Westward, part deux

The next round begins just a small journey west, but west enough to denote the sequel of a title.

May 30 (yup, that's today, folks) - June 3: L'Abri Fellowship, Southborough, MA. Check it out here.

June 5 - 7: Mom's 45th college reunion at Wellesley College (still technically West of Boston, which is my target start point). I've gone with her to every reunion since I was 10. My first reunion (five year!) will be in two years, which is crazytalk.

June 8 - July 21/22: Austin, TX. Catsitting for Fennski, nannying a bit, practicing and writing up the wazoo, seeing lots of music in the "live music capital" and jumping in every lake/river/stream possible with a rowdy group of Wellesley alums. My goal is to come out of the Austin experience with fantastic cowboy boots, a real authentic drawl, and a much higher spice tolerance. I might even try to land myself a morning job in a local bakery, to #stressbake and get paid doing it.

July 22 (or so) - August 9 (or so): Indian River, MI. Family time in my favorite place in the world.

The westward part deux plan is a bit open-ended at the moment, as certain professional/practical things need to be figured out once I've touched down in Texas and have a few weeks to get things sorted and see how I like the Southwestern lifestyle (and climate). But at the very latest, I have a return trip to New England already in the works to be at a very wonderful occasion for a dear friend of mine, her wedding in Maine in September. I may take this opportunity to do some graduate school scouting in New Haven and New York and pay a long-overdue visit to Chrissy & Greg in NJ/Philadelphia.

September 4 - 13: Boston around Labor Day/Maine wedding/Philly/New Haven or NYC (exact plans TBD)

It's turning out to be a pretty fantastic plan for a summer, and I am looking forward to continuing the twitter hashtag of #Westward for the upcoming adventures.

love,
luce

the actual westward schedule

I thought it would be fun to post my actual westward itinerary, for comparison purposes to my original draft from way back in April.


April 13: Took a 4 AM taxi from Maria's for my flight BOS>SFO, stayed that first night with Kimee in San Francisco

April 14: San Francisco>Chico, by pedi-cab, bus No. 1, train, bus No. 2

April 14 - 24: Stayed with Clara in Chico, CA, did all of the Northern California things (as in, wildflowers, Mexican food trucks, hikes, cooking, canyon-ing, swimming in rivers, laughing)

April 24-25: Chico>Alpine, WY, by Amtrak Zephyr train (Sacramento>Salt Lake City), and shuttle van SLC>Alpine

April 25 - 26: Stayed with Aunt Alice in Alpine, hung out with Gus-the-dog and watched in disbelief as it snowed all day that Sunday!

April 26 - May 8: Jackson, WY, stayed mainly at Andy's but also visited Phil & Shannon & Della, walked ALL of the dogs I could find and did everything you can do on a river (white water rafted, sorta fished, floga'd, biked along it) EXCEPT Club Snake because that happens more in the summer

May 8: Jackson, WY>San Diego, by way of the Jackson rideshare facebook group, where I found a ride from Jackson>SLC Airport with three awesome girls going off on a two-week adventure to Thailand, and a flight SLC>LAX and LAX>San Diego

May 8 - 10: Stayed at Pete's and hit the beach, the ballet, some great sushi and Mexican seafood, and soaked up that strong California sunshine, newfound golden elixir.

May 11: San Diego>San Francisco, by way of the Amtrak Surfliner train which took me along the beach from SD>LAX and then the Amtrak Coastal Starlight train took me from LAX>Oakland (the more beautiful views happened on this train, around Santa Barbara where we were right on the cliffs looking down on the waves), and finally a shuttle bus brought me over to downtown SF. Met Kimee for a late dinner (Thai food, a Wellesley must) and I bookended my trip by crashing once more in her room, where she had hung curtains in time for my return ;)

May 12: San Francisco>BOS with a layover in Charlotte. My plane descended over the Boston harbor at exactly midnight, starting off my 25th birthday in a motion-picture moment of perfection; my face glued to the plane window, holding back happy tears and giggles, with two seat mates asleep on each other and snoring loudly. Arrived at Maria's, coming full circle, to birthday cold pizza and bourbon. Couldn't ask for anything better <3

And home again, home again, jiggidy jog I was.

three weeks of home

Dear readers,

I've been remiss in my efforts to update this blog since leaving the west coast...there is much to tell from the end (and middle, and beginning!) of my month headed westward, and now of course, life has continued on in its particular way and after three weeks in New England, it seems there is even more I wish to encapsulate in a post on this little page of memories.

Well, the last shall be first and the first last today.

I haven't had sufficient time yet, but hope to in the coming days, to delve into the history and symbolism of the walking parts of ceremonies. This thought popped into my brain yesterday, seated in front of my large IMac screen eating breakfast and watching the livestream of the Wellesley commencement ceremony. Why is the walking part such an important part of the proceedings?

My second-oldest friend, who I've known since the 7th grade, got married last Sunday. Where did it come from that the bride walks down the aisle with everyone on their feet to honor her? I'm sure there is folk history, military history, even biblical and literary history behind this, and I am ravenously interested to read through it all. The symbolic side to me is of course obvious; here, the examples of weddings and graduations, the public is gathered together to witness a symbolic representation of that which has already been in the works, but is taking an official title. The student has studied years and years, and has achieved academic completion, so we watch the student walk in as just a student, receive the diploma, and then walk out as a graduate. The bride walks in on her own, with potentially her father or mentor-figure at her side, and then she swears the vows and oaths to her partner, and they walk out together, as something joined and new and official. But how did it all start, how did the walking become an integral part of the ceremony?

As someone who is a bit kooky about walking and has written lengthy previous posts on this topic, it shouldn't come as a surprise that I 1) adore the walking part of ceremonies and 2) want to find some connection between solvitur ambulando and ceremonial processing.

I'm hoping the swirl of questions and thematic buzzing stimulated by the ceremonies of the last few weeks will settle into something cohesive and useful. Tis the season for weddings and graduations, and after a lengthy season of funerals and memorials, I'm grateful for the joyful occasions. It's funny, though, how exhausted I've been in the aftermath of my friend's wedding. I wasn't even the one getting married, but I've been so tired I've slept 13+ hours every night since Sunday. I guess being overwhelmed with happiness and working hard as a professional bridesmaid (as we four friends now call ourselves) really takes it out of you.

My bridesmaid and birthday month duties and plans having been dutifully fulfilled, I'm now excited to be starting out on my next mini-adventure. In a few hours, I'll be wandering over to L'Abri Fellowship in Southborough, to spend five days studying, talking, and certainly gardening and cooking with the staff and other students in residence. It's a place where I've always wanted to go spend some time, and I think I finally have enough ideas and questions amassed to have it well spent. I'm not going to have a computer there, and there's not really internet access anyway, so I'll leave a summary of my upcoming plans in a subsequent post here.

It has been so, so good to be back-- to take a deep breath and do some celebrating and ice-cream eating before getting back to the wandering.

-lab

San Diego, surprise

I awoke last Wednesday (Thursday even?) morning to a text from my mom.

"Can you fly to San Diego and take the train up to San Fran?"

There was some discussion, a few phone calls and texts to my brother Pete who lives in San Diego and to the airline, and by lunchtime my next few days looked completely different. I had contemplated calling the airline to switch my original flight home from San Fran to Jackson-- I felt pretty spent travel-wise and very satisfied with all of the people I got to see and things I was able to do.

But mom and seemingly, the universe, had other plans. I found a group of girls who were driving down from Jackson to salt Lake on Friday, and they picked me up on the way. After 4 and a half hours of singing along to music we each took turns DJing and a lengthy discussion of each of our love lives, they dropped me off at the SLC International airport, letting give them only $10 toward gas. I insisted they take my bag of peanut m&ms and the acquiesced. They're flying to Thailand for a two week girls vacation/adventure, and they implored me to let them know the next time in in Jackson. I sure will.

And then, I arrived in San Diego. Palm trees, beautiful beaches, and crazy-delicious Mexican seafood as far as the eye can see. It was such a special thing, to be able to see Pete's world, as I had just seen Andy and Aunt Alice's. And after all of the time spent immersing myself in all of these other spheres and worlds, I spent all day yesterday riding up the coast is California by the water and then through mountains and horse fields. I didn't write much and didn't really talk to anyone else on the train. It's as though everything that happened this month just sunk in over the course of my 6 am to 10 pm journey. 

I'm about to board my flight home to Boston and I feel ready. There are people to see, music to rehearse and concerts to give. Much work lies ahead, and I feel likel have space for all of it. 

This week especially I'm going to spend some time at my computer. There are many stories to be told here, and I want to get them all down before I head to Austin in a month. 

Thanks for following me and for keeping me in your thoughts and hearts. I'm coming home a bit tanner and a bit calmer. Both good things. 

Post 2-hour walk with three pups muse

I've been thinking a lot today. 

The shock of the beauty of the landscape of Wyoming is wearing off; it's taken a week, truly, to exist in a world so strikingly different and beautiful. My eyes have been hungrily soaking in the true Eathly colors in the path at all times-- carrot cake red-orange land covered in deep green succulents and brush, with striping white and silver Aspen boughs speckled in shimmering fairy green freshly sprouted leaves. 

It has been a consuming activity to just sit outside and look. I've spent hours engaged in this process, camped on my big brother's front and back porches, a cup of tea and untouched notebook and pen beside me. 

Some days I ventured out to the Snake River to fish, float, and raft through the rapids. I've hiked up the trails behind Andy's house that lead up the ridge to a viewpoint from which you stand seemingly up in heaven, with a Birdseye view of all of Jackson Hole.

My eyes have become adjusted, and finally my brain has begun the radial process of assigning descriptions and captions, connections and comparisons to all of the wonderful things they have delighted to experience.

It is a tiring business, but one that I am grateful to call my own, this watching and being still and enjoying splendor and miracles present all over. What a gift, to allow yourself to be simply ecstatically delighted by the tiny miracles in this place, stilted and imperfect though it may seem at other times. 

Well, I had four entirely unrelated topics to report on, but they'll have to come in separate posts now after this mondo ramble. 

Oh! What I did want to exclaim about (in addition to this crazy place in which I find myself geographically) is that after a week of allowing myself to just be here and not fuss about words, I finished my first song yesterday. I'll have it edited down a bit and ready to sing at my birthday show next Wednesday, May 13, in Somerville.

Small miracles, indeed.

-lab

Little friends

Andy's house sits at the foot of a mountainous trail area, and I finally had a good afternoon for exploring it today. I couldn't help but take pictures of my favorite mountain wildflowers and views. 

Oh, happy day. 

-lab

theme and variations

Hello, dear readers. It's been a while since I've been able to write anything -- about a week.

I had an Amtrak adventure through the Sierra Nevada mountains, Nevada desert, and all the way into Salt Lake City. My one morning in the salty town was an experience worthy of its own post, so that is forthcoming. For now, I want to focus on a theme and variations which have come to the forefront of my trip.

The theme of self-discovery and growth has been ever present in this trip; it was one of my main objectives and intentions for this month of in-between-ness. I have zero intentions of reaching some sort of "completion" of this, oh no, I'm just curious and desiring of expanding the sense of self and the direction, especially in regards to the "next step" kind of questions that keep popping up.

There have been so many *things* happening all of the time, and so many wonderful people to share them with throughout the last couple of years. Extroversion has always come across stronger my introversion, go figure, but just this year something changed. I realized that I am that strange kind of person who is deeply introverted, and who needs to protect that, in order to remain so extroverted.

My experience with yoga over the course of this trip has allowed me that special sacred space for the cultivation of a whole, introverted and extroverted combined. Yoga practice is such an inward, thoughtful and breath-ful activity, and yet can be done in a cathedral with a hundred new faces, or by oneself on the living room carpet. Last night, I did yoga with three other women on a raft paddled by my oldest brother. We floated down the Snake River in Wyoming, from Wilson to South Park, with views of the Tetons in the distance, and the occasional bald eagle nest and blue heron spotting. As the sun sank, we clasped each others hands, seated in a close circle, and sang out "OMs" that rang throughout the night, calling out to the almost-full and brightly shining moon.

This reads a bit like a fantasy-fiction novel, something my 15-year-old self would stay up late on a summer's night to read, with a cup of jasmine tea. But, it's just a simple re-telling of what happened last night. I have the dirt on my feet and levity in my heart to prove it, if you're wondering.

*****

My very first day on the trip ended with yoga practice. It was in the cathedral, mentioned before with so many people. I'll admit that as I walked in I was a bit hesitant about doing yoga for the first time in months with so many people there to see. They all looked so damn trendy and beautiful and Northern California. But there's something peaceful about laying down your mat, taking child's pose, and breathing in and out. I came out of the pose, glanced around, and caught a few people smiling over at me. Everyone seemed to just be glad to be there. My friends showed up, the class began, and I let the focus move inward and outward, in and out, breathing and moving. Live, improvised music filled the cathedral space with searching and straining, and releasing and sighing. I held uplifted poses and trained my eyes on the faraway stained glass windows -- I looked down to my feet and rooted myself to the earth.

Some years ago, I was living in Austria and made friends with a man named Paul who ran a lovely shop on the corner near my room. We would have tea, which became tea and coffee and more tea and sweets, and he invited me to a yoga practice. It was not the Western athleticized yoga, to which I was accustomed, but yoga focused on breath, energy, and relation to the other people in the room. It was an eye-opening experience, and the lovely women even shared their chai recipe with me, which I still make. Afterward, Paul and I were visiting in the shop, and he told me that I was a person "of the air" constantly moving, captivated by possibility, and having the ability to float off to faraway, wonderful places. Paul urged me to strengthen my connection to the earth, so that I would never lose my grounding.

I don't think it is a coincidence that years later, the words from a therapist that would get through to me would be her suggestion to place my feet firmly on the ground, and press downward. She asked me to try doing this once or twice a week, anywhere. At work, at my dorm-room desk, anytime anxiety, fear, or nervous energy was making me unable to focus or calm down. Taking that minute to think about my feet, toes, and the substance underneath them was a bridge returning to earth. This year, after calling 9-1-1 when a bike commuter was flipped into the middle of Massachusetts Avenue by a man in a parked car opening his door, I began to run on adrenaline. I didn't mean to, but whenever I started to feel like I was in the middle of doing something important, life-or-death important, my heart would start to beat and I would get this feeling that my lungs were moving up and up and up, and that I couldn't stop it. It had an incredible effect on my work, creativity, and practicing, but I wasn't able to go to sleep or rest or take care of myself. I got extremely sick a few weeks before Christmas and was forced to stop moving for almost five days. I had spent months not listening to my body, pushing and pushing and thriving off of so much adrenaline but never stopping to rest or let it subside. It doesn't work, to live floating on that kind of energy. You have to have something to ground you. I had no idea I needed that.

Yoga has become for me a way to dance in between the earth and the air. It is a slow-moving dance, an expression of love for myself and for those around me. It's a commitment to staying grounded and to taking care of myself, but it's also the development of the power to fly. Training my vision on the setting sunlight streaming through stained glass windows made my whole being rise up in thanks. Fixing my gaze on the bright moon to hold me steady in an uplifted and outstreched pose released a laugh of delight and wonder at how glorious it is, to stay still. 


*****
I'm hoping the variations will continue. Maybe it will lead to yoga on the Amtrak train, or yoga at the top of a mountain after a day's climb. Sunrise yoga definitely needs to happen, but sunset may still be my favorite. Believe me, I slept like a rock afterward.

-lab