Fits like a glove. A Mitten-y glove.

It’s an odd paradox, that I identify as being easily overwhelmed by stimulation and yet in certain ways, seem to gravitate towards the way of the multi-tasker, spontaneous planner, multiple-thought trains leaving the station. 

The current trains diverging are actually more literal, and not so much trains. While I am trying to lay my roots in a new town and prepare to pack up from the old one, I am also bound for Ann Arbor in 4 days!

The other day, I got the urge to clean Iris. After all, she had just suffered a puncture wound, and has historically worked her ass off for very little recognition (besides my purchase of eccentric adornments). So, I hooked up my vacuum, gutted out all the crap that has piled up inside, and shuffled through every nook and cranny. When I got to my music box, it was there that I rediscovered many audio-ages past that had never made it onto my iTunes. Favorites include most of my brother’s infamous holiday and birthday mixes. My hands reached for one in particular: Xmas 2011. Inside, he’d written a note: 

“Music expresses that which cannot be put into words and that which cannot remain silent.” 

• Victor Hugo

May you always have the strength to saw what needs to be said. 

Love, Jordan

Six months from then, I would embark on my move out to the PNW. 

People say time has moved differently - faster - since 2000. I agree. Everything seems pressure-packed and super-sonic-speed. It takes a special eye to step back and see where you’ve been because it all still feels close together. But even if I don’t feel it all the time, I can’t deny that these last few years have been milestone years. 

It’s not until you move away from family that you learn what they’ve imparted or what influences truly become you. Sure, there are definitely parts of my identity that I have come to define as distinctly my own (definitely not anything that these three have passed on, at least….maaaaybe the rest of it comes from my cat XP)  but there is no denying that I am also a hybrid of these beautiful people: 

Even though my mother and I go head to head more than anyone else, or maybe even because we do, she has very much been my guiding light. Every time I’ve sought to explore a new healing art or have recognized my need for pause and reflection, that is her influence. Even the manner in which I coordinate arrangements, my best face with kids, and now apparently my knack for losing sunglasses emulates her. 

Even in the scarcity of our talks, I feel a kinship with my father. Our conversations are very much quality over quantity, and in him, I recognize my patience to wait for the right time of discussion. He’s never been one to push a subject, and yet when the space for it opens up, he shows that he has been spending time with it. While I think patience isn’t either of our strong suites in all regards, it has been a valuable trait in sensitive times. And in more practical matters, he’s gradually imparting on me, the logistics of being independent (taxes etc). 

And my brother, the non-vocal, multi-linguist. I cop out a lot by summerizing that we are “similar in a lot of ways, and different in a lot of ways”. Our intelligence is driven by different avenues, our temperament rides different tides, and yet we’ve continuously found value and admiration for one another’s’ strengths, which in the end, makes a yin-yang kind of similarity. Chronologically, we yin-yang-ed also. Everyone thought he was a natural, talkative ham as a babe. As a teen, I was all writing and music. He has carried music and writing into maturity, I have carried voice into maturity. And yet, I don’t think either of us could have done that, or be how we are, without the other. 

All of this to say that, when I found that quote, I began to get pretty excited about my visit home.

Visiting Vancouver (the new homestead?)

Gone were Jubilant June and July and in a flash came Anxiety August. 

Amid the fun and the sun, the inevitable task of Job hunting and house hunting snuck up very suddenly. The last couple of weeks were replete with anxiety-inducing searches on any and everything I could find, trying to plow out monotonous cover letters and requests for rent, all while questioning everything in my mind. 

And then, I got a break. 

On Wednesday, I landed a job interview with 'Home Instead' Senior Care in Vancouver. By the morning of the interview, I was feeling pretty confidant about the prospects, noticing relatable anecdotes and conversation pieces come naturally to my mind. From the site, I got the sense that I would be a strong candidate, but I hadn't quite developed a full sense of how I saw it. As soon as I entered the lobby of their offices, that changed. While I awaited my interview, I grabbed a pamphlet from the nearby shelf and opened to a "day in the life of" sort of comprehensive list of all the possible things a caregiver does. Tasks ranged anywhere from feeding the cat, to watching movies, to going on trips and then of course, the practical bathing/dressing etc. Beside the pamphlet were catalogs of groups and sports teams and services in the area catering specifically to seniors. I found myself getting surprisingly motivated and pumped up. For one, I love having a wide variety of things to do instead of one repetitive role. And reading about the active groups in the catalog brought to mind images of going to different events and groups and maybe even motivating some that stay in to go out and try something new (physical capabilities permitting). I may be sounding naive, and I refrain from dwelling on any idealized visions of the thing, but it began to seem like more and more rewarding work. 

Well, I wouldn't be showcasing my enthusiasm if I didn't get the job. 

I've postponed 100% acceptance for the next week and a half or so, since I applied to a few other places in the area and would like to have the chance to weigh options, should any get back to me in a timely manor. Because of that, I won't yet go into the full job description, but I am excited to say that I have step number one of Operation: Post-AmeriCorps Transition covered. I will be employed. 

The next step in the game is to find a house. This has been even more stressful and disheartening for a number of reasons. However, I'd found a listing for a place right on the Columbia River just the day before and had been hoping to hear back from them while I was in town. Alas, not all stars align as we think they ought, and I still have yet to hear back from them. However, today I heard back from not one, but two runner-ups and I will be back in Vancouver tomorrow to check them both out. This also means one other shot at having the other place call me back for a convenient visit (fingers crossed) 

Well, as per usual, I wasn't going to let the long out-of-town trip be strictly errands, especially not for a 45-minute interview. 

The interview got done right around lunchtime so I got to meet up with Leo and the two of us went to grab some Vietnamese, looking all ritzy in "I've got a real job" garb (well, me as best I can). I thought I'd never had Vietnamese and just asked the waiter for the most popular vegetarian dish, but when he brought out the Crepe, I remembered the delicious Tamarind Tree where my mom and I went over Spring Break. The visit was shortvbecause it was on Leo's lunch break from his new job but even a minute makes the days 1,000 times better. 

I'd done some perusing prior to my jaunt to the city and had come across a group by the name of Three for Silver based out of Portland. They were playing a gig that night at The Grocery Cocktail & Social. From the few tracks I'd checked out, they seemed worth sticking around for. I passed the afternoon on the endless street of everything-convenience, getting some groceries, bumming at the Whole Foods cafe, picking up some supplies for a spontaneous Open Gym day next week and getting my dear Iris patched up for a leak in her tire. Around 6pm, I headed to the downtown area for the show. With time to kill, I walked around a nearby park and up the more populated blocks to get a sense of the area. The park was pretty done up, with a fountain, a few gazeboes, sculptures and large shade trees. The areas most immediately near The Grocery featured many other bars, lounges and other shmoozy sorts of places.

With more time to kill, I drove down to a Walgreens for some necessaries. As I was leaving, I noticed a makeshift art gallery set up across the street. It bled back into an alleyway behind a neglected building, which seemed like maybe it could house some grassroots art collective.

The artwork was diverse enough that I figured multiple artists took part. What I found however, was a group of five staked out behind a trailer parked in back. When I asked about the art, all fingers pointed to ''Bill" and older, brash sorta guy in an armchair across the opposite side of the trailer. He didn't seem fowl-mannered at all, but he also didn't seem eager to offer more than a wave and a smile. Two of the posse though, were much more engaging and we got into a bit of small talk. Will and Ashley were also recent transplants to the area, finishing a long road trek from New York. Will was also an artist and a skateboarder and shared some information about the art community and Bill's whereabouts. He pointed out that some of the artwork were actually woven pieces of canvas, depicting different paintings that made up one. He was about to buy this one:

I had said my goodbyes and headed back to the car when I realized I was looking for evening company. I turned back to invite them and the two seemed very interested, but a bit confused when I offered vague directions as to where it was. In retrospect, I should've just traded contact info. They didn't make it down.

However, I was in no short supply of good company. Getting seated at the bar, I was greeted by a very inviting hostess who I came to know as Kathy. A couple seats down from me was a man I would come to know as John. As I broke into conversation with Kathy about where I was from, John overheard the Packwood namedrop and perked up: "I camped out in Packwood for three months!" John it turns out, had been a Packwood "resident" of sorts back when they still had the mill. The work he was doing on roads and things at the time had them stationed long term. "I didn't want to leave when it was time" he said, nostalgically. It seems to have that effect.

John and I talked non-stop as he shared about raising his family camping and how it had been seared into his kids' lifestyles. "One came back this way to own a campground!" John looked to be about in his early 70's and was still kicking. I grilled him about living in the area and he had a lot of praises for it. Living only a block away, he frequented the live music at The Grocery and name dropped a couple of the recent bands he'd seen. By the time the band was set up to play, I'd moved to sit beside him and we were good buds the rest of the night.

The band was incredible. Tom Waits down on bourbon street in a nightmare before christmas reality with astounding vocals. Or something. The eclectic ensemble of instruments included an accordion, a mandolin, a steel-bath hand-made bass, a banjo (i believe?) and a violin. The group is a talented trio.

Nearing the end-use of the show, John and I were accompanied by a fellow named George, and his wingman Eric. The two of them struck me as superficial interaction at first, but once we cleared some air and got past the ridiculous social norms of bar pick-ups, they were actually a pretty neat duo to chat with. Eric it turned out, is a social worker for 'Council for the Homeless' and very enthusiastically persuaded me to get in touch with his boss about a job, which I will actually consider looking into, seeing as social work is the focus I'm going for.

It may have been the amazing craft cider and fresh blackberry puree cocktail, or the fact that I happened to connect so well with the company and bar tenders that were there tonight, or the high of the absolute love of the music, but I fell in love with the place also. Salty, the owner, was present the whole night and I had the opportunity to small-talk with him here and there, learning about the inspiration for the food (Fried Cornbread done up in his Grandmother's cast iron skillet? the exact nuances I appreciate in a prospective workplace), the inspiration for the name, where he was from....by the end of the night, I was ready to approach him about jobs. I figured (correctly) that it wouldn't be a current possibility, as I knew that two of the three waitstaff were just newly hired, but I had a serious love of the atmosphere and could see it as something I take on later down the road, as a supplement to caregiving.

By the end of the night, I'd acquired a new job, lunch with one of my favorite-est people, the discovery of an art community, a favorite local hangout, new music, three new friends and an invitation to see 'Rent' at the end of September.

As far as transitions go, there are rougher rides, I suppose. 

The Essence of the Thing

Keeping a blog, or otherwise having a public online forum in which to share my thoughts, has seemed to be of importance for me for several years. In that time, I've come at projects with various different approaches. In the back of my mind, I entertain the prospect of being one of those diligent, organized, high-rolling bloggers. However, I'm gradually letting go of my grip on that. That isn't to say it might not be a thing one day, but I've been doing a lot of "falling into place" lately, and I've realized that's not how I function. Bloggers of that caliber have a certain flair for routine, categorizing and planning. I've often mistaken my over-active mind as an indication that I could possibly be housing a bit of that type-A personality.

No, sir-ee. But I like whatever I am. I can plan in a jiffy when I have to, compartmentalize things for the sake of menial tasks, and I know how to find information as needed.

But, as you can see, I haven't blogged in a hot minute.

Blogging is a more organic process for me. Jumping back to my different approaches: whether I've been using a blog as a poetry hub, a documentation of a trip or one of my little experiments in self-growth, I've grown increasingly adamant about not "faking smiles" or strictly using wit and "hit-bits" (a term I've just coined for when one "sauces" up their accounts with entertaining verbosity in order to be inter webs-cool, at the expense of real, more complex feelings behind their words).

My emotional life is exploring a very intimate and complex chapter right now, and thus I've been on the fence of what and how to write on here. Whether it's served any other capacity, blogging has always been a personal catharsis for me, and a way of expressing what doesn't always come out in speech, because my brain tends to jump around and overwhelm me too much in real-time. It has served as an avenue towards vulnerability and authenticity. However, the challenges I've tended to face with that have involved surmounting my own inner debris. This is a little different than that, and because I would like to keep my blog accountable for my life alone, I've been stewing on my next entry, to see what inspiration arrises on that front.

And we have arrived!

Another reason I like blogging (well, writing in general) is because I consider myself to have a horrendously un-exercised memory when it comes to linguistics and certain detail. Movie quotes? God, no. The details of a favorite book? Oy. My own thoughts? I can barely keep up with the present ones.

By writing, not only do I find that I'm more likely to remember my key points (well duh, thats scientifically shown) but I also find it aides in how I am able to reflect on certain matters. When one gets stuck in a mental or emotional rut, it's easy to develop narrow-minded thought-patterns: I've failed. I'm moving backwards. This feels insurmountable. This wasn't where I thought I'd be. 

When I am able to look back at my writing, I'm sort of jolted out of that fixed space. Oftentimes, I write about lofty ambitions or pivotal revelations, and in the past, these have been a bit disheartening to revisit. However, I'm beginning to see them as liberating, motivational and still meaningful, even if they speak of a path that I didn't end up on quite as envisioned.

Throughout this year, I've been reminded of the very distinct voice that guided me into 2015. This is what I'd written around that time:

On Thursday, I turned 25. I’m not much about birthdays these days but 25 feels significant. I’m actually rather excited for this year. I feel real change on the horizon. I feel a capability for healing and change that hadn’t yet culminated in the way it needs to. It is encouraging and necessary. (full entry here) 

Now, at the time I was indulging the fallacy of the "Grand Designer" (another term, instal-coined to describe one's fault of believing they can carefully project processes in their life which are fundamentally more organic and serendipitous than something that can be planned) and I had a lofty image of what my next year could be, setting aside all obligations and transitions that I knew I would be facing, I had an idealized concept of growth, which in retrospect, was very compartmentalized (which I write about NOT doing, here).

While I'm happy to report that I've succeeded in checking off some intended checks that I'd posted about:

-XGet back to the Pass (although conditions have not been to great yet and I have to wait for my tattoo to heal)

-XGo Snowshoing

-XGo rock climb at the Olympia Rock Gym

-SXee the upper Oly National Forest

-XSled at Paradise

-Go fishing 

-XGet on some of those Islands 

they all happened to unfold naturally, just because they really were what I wanted and needed as time went on. And I guess that's what it comes down to, no matter how much you plan for what you think you need.

I thought my big change would be my health. My three months on GAPS was isolating and ugly at times, but I learned some invaluable tips and tricks. In the month that followed, I told myself that I would need to get back to that routine ASAP.

Then, in the last couple of months, my world changed. My whole focus shifted, from this pre-occupied, rigid belief of what I should be doing, to a more revitalizing and more natural state of being. I didn't fix my body by a scrutinizing strategy, but I did find a space to reside in that shifted me away from feeling like that problem signified a disintegrating of my life, or a make-it-or-break-it factor to anything else I want to do with my life. I've traded in a lot of my frustration with imperfections for a stronger embrace of the insight they're providing me and for more awareness of how my matured spirit is establishing a deeper sense of self.

And so, in revising my sense of 2015, the overarching sentiment is still very-much alive and well: This is a year of coming into being on yet another level for me. There is a certain striping away of criticizing the particular steps that my life takes and a firming up of the essential self that penetrates it all.

This entry was going to segue into the most recent development of Operation: Post-AmeriCorps Transition, but I had a lot more in me than I realized, so I'll start a separate post for that. Stay tuned!