Oregon At Last

From where I sit, forest fills the frame of every window. How nice to be in the middle-of-nowhere Oregon again. Right now, I snuggled up on a couch at Zach's mom's house in Sweet Home. Zach is rolling around on the floor with a beautiful brown dog named Max. Some things I like about Max are: he doesn't smell terrible or drool on me, he doesn't stick his nose in my private places (usually), he doesn't bark, he is smart, and his head/ears are really soft and pleasant to pet. I understand why people love their pets. And the more love in the world- the better, right?

During our trip to Washington D.C. and NYC we ate Indian, Tai, Burmese, Italian, and Brazilian food. How lucky am I?! Everything tasted delicious except the sour vegetable dish Stephen ordered at the Burmese place. After one bite, the spices latched onto my lips and burned like crazy. I probably couldn't tell you where Burma is on a map but I can say that most of their food speaks the language of my stomach. Yum!

New York reminded me a lot of Barcelona but without the beautiful architecture or the romance of the Spanish tongue filling my ears. About three seconds after we stepped off the bus at Penn Station, I glanced at an old man wearing very short shorts and noticed three non-public body parts hanging out the leg holes. Shocking! Next a man, with half of his face swollen and appearing to hang two inches lower than the other half, started yelling about the newspapers he was trying to sell. People pressed on every side and when we finally made it to the corner, Zach says, "I don't think I like big cities."

We ended up having a great time exploring New York though. Time Square swarmed like a beehive and Little Italy definitely reminded me of the real thing but the best parts were the hole-in-the-wall Tibetan shops, musicians in the park, and reconnecting with our friends. Most of the time I just walked along, marveling at the mass of people whom I will never know.

The last thirty minutes of our drive, from Buffalo to Kirksville, it sounded like we were driving through a terrible rain storm. Turns out it was just the bugs hitting our windshield. Some were glow bugs, which left nickel-sized splats that glowed neon for a minute or so. Others left giant dollar-bill sized splats. The windshield wipers were covered in wings, legs, and goo. We had to turn the music on full blast and sing along to drown out the noise. When I mentioned this to my brother, he told me he made the mistake of driving his motorcycle that time of evening and that his entire body was plastered. I'm definitely only riding my bike during daylight, non-bug hours when I live there.

On the plane from Missouri to Oregon, I sat next to the creator of "Sally", a character in the movie Cars. He's an animator who works for Pixar and we talked through the whole flight. I love hearing other people's stories. I love plane rides too. You throw a bunch of people in a tight space together and you know at least a few are going to have a good conversation. For those non-claustrophobic types, it's good because it makes the world a bit smaller and instigates the feeling of connectedness.

In Transit

Here I sit, on the top level of a double decker bus somewhere between my nation's capitol and a city named after the state I've lived in for the last year. My mind keeps skipping, like a stone across water, from one idea to the next until it sinks finally back into the present moment with the squeeze of Zach's hand on my knee or snippet of sound from the people surrounding us.

I could say that we are homeless but that statement would be like adding water to ketchup and saying it's suitable tomato soup. Sometimes we twist and stretch things too far. The book we bought yesterday at a social justice and peace themed bookstore has been whispering to me to make the present moment my home, then I will never be without one. This sounds very wise to my ears but my mind likes skipping rocks too much. I think I could succeed at this if I got serious about meditation so I will. I'll let you know how it goes.

Back in Buffalo, we said goodbye to our friends, packed and cleaned our apartment, and fit everything we own into our car. The last thing we did before driving to the airport happened in the empty lot we tried to conquer behind our apartment. Though it did not become the perfectly pruned and planted community garden we had envisioned, at least it's not a garbage dump anymore. With our last few moments we scattered thousands of wildflower seeds into that jungle, without any idea if even one will survive. That is hope. You plant something, even if you don't have the water or the time or the ability to make it grow, and expect that something beautiful will bloom. The world would be a better place if we all believed in our own handful of seeds.

Almost gone

I'm sitting at a railroad crossing and before me moves a very fast train. Each railroad car is a person that I get to glimpse for just a portion of a second and then they're gone before I have time to fully focus my eyes. Four months I've been trading my time for this paper stuff with numbers on it and spending no longer than fifteen minutes talking to hundreds of different people. 

I'm a waitress and the person who might drive you to the airport in the Holiday Inn shuttle van if you happen to stay the night before your flight. Filling your tummy and giving you a ride are things I would do for free but some silly people like to pay me to do it. I don't actually care about the money except for the potential it has to be converted into something loving for another person. It is that premiss that has kept me trading so many hours the last few months.

During my work hours, I've met many people. I remember a couple of Venezuelans who let me practice Spanish with them. The biggest tip I ever got as a van driver was from a woman and her very sick looking son who were going to Seattle for testing on a new kind of cancer treatment and the same morning I got no tip from an air traffic controller who told me he makes 100,000 dollars a year.  I remember a very nice man who sold mechanical equipment for raising turkeys and chickens. He was flying to do a sales pitch with Foster Farms. I was astounded that someone from the factory farming industry was sitting right in my van, telling me all about how automated everything is now and that their sales are quadrupling yearly in European countries. I've met many doctors, pilots, families on their way to Disney World, international school teachers, the man in charge of iTunes for all of Canada, a couple writers, two women on a road trip from California to Maine, and many newly weds on the way to their honeymoon.

I don't have anything profound to say about all these people;  it's been like brushing past a hundred strangers/friends on a crowded street. I could see them fitting into my life as my sisters, best friends, neighbors, annoying cousins, co-workers, teachers, mentors, or wise grandfathers but I know they won't only because of geography and time. But I see that potential and it makes me feel kind and friendly feelings for them. 

Not everybody I met was nice to me but I won't hold that against them. I like the Buddhist idea that emotions are clouds passing in front of the sun. An angry person isn't acting as their true self. The sun will come out again and it is good to be patient and understanding until it does. 

I also like the idea that happiness is internal. If I could stay balanced enough and plugged into that internal power source, I wouldn't be as vulnerable to getting hurt or having my day ruined when somebody treats me with anger or rudeness. I usually respond to anger with sadness, which de-escalates the situation (instead of escalating it by matching anger with anger), but I still wish I could stay impartial.

Yesterday I packed my first box and went to my first dance recital (fyi-babies in poofy dance skirts are adorable). Tonight I work my last shift here in Buffalo. Oh what a weekend of firsts and lasts. 

Leaving Buffalo

We leave Buffalo in four days. Somehow it feels like it snuck up on me, like a death in the family or a sneeze. I want to say in a small voice that I'm not ready but I know that I am. 

I haven't been here long enough to cause any tears when we drive away, except for maybe my own. I can see all my beautiful moments in Buffalo start to fade like a stack of old photographs. My sadness about leaving a place comes from knowing that these faces will stay exactly the same. I will always know my friend Sam's twenty-five year-old face. I'll miss all the wrinkles of thirty, forty-five, and fifty. The only memories we'll share will be from the few months I lived in Buffalo when we were both twenty-five. It's the same with my friends from high school. I only know their teenage-selves.

And this is okay. This is definitely normal. We don't have space in our bags to carry every person we meet with us. There is room for a few still shots but not the ever growing pile of diaries and home movies that is another person's life. 

I always try desperately to expand my bag and carry more with me but it doesn't work. When I do that, I just end up being a mediocre friend to a many and not an especially good friend to anyone. To love people in the way they deserve to be loved takes a mountain of effort, time, patience, and persistence. You can only spend so many mountains of that stuff before you're worn out.

I spoke with one of my girlfriends from university yesterday. She's graduating tomorrow and I can feel her sadness about the end of a beautiful four years. I remember that sadness. It's a similar sadness to what I feel now. 

We leave Buffalo in four days and I'm wondering, when am I going to start feeling excited again?