and I ended up going on a walk in Forest Park for another serious heart-to-heart about how our hearts could fit together right now. 

Poor Middle East...oh, wait....

My life isn’t the easiest to watch right now. It’s not a stroll in the park, or even an exciting roller coaster. It scary and uncertain and confused. My local support system is built from people that have been there, that are closer to those dark places, to remember what its like. I’ve never been in a phase of uncertainty and upheaval quite this way, and seeing the people I love simply stay, steadfast, recognizing it not as something taboo, not as a sign of disaster but just another step, has meant a lot. I don’t hold it against my mother to see things differently, to react differently. She’s my mother and as much as a friend, she and I will always have that special dynamic. But right now, that approach doesn’t serve me. And frankly, I don’t feel like having my goings on so closely shared with her benefits her either. Nevertheless, we navigated the feelings well, and the talk didn’t end in anger or misunderstanding with one another. We were able to find a middle ground where we could enjoy one another without stepping across the boundaries we were uncomfortable with and in the end, opted on some games with Leo at the house and a visit to Edgefield for dinner and a showing of Deadpool (Yes. Movie, approved.) 

Parting ways at the airport the next day, it was the first time the visit felt too short, and not from a place of desperation. In the past, our intense bouts of friction would leave us both discontent, ready to end the reality of what we’d created but deeply disappointed that we’d once again missed a connection we were yearning for. This time, I was finally left with a normal sense of parting ways. We could have had a few more days, and I think that would have been nice. But I also didn’t feel a heart wrenching tear from her departure because I didn’t feel at the last minute, that longing to repair something. 

This is a good thing. It doesn’t mean a lessening of the deepness of our love. It doesn’t mean a detachment. I think it means that we are moving towards a more authentic and nurturing way of relating. 

And as for the partner-parent meeting, all parties survived. 

Bonus. 

<3

Thank You

Sometimes, my shifts are like tectonic plates

on drugs. 

Moving with a mass 

faster than the earth was ever intended to split

fitting fissures and fault lines into timelines

derived from mind

over the matter of whats happening 

around me 

shaken sediments erode the grounding 

founded by arbitrary preconceptions

but the nature of change makes no exceptions

so stop digging my heels 

to upend tree roots

shake off the soot from erratic earthquakes

make love to the pace under my feet

come back to the simple feeling of breathing

I’ve been living this past month pushing and pulling against the pace of everything around me. I’ve found myself in an argument with the world around me. Life outside of my head and my heart has been sluggish, for lack of a better word. I feel stuck in my job. I feel stuck in my living debacle. I feel stuck with my dreams confined to a dream world. And despite the stagnation, there are universes inside me, moving at light speed, colliding with my reality every day. 

I’ve always sort of prided myself for being able to trust the equilibrium. It’s a fact of life that things get hairy, confusing, scary. But usually, I flounder with my head above the water, always with my eyes on some distant land mass. I usually find my fins and gradually, the land takes shape and I meet a path at the shore. 

I’ve been diving under, getting water in my eyes. I sputter at the surface, looking for something to make sense, ready to swim again just to find dead ends. 

Thus far, this blog has been more or less about my journey, my ability to navigate between mittens and mountains, and how my own mind and resources and perspective on life is called upon time and again to figure out the next steps. 

With the uncertainty I’ve been floundering in, I haven’t had much to say, let alone time or patience to say it. But this is actually an entry long overdue. 

Instead of my fins, I’ve been sent life boats. 

Lewis, Mary, Leo and Marilyn have blossomed into an incredible family for me. Where I’ve felt without a home, they’ve let me in. Where my heart has felt buried and lost, they’ve dug it out and held it close. Where my mind has clouded and panicked, they’ve soothed it and slowed the clock. While I while away, beating away the brush to carve a path that makes sense, they make it possible to step off and take in views along the way. They keep me above the water. 

Leo pointed out that, for as much as I believe in the power of community, I have been holding this discomfort for needing an upgrade from my own flippers. I am so used to being able to give back in some way, and I feel like I have absolutely nothing to give. 

But I do have my appreciation. 

And for that matter, thank you to each and every one of you that remind me of the richness of my life, even amongst this crazy current. 

Thank you to my parents, for years navigating communication, for not running away from the complexities I bring into your life, for standing by me even when I feel I’m falling short. 

Thank you to my Packwood community, a place I feel I can always escape to, where I am always welcome with open arms, where I have an identity to return to. 

Thank you to distant friends, who embrace the opportunity for a long conversation, a surprise reconnection, who create these moments that remind me of the lasting impact of relationship and the power it has to bring beauty back into life. 

Thank you to new connections. People who, for whatever reason, see me, without anything to offer but my presence, and see that as enough. People who may help me open doors and continue to create richness in my life so that I may one day give back.

Thank you. I love you all. 

<3

Return to Crater Lake!

Naturally, the grace and poise with which I painted the new year in my last post has since shifted. Thus far, it has been a practice in baby steps and cutting the self some slack. What was going to be a dramatic launch into a "cleaner" diet at the beginning of January has sluggishly dragged itself along until today, where I am still slowly easing into things, as opposed to some dramatic gesture to denounce indulgence (my typical all-or-nothing approach). Leo's friend Chris was in town, and having been sick up until the debut weekend of 2016, our little PNW tribe tried to make the last little bit of his stay festive, so the four of us that had been aiming for a January cleanse set aside our will power and jubilantly indulged...all through the next week, thanks to a myriad of various other excuses. It was nice to have people right alongside me for once, being flexible with their goals as opposed to me against the world and my own mind beating itself to a pulp at any shortcoming.

It has always been hard for me to accept that all of the change and shifts I see possible cannot fathomably be tackled all at once. And so like I said, this year so far has really been about making the little shifts wherever possible, and not trying to measure some sort of metered pace. I began to draw for a bit each day, and then lost a few days. I got off Facebook but not other screen time that is equally distracting. But I'm putting forth effort to the areas I want to focus on, testing the waters of how I can shift my attention. And that counts towards something.

The most immediate shift to be addressed was to gain some relief from the stifling holiday season and rediscover a bit of adventure. Leo and I had both been ticking time bombs to get out of the city and vowed that the first opportunity after the holidays died down, we would do just that.

I began to call upon my planning methods which generally means daydreaming until something resonates. Since we only had a weekend, I couldn't daydream too far away, but I didn't need to. Having become completely enamored with Crater Lake's summer scene, I could only imagine what it must look like at this time of year and after some snooping about to figure out how much of it was accessible, I found that the best way to access the caldera was through a free, guided snowshoeing tour.

Anywhere else you go, snowshoes will cost you. But go to a National Park and they give you the equipment and a guide. Take your ranches elsewhere; we need to preserve these kinds of opportunities.

Unsure of how bold we would end up wanting to be in the face of winter weather, I opted to peruse Couchsurfers and made connections with a woman that had recently just moved to Bend...from Michigan!

Leo and I both had to work on Friday, so we weren't able to get on the road until that sweet, glorious, magic hour....rush hour. Way past dark as we neared Bend, the trees grew tall around us and the headlights bounced the gleam of ice off the road. Contrary to all Miami jokes ever, I'd say Leo earned a sticker for his first real wintery drive. It was about 9:30 when we got to town and I felt bad that we would be knocking on Tracy and Brandon's door so late. However, they seemed flexible with the whole thing, affording us the opportunity to go out and grab some late night noms before heading over. I was surprised that nearly every eatery was closed on a Friday night, but we managed to find a place with an acceptably quirky enough name to be lured in. 'Broken Top Bottle Shop' was situated on the edge of nothing special, and appeared out of nowhere after winding through a bunch of residential streets (in the dark, the city's layout was making no sense to me.) They seemed to be a prime stop for "bottle shop" and the food was tasty. We got Banh Mi-ses (plural that, grammar!) which I was failing to remember the origins of. I described it to Leo as simply being a type of sandwich, like a BLT that probably has a standard set of toppings. Alas, I get fail-points. Apparently, the vietnamese "dish" is named after the bread, essentially a baguette sorta thing, but all special and vietnamese-y. There are suggested toppings but it really just means "bread sandwich". That's why America likes to steal other languages, yo. Sounds so much more intriguing.

Arriving in the neighborhood of our hosts, we couldn't make out any numbers and I ended up pestering the wrong door before calling Tracy for guidance. In our meandering about the street, Leo found ample opportunity to commence what would be the ongoing snow-off (although, I think I just won when I later face planted into a wad of snow he was holding and stuffed way too much in my mouth).

Once in the warmth (and safety) of their house, none of us really had any energy to muster for visiting and so we made our brief introductions, they showed us our room and we called it a night.

part of the bedroom decor 

The next morning we had to be on the road by 9:30 (which we sorta succeeded at) to arrive for our 1pm tour, so we didn't have much time to visit then, either. While Leo basked in the snow, I basked in being able to watch someone so newly enamored with it. I didn't half mind it either. Rather than gloomy ice-rain or clumpy hard patches, this snow was doing it proper, falling in a light, powdery flow.

Gassing up on our way out of town, our attendant warned us not to take Hwy 97 , because "people don't know how to drive in this weather". My car proudly waved its Michigan booty as we carried on, 97 being the only possible way anyhow. The roads really weren't that bad. Despite ominous orange reader boards demanding chains or tread, we kept on keeping on. After a treacherous Ice-rain experience in Portland the week before, driving the few patches that got especially wobbly were nothing. Still, a few spots did slow our pace and a capsized truck had us at a brief stand still, carrying us into park territory later than anticipated. I was trying not to feel anxious, but kept thinking back to when we took AmeriCorps kiddos to Rainier for a snowshoe tour and they'd left without us.

The weaponry cabinet 

all geared up : ) 

Fortunately, Crater Lake time is my kinda time, operating on nature and working with peoples needs. Things like driving on roads with 20-foot walls of snow accounted for more than one party being slightly behind schedule. While we were catching up and latching our gear on, the rest of the group had gone over to the edge to see if they could see the caldera. There had been a thick fog sheltering us the entire drive through the park and I couldn't imagine how the lake would be visible through that.  Sure enough, we heard our guide dismiss the view and say we'd try again later. Then, just as we were about to get going, we noticed a break in the sky above the lake.

The view was incredible, perhaps even moreso with the clouds. Shadows and light transformed the landscape with each passing minute, first illuminating Wizard Island before gliding across the water, turning it from the silvery shade of clouds to a shimmery blue and hitting the farthest walls of the rim. Even if we'd missed the walk, the drive would have been worth it.

But carrying on, we trekked further into beautiful, snowy abyss. Our guide was a wonderfully passionate older man who seemed to be enjoying his retirement with his wife, park hopping as volunteers. Besides some of the geological history that I'd learned from our summer visit, he shared little pointer for being attentive to our current winter setting. One interesting tool that our surroundings provided for measuring how much snow the park gets on average was the lichen on the trees. Because Lichen need to photosynthesize, you can always tell how high the snow had reached on a tree by where the lichen stops. So, when we're back in the summer we can look up at the lichen line and know just how high up we were. It was odd to be reminded that we were over 20 feet above the ground. Amongst the giant, looming Pines, droopy Hemlocks had been reduced to little 5-foot looking shrubs, reminding me of little cloaked villagers under the costuming that the snow clumps provided. At one point, a break in the snow allowed us to see that we were in fact standing on the tippy top of one!

And when we weren't standing, we were sliding. Plundering through the snow with snowshoes is no act of grace, and going down hill, we frequently did half-splits or feigned a pseudo-snowboarding pose to look mildly cool as our ass hit the ground (but all with the upmost level of enjoyment).

Back at the parking lot, I could finally assess how brickish my brick-feet had become and waddled to the car so we could drive up to the lodge for something - anything - hot. Shitty coffee has never felt so good. The lodge closed around sunset, and as we were headed to the car, I saw a wash of peach entering in behind the trees so we ventured out for one last look at the lake under the glow.

Between thus far having been ships in the night with our hosts and the amount of BRRRrrr that we'd just thawed out from, we vetoed the winter camping idea and decided to head back to Bend to take Tracy and Brandon to dinner at Brother Jon's Public House. It was good to finally have a chance to get to know them, and compare notes on Michigan, traveling, photography and the like. They also shared some of their Bend discoveries and seconded an earlier recommendation from Dean that we should swing by Smith Rock on our way out of town the next day.

So on Sunday after visiting a bit more, our landscape took a 180 as we drove north into desert. It was strange to see the rock that I associate with New Mexico sprinkled with snow and ice. Smith rock is tucked way back, past acres and acres of farmland. From the flat expanse, it suddenly shoots up, split off from a larger ridge by Crooked Creek which carved through the formations over thousands of years. As opposed to Crater Lake - the results of a collapsed caldera filled with water - Smith Rock formed from the hardened debris of ash and dust that settled in a caldera there.

We had no plans for the day, so when Leo pointed out the longest hike on the map he'd been given, I didn't see any reason not to. I mean, it's not like the title was of the "Take heed all ye who approach" variety...

Leo also went house shopping

It actually wasn't that difficult, and certainly was far from miserable. The only real challenge was the first 1/3 of a mile, which accomplishes the total 900 ft elevation gain for the whole trail. And it wasn't the gain that made us take stock of our sanity, but the ice. Because it was on the...northeast (?...I might be bullshitting that...so we could also just say "cause it's winter and ice happens") there was still lots of ice on the trail, which had us moving at a hand-and-knee pace most of the way up. But it was worth every step. Surmounting the top of the ridge, we were bathed in sunlight again and just ahead was a ledge with a view. And well, what more do you want when you reach the top.

We trekked along the ridge in bliss, which got more blissful as we rounded the corner that opened up onto a view of the Three Sisters mountain range...and Monkey Rock! We'd passed some monkey rock babies on the way up, but they seemed sort of undistinguished for having been given a namesake. upon seeing the real thing though, there is no mistaking it. The massive stand-alone pillar looks like a monkey head impaled on a stick. From where the trail split off, we were able to climb down onto a ledge that climbers from the world over have been utilizing as a prime claiming site since the 80's. It was daunting to experience "a climber's eye" and we both began to feel uneasy the longer we lingered.

Safely back on on solid ground, we moved on to less-safely navigate our way down another zig baggy slope of ice. This side wasn't as bad though, and once I gained momentum, I could sort of get going in a wide, plodding gait. Then from the bottom on, things became less of a hike and more of a stroll (the definitions of which I have full credentials to convey accurately...) along the creek back to the lot.

Conveniently situated as a stand-alone building, and one of the first that you come across upon leaving the park, Terrebone Depot easily lured us with the promise of food and drink. With a wide variety on the menu, steak for Leo and Fish Tacos for myself, we left heartily satisfied and restored for the drive home.

It was difficult to come back, to notice that the norm of my life is not the norm that I would like. But every excursion, every taste is an opportunity to be re-invigorated and to learn more about what really matters to me. Sometimes, life can't be all or nothing. Sometimes it just has to be baby steps.

The Art of New Years

It's that time of year that begs pause, whether from some misplaced sense of obligation or some space deeper that reawakens, seeing a crack in blinding debris of a whole year past, suddenly overcome once again with the feeling that this year too, went by in a flash.

Like creating a painting, the true beauty of the final pice will never be realized if you begin with a fixation on what you think the full picture should look like. Only after spending time with each unfolding brush stroke can you stand back and see how the pieces work intimately to form what it was you saw before you.

I certainly fall culprit to fixation, and the beginning of this year was no different. My mind's image was not what I see before me now, but after years of letting my idealism disappoint me, I stand back now and try to see the textures of brushstrokes; something coming together, even if I may not know what.

In welcoming 2016, I feel a return to patches of color, places I've touched and can come back into with new detail. I have a bit of an attention deficit, and it can be hard for me to "get in the zone" when I paint or draw. But if I push past, I hit a sweet spot where I can reside and be present. As years go by, I'd like to think that my persistence in returning will eventually cultivate that same kind of presence.

The holidays were difficult for me. I was away from loved ones that weekend, and with the interface of Facebook, I was stuck in a limbo, removed from my reality, but not in any of those virtual vignettes either. As any attempts at authentic connections ceased, I withdrew more and more into a self-pitying state.

That weekend, I took a day just to drive amid the Idaho winter wonderland lit by chrome glow bouncing from the ice-covered trees. In the bone-chilling cold, I was re-captivated by the majesty of my surroundings, both soothed and invigorated. Nature once again proved to be the catalyst for escaping the rushing of getting ahead of myself.

So I'm beginning the new year with a different pace. Off of Facebook for a while, I hope to be more attentive to the strokes I am making (both literally and figuratively, as I hope to get artsy this month)

I invite you all to slow down a little, and come paint with me.

May the strokes of you 2016 be textured and colorful, and create the beauty of your heart.

Shameless birthday plug

It’s not typical of me to think much about birthdays these days. Even before my 20’s, I sort of flat-lined at the “age is just a number” age. 21 was no special mile marker and I never felt my “age” in any of the other years either. And then, something came over me about year 25. I didn’t do anything particularly special to celebrate (except to carry on the PNW tradition of seeing Dusty) but I knew that the year to come was going to be one of some sort of significant growth and transition into a new level of “adulthood”. 

Of course, these revelations always seem more dramatic in the incubation period where you have the giant playground of the mind to imagine all the ways these themes are going to manifest. I certainly had the feeling that I would feel more “secure in adulting” or more “independant” than I do. But in looking back over the years, I realize my inkling wasn’t wrong. While the journey is far from over, I began/have begun exploring many vast new territories. I am facing insurance changes, I am having to start looking at budget and income in a different way, I am deciphering my passions with broader visions in mind, and the world has taken me by surprise by bringing a most incredible person in my life who has been a source of motivation for growth, support for setbacks and all in all, made the year one i will never forget. 

And now, another birthday approaches. Besides going off my parent’s health insurance in 11 days, this year seems to be another that is carrying very charged energy. With all the changes and challenges that have been overwhelming me lately, I’ve suddenly, for the first time in a long time, really felt young. I don’t mean young in the spry, rebellious, bullet-proof type of youth. But I mean that I really see the vastness of the space before me. It is a small piece of solace amidst all of the things that carry pressure. Perhaps part of this sensation is coming from my work with the elderly. I am really absorbing how much time there are in those years, where so much can happen and it takes so much time to figure out. It helps me feel a little bit better about struggling financially or floundering in my sense of direction. I don’t feel the same self-placed sense of expectation that I used to bring into my life. I’m cutting myself some slack out of necessity. 

Americans are great at empty celebrations. We’re like the wedding crashers of holidays. St. Patties? Yeah, my friends’ step-dads’ great-grandmother was Irish! Now let’s party! The power and significance of ceremony is lost on us. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/11/11/history-of-birthdays_n_4227366.html is an interesting collection of factoids about the origin of the birthday. I see “God” and “godliness” as those qualities within ourselves that bring us closest to being the most authentic and beneficial version of ourselves. Many of these qualities end up being universal, supported and enhanced through our interconnected nature. In essence, we are all “god” or  “spirit” or “soul” or “whatever you want to call it”. I typically don’t like to use terminology like this, because language tends to dissuade from true understanding in this context, so forgive the visceral cringe that I know its giving me, and possibly you as well. 

Anyhow, in this regard, it’s neat to see the evolution of birthdays, from a coveted royal event to a commonplace acknowledgement among all people. In this light, I see my birthday as an opportunity to both honor those qualities within myself as well as allow for honest reflection of where I can grow. We involved others in this celebration, both because they are able to honor spaces we may be blind to, as well as contribute insight in places where we don’t notice that we could do more growth. And it’s also just nice to feel loved, cause our best selves operate under those conditions. 

This was a lot more long-winded than I thought it would be, so hopefully you stuck with me! All to say, what do I hope for on my birthday? 

I do not want things. I DO NOT WANT FACEBOOK POSTS. What I would like: 

-A message, snail-mail or phone call offering a piece of insight/wisdom as to an aspect of my character that you think has room for growth.

-A message, snail-mail or phone call recognizing a gift that you feel is strong with me, that I should focus more intention on, that has a lot of potential.

-An experience. Preferably a surprise. A moment, an situation that excites, energizes, encourages a look through new eyes, revitalizes a stale outlook on life. Novelty and adventure inspires, reawakens. 

-If giving something really is simpler/more in line with what you are called to do, please consider this: I have a lot of practical needs that I am struggling to meet right now: A class to pay for, a license plate to get etc. The next tier down, I have a yoga membership to pay for and a hope to acquire backpacking gear. Finally, I’d like to start a savings for a bus. 

Any of these things are direct contributions to inner practical and/or growth, not some clutter filling my life. 

Thank you all for being a part of my life, being a part of my growth and being a part of the journey. 

<3

Melissa

Treading Water

I try to keep a balance of perspective in my life that is both attentive to the more intuitive and subtle signs of situations, but that does not react to every little mishap or good fortune as being the token prophecy for one direction or another. In practice however, it’s typically in small, mundane ways that I find this, such as a slight misfortune in the day that changes the direction of plans. Otherwise, my failure occurs in the theoretical stage. My approach to planning has typically been to put my feelers out in a zillion ways and see what comes back feeling like the right fit. If option “A” to some big decision doesn’t feel right, I usually get the memo and end up on a different path.

I’ve been fortunate to have this approach work out for me this long. Yet while some would say this takes a certain kind of fearlessness and wisdom, there are underlying themes that I find in these patterns which make me wonder if I really am more fearful than ever. Up until now, every different phase or journey has had some neat little boxed time frame. both this and the way I just let opportunities unfold for me lend themselves to a certain sort of passivity.I’ve noticed this for a while and stubbornly joked with the world that I would never have to address it. But with AmeriCorps behind me there are no more superficial mile markers. This is officially a blank slate timeline. Now I have to be a more assertive designer. 

Fear, Failure and Forgiveness; three words that hold much more weight and power than the trademark f-word we prefer to brandish. I would say that each of these are essential to ultimately accessing authentic meaning in life. These are the cornerstones from which those recurring themes are built, and they will keep recurring with greater force, as the world beacons you to face life directly. 

Since moving to Portland, there have been small curveballs left and right. Like I said, I try not to react with unfounded assumptions, but at the same time, I can track the general vibes being created by my experience thus far, and I feel a greater and greater sense of urgency, that I have found myself in a failed decision. 

The daily demands of being in a city have been eating up my energy, leaving far from any sort of reserves to wrap my head around extra pursuits and interests. When it became apparent that I was not going to make enough of an income at the Senior Care job, all my time began to focus on finding more work. Now that I have, I am coming out of that tunnel vision to discover a reflection of someone far removed from who I feel I am. 

I crave the woods and the water. I crave that space removed from time, where the only thing to keep pace with is the synchronicity of surroundings, and the hearts of others. I don’t even need something big right now - just a week or two in that land of possibility - but I’ve created a schedule that doesn’t accommodate that need. I’m living to work and not working to live. 

Yesterday, we had some of the most gorgeous, warmest weather we’ve had in a couple weeks, and probably one of the nicest days we will have for a while as we move into winter. And I was missing out on it for the sake of work. If my heart yearns for those spaces so much, my work should be able to incorporate that. 

And yet this is where my big bold acknowledgment of change becomes muddled. Because even as I express my dissatisfaction, I see it as just a perspective’s shift away from being an unnecessary impatience with a path that could offer just as many benefits to me as any other and still eventually evolve to be integrated more with what i need. 

And perspecitve shifts a lot. For as much as I get disgruntled with my job, I love the people I work with and the small moments I feel I have something to contribute to authentically.

I had one of these moments during my afternoon shift yesterday. It was my high-anxiety, OCD client and I’d just about finished all of the day’s tasks. She had asked if I wanted to trim back the flowers in the flower pot, making an off-the-cuff remark about how she could “back when I used to have a life” or “I should say, when I wasn’t disabled.” I paused, once again coming up against my radical belief that she can change and the structure of the agency’s aim to please her and maintain her comfort. Delicately, I asked her if she thought about it much: what it would be like to try and go out these days? I didn’t get an incredibly detailed response, but she did jump to her primary concern about her sense of balance. Then to my surprise, she offered that we could go out and try and tackle the flowers together. Perhaps too excitedly, I gathered scissors and bags and we went down together. She said that she would need help balancing while sitting in her folding chair and to move it from pot to pot, but as she got involved with the activity, I found her more and more able to move without hesitation. 

Back upstairs, she asked for a hug, and then asked if I’d ever known anyone with her symptoms. I shook my head, but then carried on to explain how I could kind of relate. In the past, I’d experienced anxious, sensory overload that effects the perception of hearing and vision. I understood how that can be uncomfortable and how easily it could become a vicious cycle that someone feeds until they are trapped in those sensitivities. In the most polite way I could, I basically told her she needed to buck up. Granted, it was really polite, because I’m all about meeting people where they’re at. But it was exciting to begin that conversation that I’d been wanting to have with her from day one. I told her that I would be thrilled to do more like that with her, as much as she is able and willing. As she described her experience, I saw how much the current pattern of the caregiver routine fueled her anxiety and stole away any chance of learning how to live for passions again, and I explained that that was not why I was there. In  the back of my mind, I imagine us at a park by the time I’m done working with her. 

Then later that night, I had my first overnight shift. The hour before, I began to get nervous. What the hell was I doing? I’m not an all-nighter person, I haven’t worked with brain injury, and now I’m freaking out about the steps to basic standing and walking assistance. 

My client was a young, cognizant 67 year-old woman who had taken an incredibly nasty fall down the stairs. While the rest of her body was practically unscathed, her head sustained two skull fractures, a broken nose, broken eye sockets and brain rattling. Her husband greeted Allison and I and then took me into the bedroom to quietly say hello. As he calmly explained the night’s routine - she likes to take baths at night, and she needs to take this vicodin at 2 - I tried to imagine how he’d been experiencing this great upheaval. After the run-down, he set me up with wi-fi, stoked the wood stove and insisted I help myself to the tons of pie that was leftover. 

About an hour into my shift, my client rang her bell for assistance. At that point, all my preconceived worries were irrelevant. She asked what time it was and I could immediately tell she was in pain and wanting the vicodin. I brought in an Aleve and suggested that we could maybe try a bath. As she moaned at how painful it was, she still attempted conversation and explanation of herself here and there, so I began to find questions to understand more about what she needed and what she was feeling. I asked if this was worse than it had been the past few days and her answer let me know that she was unsettled by having thought she was in a steady decrease from pain when it now appeared there was more of a roller coaster to go. In the darkened bathroom, in the late night, the space unfolded into a bonding and I found that I wasn’t grasping for how to behave or what to say. Back in bed, the pain continued to torment her. Without second thought, I offered to message right around the trauma area. For the next hour I sat there, just embodying this simple, compassionate touch with this woman as she immediately calmed. We eased into conversation and then I finally turned out the lights so that she could try to close her eyes. We surprise ourselves with how far compassion and recognizing one another’s human-ness surpasses any skill. 

She had told me I had incredibly gentle hands. She had asked if I’d ever thought of being a therapist. She had seen me and understood me, and I had brought my authenticity to the moment. 

She’d also very quickly decided that I was not being treated or paid my worth with Home Instead. This too, has been a factor I’ve felt intuitively as I waver at the many forks in the road. I knew I was disappointed with the scheduling and lack of benefits but I did not realize how sorely ripped off we are. Her and her husband are paying a whopping $25 per hour for me to be there. I’m seeing less than half of that. 

Between these moments though, and the opportunities I’ve had to discover things like PDX Food Not Bombs and drum circles, I can’t quite see any one path clearly. Sometimes, it’s necessary to get through a less ideal set of circumstances to build towards something more fulfilling. Sometimes it’s a trap and it’s only purpose is to be the thing that forces you into fearful, unknown places upon abandoning it. I just don’t know which this is yet.