The First Year - A Reality Check in Rural America

In August 2018, I started a new life in Silverton, Oregon. Closer to family. Among my tribe. I've been here a year and have treasured every day. I really mean it when I say that I am "living the dream." It's been a transition going from a high-stress job in the nation's capitol to rural American life 3,000 miles away.

There have been times when I've caught myself walking down the street at a pace reserved for Washingtonians. When I have been in a rush to be in a rush. When I have been wound up because that's the life I've lived for so long. I have to consciously tell myself to slow down. To not be in a rush. To just chill out. Life here is at a slower pace and I haven't gotten there yet. Ironic.

Finding a good paying job has been ... well ... I don't have one. I've heard that being an outsider here counts against you. Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn't. My Airbnb business has been growing steadily every month and I'm working a part-time job that I love more than any other I've ever had. I make minimum wage. I have zero work-related stress.

Learning to navigate the health care system has been a pain in the ass to put it mildly. The process to obtain health insurance was fairly easy, at first. But the amount of administrative work that accompanies it is ridiculous. Here, you also have to apply and be accepted by a General Practitioner. I'm in excellent health. No pre-existing conditions. No health issues. I've applied. I've been turned down. No explanation. Just "No."

When it comes to seeing other doctors, I've discovered that my insurance covers a consult with a chiropractor, but not an actual adjustment. Who sees a chiropractor for "a consult?" The insurance company insists that people do. Then there is the eye doctor. New lenses for my glasses costs $250. I couldn't afford to get contacts; they were more than $400. I make $11.50 an hour, remember? I haven't even considered going to the dentist yet.

Housing prices are obscene in Portland, which was part of reason we didn't move there. Oregonians blame Californians who sell their homes in California, pay cash for their home(s) in Oregon, then fix them up and/or build new ones. It raises property values ... beyond what local income levels can support, thereby creating a housing crisis. Then, there is the homeless population to contend with, but I digress.

We've been challenged to get creative since we've been here and we have. We are finding a rhythm. We wake with the sun and go to sleep by the moon. We walk a little bit slower. We aren't moved by national politics in the way we used to be. We saunter through our garden to pick fresh vegetables every other day. We enjoy our morning coffee and no longer feel as rushed as we once did. We spend a lot more time with family and friends. We have reconnected with our fellow man. I've hiked a few trails. I've even found time to read a book or two. It feels good to be home.

A few months ago, I had opportunity to get involved in local politics. I seriously considered it. Initially I thought I was ready, but getting into politics would mean that I would have to resign permanently from my job back in DC. (I've been on Leave Without Pay this past year.) After a few intense weeks of thinking through running for political office, I declined the opportunity. I am not ready.

I've learned a lot during this past year. About real life. Life without the protections afforded a federal employee––the beneficiary of so much security. DC is a tough place, but you know what, it's tough everywhere for many people in one way or another. I don't know much about a lot, but I sincerely believe that one's happiest should come first. And I'm the happiest I've ever been.

That said, I'm going back to work in DC in just a few weeks. It's crazy, I know. I just said I am the happiest I've ever been. I'm a dreamer and risk taker, but I'm also a pragmatist. I'm not ready to throw in the towel back in DC quite yet. But my heart will remain in Silverton, where Steve will stay with SmokeyLove and keep the home fires burning.

So, here's to another cross country road trip!

The Moments We Came For

Yesterday, Steve and I took a spontaneous day trip to the coast. Neither one of us had been to Astoria, so we finished our coffees, grabbed our coats, hats, and cameras, and set forth on our journey. Clouds filled our rearview mirrors and we hoped to find some blue sky. We passed through rodeo country on Route 219, crossed over the Willamette River, then eased through Newberg before the clouds gave way to patches of wild blue yonder. We zigzagged up a mountain and hung a left at Bald Peak Road, sending us in a northwesterly direction.

Upward we continued along a ridge made for motorcyclists –– smooth roads, lots of switchbacks with enough straightaways to really grab a handful of throttle, and very few cars. Between whizzing by trees, I glimpsed a grand valley below with mountains on the other side. Within a few miles, we arrived at Bald Peak State Viewpoint. Wild daisies and dandelions and pine trees overlooking the lowland beckoned us to turn off the engine and stay awhile, so we did.

Sometime later we met a motorcyclist who had stopped there too and we had a brief conversation before we moved on. We forged ahead on Bald Peak Road then switched to some other backroads until we merged onto Route 47. We passed through towns we never saw signs for and noted Oregon's penchant for naming towns after already famous places –– Pittsburg, Kansas City, Detroit, Salem, Portland, just to name a few.

We turned right at a one-horse town called Buxton and continued north on Nehalem Highway. We pulled off in the hamlet of Vernonia for coffee at the Blue House Cafe. Enticing aromas penetrated our senses the moment we stepped inside the indigo and gold painted building and our desire for coffee quickly retreated. Roasted garlic and other intoxicating flavors made wet our appetites. We feasted upon traditional Mediterranean fare and drank some of the smoothest coffee I've had outside my own home. The cafe was quiet and charming, and for that time, we could have been in Europe because it felt like that inside. The proprietor was European or Russian –– I couldn't place his accent –– and that made our fantasy of being farther away that much more real.

 

Afterward, we sauntered through town, intrigued by the many motorcyclists that had made this a destination. Adventure bike after adventure bike was parked right along main street just outside the Black Iron Grill. We discovered a dog-friendly cove alongside it where tens of people dined and imbibed. The sun intensified in the clear blue and everyone, including us, beamed with contentment.

We drove on from there, passed through Pittsburg, which wasn't, headed westward at Mist, and followed Route 202 along the Nehalem River. We went through Birkenfeld and Neverstill, which we never saw. Then, we arrived in Jewell, which was exactly that. The route ran through elk country where there were numerous pull-offs to stop and observe them grazing and doing elk things.

We did not see any elk but we were overwhelmed by the fragrance that I surmised was gardenia. I have no idea if that's what it was, but we were drunk on the magic we felt there. I could have, and wanted to, lie down and never leave. The bouquet penetrated my spirit and the breeze that carried it wrapped around me like linen and lace under the warm sun.

Finally, and with some reluctance, we forged ahead. We whirled through Olney, not in Maryland, and drove the road along Youngs Bay then the Columbia River. We made a few turns and climbed roads that Steve imagined to be like those in San Francisco. He was more fascinated by this small civilization built on the edge of a mountain along the water than I was. For a moment he felt like he'd missed out on something having not grown up in a place like this.

We drank coffees, indulged in dessert, and watched cargo ships pass by our river-facing window table at the pier. Coffee Girl cafe had a nice vibe and I imagined for a moment what it would be like to have my own cafe in a place like this. I asked Steve, "If you were given the chance to go for free to college and earn a degree in anything you wanted, what would I be?"
Without hesitation he said, "Forestry. I'd want to be a park ranger." Indeed. He would be an excellent park ranger. And he looks the part already, to be honest.

Thick clouds along the western horizon were rolling in so we made our way back though town and turned south to journey home. Our long-lived and ongoing discussion about Van life re-emerged as we considered how nice it would be to pull off, stay for the night, and worry about going home tomorrow.

It was at this point that I realized that the list of all of the things that I still want to do in this life was quite long. I've spent so much time in a constant state of temporary that I have not had the space or time to develop any passion beyond its fleeting passage through my mind. I've had 10,000 ideas and little capacity to nurture them. However, my constant state of temporary is no longer. Now I have the time and space to do many of the things that I've wanted to. I can try this and that and this and that or even that and that. I am no longer constrained by the temporary.

And beyond that, beyond all of those things that I want to try, I've realized that those things don't have to all be done today. Perhaps, at times, I feel a surge to do as much as I can right now because I might otherwise forget what it was that I wanted to do. Perhaps it is time to make that list of dreams, to write down the experiences that I want to have so that I don't forget them and that I can, one by one, do them in their own time. After all, isn't this why we are here?

Why Compassion Matters

The long road of the past two years has revealed one thing to me: there are people in this country who feel abandoned, isolated, and ignored by their own country. Although feelings are not facts, one's feelings need to be validated because they are true to the person who owns them. Trump offered validation to those who felt left behind. His supporters may not have agreed with all of the things he said or did, but they felt like he "got" them and that mattered more than anything else.

We are at a new juncture. The consequences of trump's policies are being realized; many run contrary to the validation he espoused and promises he made. In fact, trump's policies probably are hurting some of his voters, primarily farmers, more than the status quo would have had all been left alone. Some of his supporters are starting to feel this reality. Let them. Let them feel the consequences of their vote, but don't turn your back on them. Instead, listen to them. Invite them to share their experiences. Encourage them to talk about their feelings. Why? you ask. Because compassion matters.

For many people, talking to those who hold an opposing political viewpoint has become so frustrating that communication has ceased. People have disengaged. Family members have cut other family members off. Friends have unfriended each other on social media. Folks have stopped watching the news. Americans are burnt out and we have nearly two years to go. Stonewalling one another is not sustainable. We must build bridges not walls.

Blaming each other is pointless; it only sews seeds of division that will be exploited further. We are stronger together. United we stand, divided we fall, remember? Is trump really worth abandoning the ones you love and care about? I say no, he's not.

Imagine that we are all at Union Station, Ground Zero. There are 20 different rail lines coming in and 20 departing the station. We can debate to death the nuances about how we arrived here or we can start anew. This is where we are. It matters not how we got here. We need to let that go. The question we need to ask is, Which train is going to get us out of here and who is coming with us?

This will not be easy. Nothing that is ever worth doing is easy. But it is necessary. We must take the hands of those who have felt left behind, listen with love and compassion, ask for their help to find a solution, and bring them with us to a better place. Ignoring them will only strengthen the case for another reign of trump.

Truth Be Told

Thirteen years ago I quit drinking and this past week I celebrated a very different life, a sober life, a truly happy and authentic life. 

My journey in sobriety has been scenic and full of adventures. I’ve done some cool shit like hike the Camino de Santiago and climb Machu Picchu. I’ve become a writer and artist. I’ve traveled the world and actually remembered what I saw and who I met. I met a life partner and together we converted a school bus thinking we would one day live off grid. We compromised on sticks and bricks in a small rural haven in Oregon instead. 

Sobriety hasn’t been all sunshine and roses though. Being awake, being sober is facing truth, accepting reality, and diplomatically when appropriate calling out shit that is wrong. I’ve felt a lot of feelings on this sojourn and many have been tough to accept. I’ve fallen in and out of love. I’ve endured another profound heartbreak with wrong guy #2, and suffered through PTSD and disillusionment with the election of trump. Yes, trump is in the top three of shitty events that have happened during my sobriety. This is the curse of feeling my feelings and caring more about the planet and a country and its people than many seem to care about either. 

I recently read an article that said that Americans are among the most stressed in the world. I believe this is an accurate assessment. We work too much and make too little. Housing prices are exorbitant, causing many to be forced from their homes. Student loans are drowning young folks in a lifetime of debt. Many people can’t afford sick insurance. Veterans are committing suicide at higher rates than ever before. Farmers are being ruined first by Monsanto and now trump’s tariffs. Tax returns are dwindling. Gas prices are going up. Meanwhile, record numbers of animal species are going extinct because our consumption habit is killing the planet and we’ve installed an authoritarian government that is looting the country, turning a blind eye on climate change, violating human rights, and sleeping with other dictators. This is not making America great again–it’s demolishing democracy one day at a time and the cult following is not only pleased, it’s complicit. No one is coming for your guns. Immigrants are not stealing your jobs or your money yet we are kidnapping their children. This, in a country founded by immigrants. Shameful.

You think I’m stressed? I am beyond stressed. I’m angry, disgusted, and ashamed by what we have become in the country. Where is the uprising against hate? The fight for equality? Where is the constitutional mandate to put country before party? When are we going to get rid of Citizens United and take money out of politics? When are we going to start doing the right thing, America? What we are doing is wrong. The way we are living is unacceptable. Our government is abhorrent and needs to be brought to heel. 

I’ve held my tongue on these issues for many reasons that I cannot state. I’ve avoided politics on this blog. I’ve been focusing on mindfulness and am doing my best to be at peace with world. I’ve moved 3,000 miles away from DC to place distance between myself and the embarrassing shit show on Pennsylvania Avenue. But there is a time and place to speak out, and on the anniversary week of my sobriety, I choose truth, honesty, and compassion. 

We must care for each other and do for each other and the planet what our federal government is not and will not do. We cannot count on our federal government to save the planet or provide us health care or give us raises and lower housing prices. We must do it ourselves. We must turn to our local, county, and state governments to make right what is being doing wrong by this administration that cares only about lining its own pockets with OUR money. We are in crisis, despite what it looks like on Wall Street. Sitting by and watching it all happen like a slow moving train wreck is unacceptable. Voting is not enough. I implore people to get involved in their communities to do what is right for the planet and for each other. 

We are a young country and we make mistakes. Like a stubborn teenager, we insist that we know best. Our European brothers and sisters have already been where we are. We should strive to be wise beyond our years and look to them for guidance because what we are doing now, isn’t working and its not who we are. Four years can be forgiven. Eight cannot.

Spring Dalliance

Grass grows at an epic pace now that the sun has appeared. Dandelions sprout every other day. Birds call to one another and flit through the bushes and shrubs. Squirrels chirp as they scurry across blossom covered branches. The warmth and light chases the winter blues away in one afternoon and I have already forgotten how long the weeks of rain felt.

The deer have returned and snacked vigerously at every urban salad bar within reach. The cat is mesmerized by these big creatures and discovers that he, fierce cougar that he imagines himself to be, is capable of running them off to protect the garden that he cares not to share. Insects and birds are no longer safe either, nor is the bully cat down the street who is dwarfed by the kitten turned big fat beast! 

Quiet, still mornings evaporate into bustling days with people puttering down Main Street just over one street more. Hikers and backpackers traipse through town and tourists have returned. Children run down the street to the candy and ice cream stores after school. Landscapers are back to work—mowers humming and chainsaws buzzing to make beautiful the yards neglected through fall and winter. 

Spring is a mischievous mistress; flirting with summer while winking at winter, making everyone keen to how unpredictable she is. I hold on to these moments in the sun like precious gifts and hurry about to finish my boring indoor chores when it rains. Once summer wins spring over, there will be no going inside until it’s time to escape the blazing heat of August. For now though, a few more raindrops will give me time to finish up projects that I will neglect til the rainy season starts anew.

Time Gone By

The wind rolled over my body as I slept in a bed of wildflowers that teased the clouds and rose only after my skin had pinked the shade of the loveliest tea roses you’d ever seen. Near the great oak a wild horse stood doing whatever horses do and I stood enchanted by the verdant hills that I’d only ever known to be a dull brown covered with dust.

The rains had drown the drought and now a lush field of thick grass existed where there had been none before. I marveled at the land that had once resembled death but now satisfied like drink to a parched man’s lips. The trees burst with flowers and the bees danced across the pedals, buzzing a great harmony to ears that would later feast upon the fruits of their labor.

Earth appeared as a different place. Even the smelly bog had reformed and instead of striking depression became a reflecting pool for the great cyan sky and booming white clouds.

We passed orchard after orchard until we were stopped by a passing train. It could have been a long time ago and for just a moment, it was.

Being Wanderlust

Wanderlust is not a thing that can be satisfied; it's just a part of who you are. I moved across the country to be closer to family and live in a place that nurtures my soul. That place is Silverton, Oregon.

Winter and spring are dancing now, pushing and pulling one another, bringing wind, rainstorms, and power outage between moments of sunshine. But nothing cuts though the stretches of gray like a road trip to anywhere.

Steve and I hit the road yesterday and drove over to Bend. Sometimes I can't even believe I am saying that .... Anyway, as soon as we got up in altitude just a little bit we were in the countryside with the sun beating down on us. We took route 22 passed Detroit, got on route 20, and stopped in Sisters at our favorite little funky coffee shop and bar that we always stop in, Hop and Brew. We ordered a few cups of coffee that we didn't need and some food. It was good, but I was slightly disappointed that my vegetarian sammie didn't have any cheese, just lettuce and tomato. I'm not a rabbit. Oh well. We arrived in Bend shortly thereafter where we purchased a 1973 Honda CB 750.

Afterward we tried to get some good photographs but a storm rolled in and soon we were caught in heavy rains. A fair amount of snow remained in the pass and the recent fires left the trees looking like matchsticks delicately placed in the white snow. I snapped a picture in my mind.

Being on the road is freeing. Steve and I talked about all the places we want to go and things we want to see. We still haven't given up on that dream. In fact, we spent a lot of time talking about our school bus, Sunshine, and when we are going to get her. She's still back in Virginia. We miss her but we don't have a plan for her yet. We have nowhere to park her here.

On the way back, we heard that someone won the more than $700 million Powerball. We thought about that for a bit. When we passed the Pacific Crest Trailhead again I thought, if anything, I'd rather have less than more. A lot of good could be done with all that money, but I'd never tell anyone I had it. I'm really happy without it, which is good because I almost never play the lottery, so there is no chance for that to happen.

When we got home I felt like my soul had been nurtured by the Mother Nature. Getting out had done me a lot of good. I got back to work researching stuff for a new writing gig. All that late day coffee kicked in at midnight. I got up and finished the article by 6 a.m. this morning. Then climbed back to bed and slept a few morning hours away!

Shape of Sacred Space

I love mornings. But not everyone jumps out of bed invigorated, ready to take on the world. For some, mornings are drudgery. No matter how you feel about mornings, how you approach the day sets the tone for how you go through it.

Earlier this week, I met with a friend to discuss our latest writing projects. Surprisingly, neither of us had anything new to reveal. Neither of us had been able to dedicate time or energy to our craft. We both felt a bit out of sorts but we weren't sure why.

As we pulled the threads to unravel the snags in our feng shui that were inhibiting our writing processes, we began to discuss meditation and sacred rituals that right the mind. I spoke about how prolific I had been when I had hiked the Camino–how walking unlocked the ethereal floodgates for me. I also spoke about how I wasn't doing that anymore.

Then my friend shared a story about an aunt who every morning lights a candle and lays out a sentimental quilt where she sits and completes her morning ritual. Her practice struck me as ingenious not only because it was so beautiful but because the candle also served as a sort of signal to her family that she should not to be interrupted.

It was then that we had a synchronistic epiphany. The vernal equinox was upon us and we each needed to recreate our intentions and recalibrate our morning rituals to be in line with the transition from yin to yang. We took to our notebooks and began to write, creating intention, carving out our morning routines and what we wanted and needed from that sacred time.

"The Shape of Sacred Space," I wrote. I started with the physical–walking, writing, reading—then moved into the abstract: quiet time—little interaction with others. I put limitations on myself too: no social media until I am done with my sacred time. I built upon these concepts and after 10 minutes, I had laid out my new morning intention. I had also identified a few things that I needed to do before bed including when to cut off social media—it's really become an intrusive vermin.

After I had written everything down, I looked at my calendar and the litany of morning distractions heading my way. I would have to be flexible and gentle with myself as I embraced this new morning ritual. I also will be more mindful about scheduling things first thing in the morning.

Yesterday was the first day of my new practice. I completed the things for which I had set an intention: I walked for an hour. I read for 30 minutes. I wrote for 30 minutes. I drank 24 oz. of water before I had coffee. I did not touch social media until after I was done. As a result, I felt a lot less scattered and much more balanced throughout the entire day. I felt calm and peaceful. I was more present for others because I had taken that time to nurture myself. I was productive. Last night I slept well and I woke up this morning early enough to repeat my ritual before anyone else in the house was awake. Lather, rinse, repeat.

What is the shape of your sacred space?

Uncharted Waters: A Different Kind of Fish Story

 
The first time I cast a line into a blue ribbon trout stream, the prospect of catching a fish excited my entire being. I stood in the small river absorbing deeply the smells and sounds surrouning me. The breeze mixed the sweet scents of the trees with a near-by lilac. Water rushed through and around my exposed legs sweeping away my cares and worries as I stood upon a bed of rounded stones smooth beneath my feet. Sunlight caressed my skin, making the cold stream tolerable. The bamboo rod balanced against the weight of the reel perfectly before I tied on a fly. My fingers rubbed gently over the smooth cork that fit naturally in my hand. Each cast was like the stroke of an artist's brush moving across the sky, angling for the perfect moment to present a trout's next meal. Passes were effortless yet strategic, intended to make the presentation irresistible to a fish that could outsmart me with one lousy toss. Once that rainbow jumped and took my fly I was hooked forever. The trout fought vigorously as I reeled it in slowly, patiently carefully, respectfully. I took the trout in my hand, pulled it out of the stream, and removed the barbless hook from its lips. I honored the powerful creature that glowed with colors that I had never seen before. I thanked it for the challenge then released it back into the wild to fight another day.

I have fished many rivers since then. Most of the time I outsmart a fish or two, but occasionally I am the one who is outsmarted. It's not a disappointment when that happens though because it's true what "they" say: A bad day fishing is better than the best day at work!

Catching a rainbow that first time with a fly rod catapulted me into exaltation. It taught me that I was capable. I could cast properly and present a fly so that I could catch a trout. I knew that if I kept at it, I would catch more fish.  

But I have often wondered, What if I hadn't caught anything that first time? Would my experience have been completely different? Would I have given up and never picked up another fly rod?

Our first-time experiences often determine how we feel about something. It takes courage to try new things. It takes even more courage to persevere when things don't work out the way we had envisioned. At least, that has been my experience.

I am a person who meets new adventures with excitement, optimism, and hope. I dream of possibilities and the things that I can achieve when things go right. Positive energy is addictive and attractive.

At the same, I can become discouraged when things don't go as I had hoped. I can give up, listen to self-doubt. I can be paralyzed by fear.

Lately, I have been humbled by the amount of employment rejection letters that I have been racking up from the State of Oregon. One cast after another has yielded zero fish. I get a few looks, but no bites. I can see those damn fish swimming beneath my fly, but they swim away, disinterested. It's evidently time to cast my line in different waters.

Today, I'm fishing in the river of self-employment. I have never fished here before––these waters are uncharted. It's a bit scary and somewhat overwhelming, but the only way I'm going to catch fish is by casting my line in the river over and over again until I present my fly just right and a fish grabs on and doesn't let go. Then, I'll be hooked. Until then, I will persevere.  

Get Your Hygge On!

 
Once again the Nordics are slated to top the World Happiness Report that is scheduled for release later this month. Nordic countries have dominated the playing field for several years, while America continues to fall in the ranks. The Happiness Research Institute, a think tank in Copenhagen, Denmark, conducts the annual assessment and tracks statistical data year to year to identify changes in factors that contribute to greater happiness, or in the unfortunate case of the United States, a decline in happiness.

There are six key variables that determine happiness: income, health life expectancy, social support, freedom, trust (as in the public's perception of corruption in government), and generosity. It should be no surprise that the Nordic countries, which embrace democratic socialist principles, top the list repeatedly. Countries that practice generosity and provide a network of social support and health care services are a lot happier than countries that don't. The 2018 study also concluded that the 10 happiest countries also have the happiest immigrant populations.

I assess that the US will almost certainly continue to fall in the happiness rankings until there is a significant shift in our political landscape. Three key factors that contribute specifically to the decline in happiness in the US are obesity, substance abuse, and depression, according to the 2018 report. Between the inadequate sick care system in the US, the number of corrupt government officials currently under investigation in the US administration, and the assault on and abuse of immigrants seeking sanctuary in the US, it would be illogical to conclude otherwise. However, one can escape this bleak forecast by stealing a page from the Dane's happiness playbook and setting an intention to make happiness a priority.

A few years ago, I learned about hygge, pronounced "hoo-ga", a Danish philosophy of comfort, well-being, and togetherness that plays a central part in Nordic life. Though the English language doesn't have a direct translation for the word, it's about enjoying the simple things in life and getting cozy, like snuggling up with a cup of cocoa on a rainy day.

According to Meik Wiking, CEO of the Happiness Research Institute and author of The Little Book of Hygge, "Hygge is about an atmosphere and an experience. It's all about being with the people we love. A feeling of home. A feeling that we are safe."

It's also about getting out and really enjoying life—exerting ourselves in some type of physical activity like skiing, snowboarding or hiking before coming home and nestling in. Exerting oneself––doing something vigorous—is what makes hygge so wonderful, blissful even.

Recently, I was challenged to create a ritual in my life that honors my ancestors. Being of Scandinavian descent, I see this as a perfect time to "get my hygge on" as a matter of routine and ritual to honor myself and my ancestors and to prioritize my happiness.

March 20 is International Day of Happiness and this year's theme is Happier Together, focusing on what he have in common, rather than what divides us. Apropos, no? There is a whole wide world out there that is celebrating our common humanity. What's more is that you can connect with those people for further inspiration by downloading the Action for Happiness App, which has daily ideas for happier living that you can sign up to receive. How simple is that? If happiness is something that you would like to have more of–and who doesn't?–perhaps a daily notification would be helpful, even if only to remind you how important your happiness is.

Set your intention today to make happiness your priority. Be kind, be grateful. Namaste.

The Art of Being Still

It's been years since I have been so captivated by a book that it calls to me from across the room. Just last week I crawled out of bed at midnight to read Snag in the Weave by LK Hadley, then crawled back in at 2 am because I was too scared to sleep alone. Few authors have captured my attention long enough for me to fall into their adventure—Nicholas Sparks, JK Rowling, and now, LK Hadley.

Today's authors have new competition, and it isn't television or social media—it's our attention deficit addiction. I've observed that since the advent of social media and the 24-hour news cycle, and the incursion of whiplash inducing tweet storms, people—myself included—have struggled to pay attention to any one thing for more than 140 characters worth of time. That's a slight exaggeration of course, but even 90-minute movies and 40-minute television shows have to be that much more compelling to get us to focus without looking at our phones intermittently. We are constantly bombarded with new information flying at us like Hitchcock's birds. I duck and weave, desperately wanting it all to go away and leave me alone, then I feel guilty when I sit still long enough to read a few uninterrupted pages in a book.

In 2015 I wrote Permission to Idle, a blog about the relationship between idleness and productivity. I reflect on it often because I strive to be a productive, guilt-free idler. When I take time to idle, I am exceedingly more productive than I would be otherwise. I proved this to myself during my 500-mile trek across Spain. But where does the guilt come from? My Itty Bitty Shitty Committee? My seemingly inherent belief that productivity means tangible deliverables?

Writing requires commitment, focus, and the time and space to produce. It also includes time to be "idle", mull things over, and read. I have to create space for this to happen otherwise my apparent addiction to information blitzes and distractions undermines any chance I have to develop a consistent stream of conscious from which to draw from.

Relaunching this blog sets a new intention that makes me accountable to others. I need that. I am a person who lets myself off the hook easily when it comes to pretty much everything: diet, exercise, writing time, you name it. I can say I won't eat a doughnut then pass by Top Pot and the idea of not having a doughnut becomes a laughable absurdity. When I am accountable to others, I do better.

Throughout this past week I walked through my days a little more mindful and aware. I paid more attention to ideas that repeated as if they were calling out to me–like Snag in the Weave–calling out ... in the moor ... in the peat ...  to be still.

Mindful Trekker Celebrates 4 Years With Relaunch of Weekly Blog

I sit on this cold, dark, cloud covered night in front of a blazing fire in a rural Oregon town located along the 45th parallel. My heart is filled with hope and my soul replenished because I am for the first time living among my tribe—the peacemakers and soul nurturers who also have made Silverton their home. Our connection—our synergy—it's mystical, as though we had pre-arranged our union here in a past life.

Not so long ago I had grappled to find peace in a world that had spiraled out of control at warp speed. I felt left behind, lost, confused, and overwhelmed. Now, in this rural town, I have found a sanctuary that has been nothing short of a spiritual reclamation. I think of my colleagues back in DC who tonight are tucking their children into bed and crawling in themselves exhausted after another insane work week. I don't envy them.

When I first launched this blog four years ago in February 2015, its primary purpose was to capture my experience hiking the Camino de Santiago in Spain. I wrote nearly every day and after the Camino, my blog evolved into other aspects of mindfulness. There have been periods when I have been more prolific than others. My professional obligations have at times been such that I have had to shrink my digital footprint to almost nothing. This constraint remains true for me today. Regardless, it is time to set my intention and relaunch this blog. The content primarily will focus on mindfulness. I hope that you will follow along in this next chapter of Mindful Trekker, which will be published on Fridays. Namaste.

H2O

H2O

Rain plunges steady down,

     All around,

Beats on the ground,

     A gentle sound.

Drink splashes under feet,

     Sounds neat,

Forms slip slop beat,

     A puddle deep.

Liquid oozes into loam,

     Earthen roan,

Seeps into aqua zone,

     A hydro home.

   

Water trickles into sea,

     Wild, free,

Evaporates quickly,

     A cloud marquee.

Adam's ale nurtures soul,

     Body whole,

Fills watering hole,

     A locution extol.      

Enduring the Government Shutdown of 2013 Changed Me Forever

As a federal employee, I understand much of the pain and suffering that is going on right now with the government shutdown. Though I am not affected by the current shutdown—I am currently on Leave Without Pay—I was in 2013, and the things that I learned from that experience changed me forever.

When the government shutdown occurred back then, I had been with the federal government for nearly 15 years—first with the military, then as a civilian employee. I was a GS-12 or 13 at the time, which meant that I was just beyond treading water financially, but there was little room to spare. Like many of my colleagues, I lived paycheck to paycheck and could not afford to put money in savings. (Outsiders—and politicians—often have a warped view of how much money federal employees make and they seem to forget how expensive it is to live in our nation's capital.) 

When the shutdown was announced, I was excited at first. I wanted to go hiking and ride my motorcycle in the beautiful fall weather. My naiveté and unrelenting optimism saw it as a break from the daily grind. I anticipated that the shutdown would be short-lived. I had believed that we'd be back to work almost immediately and my dreams of playing outside would be cut short. I could not have foreshadowed the dark places the shutdown would take me. 

OPTIMISM TURNED TO DARKNESS

Within a few days, excitement turned to concern and, with no end in sight at the weekend's end, worry. Everyone wondered whether or not we would be paid. People had their opinions. Some were sure we would be paid. Others thought we'd receive back pay. Long-time veterans warned that there was precedent for not getting paid at all, that that had happened before. I didn't know if that was true or not, but decided that it would be wise to behave as though it was. I vowed not spend a dime as long as I was furloughed. 

So, I sat. I sat and I sat, and then I sat some more. I watched CNN day in and day out for word of when I would be going back to work, which when you think about it, is disturbing in and of itself. The furlough began to take a toll on my mental health. I could not go anywhere. I could not spend any money. I was prohibited from working. I felt trapped and hopeless. I was jealous of people who were working. I became angry that I was being used as pawn in a political game. I was a human being, not an inanimate object in a game of chess. I deserved better treatment. I had dedicated my entire adult life to serving my country. And that was the problem. 

MY JOB WAS MY LIFE

I was married to my job. My self-worth and value as a human being had been so tightly wrapped up in my career that once it was stripped away, I felt worthless. All of the job security that I had reveled in had evaporated. I was vulnerable, lost. I wondered, What the hell would I do if I lost my job? What would I do with my life? Self-doubt crept in. What would I do? changed to, What could I do? I did not have any transferrable skills, or so I thought. I had been institutionalized by the federal government for so long that I had no idea how to survive outside of it. I was completely dependent. I wondered, What am I good at doing? My job, I thought to myself. The downward spiral grew deeper. 

My friend Ralph, who was like a father to me, stopped in for a visit during the furlough. "You look like hell," he stated. By this time I must have looked like the female version of Mr. Mom. "The problem is that when your job isn't going well, you aren't going well," he said. "You are not your job. You must find something else to do." He was right. He asked, "If you could do anything in the world, what would it be?"

I couldn't answer the question right away. I had not had the luxury of dreaming since I was a very young child. I had been just trying to survive, doing what was necessary to make ends meet. Eventually, I said, "I think I'd like to be a documentarian. I'd want to make short black and whites covering a range of social justice issues or something like that. But, I don't know anything about that. Art maybe. Though, I don't know anything about that either." Ralph assured me that I could learn. But this was pie in the sky and it did not relieve the immediate crisis at hand. 

UNCERTAINTY IS THE DEVIL

I had to find another revenue stream, or at least find something to pass the time so I would not wallow any deeper in self-pity. I had a knack for organizing and decluttering, so I posted on Facebook that I was available to help organize people's things during the furlough, just to give me something to do. A friend took me up on the offer and I spent two days helping her dig out of her overstuffed closet. Helping her got me out of my head for those few days. But it wasn't sustainable. I had to get serious about my job dependency problem.

I was on the verge of a mental breakdown by the second week of the furlough. The depression was real and I was struggling to hold it together. The uncertainty was taking a real toll. My significant other at the time had been less than understanding about the entire thing. He was self-employed and worked from home. He was annoyed and frustrated that I was home everyday—as if I had had a choice—and he wanted me to get out of his way. Ralph, and his wife Shirley, had said that I could stay with them, so I packed my bag. As I headed for the door, my boyfriend apologized for being such a jerk and asked me not to leave. That's when I realized how hard that the furlough had been on him, too. He offered to help me financially if necessary and his assurance gave me a little bit of space to breathe. 

On day eight, I broke my vow of financial abstinence. I went to the art store and bought some paint, brushes, canvases, and a cheap easel. I had never painted anything before and had no idea what I was doing, but I didn't care. I set the easel up in front of the tv and slabbed the paint on the canvas as I listened to CNN in the background. I liked the way the paint felt when I smeared it against the canvas. It was meditative. I used the brightest colors and moved them about with no intentionality. I mixed acrylics and oils and spray paint too. There were no rules, no guidelines. I just painted. Hours passed and for the first time in the face of uncertainty, I felt peace.

OVERCOMING

As the furlough dragged through the second week, one thing became absolutely clear to me: I would never allow myself to be put in this situation again. Never again would I allow my mental health to be sacrificed for my country or my career, nor would I pigeonhole myself into a profession. Never again would my self-worth be determined by my employment status. Never again would my portfolio of life look like a flat, straight, cement sidewalk. Instead, it would be a magnificent, dynamic tree filled with a variety of flowers and fruits of all different colors, shapes, sizes, smells, and tastes. 

We went back to work on a Thursday, 17 days later. The exhaustion on the faces of my colleagues told me everything; it was unforgettable. One colleague even said that she had wished they would have let us start on Monday and given us the weekend to recuperate from the trauma of the uncertainty. I had not been alone in my struggle. But now, I was awake.

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, I changed my life after the furlough. I became an understudy of Suze Orman and overcame my financial ignorance. I changed my financial circumstances so I would no longer have to live paycheck to paycheck. I bought a new camera and brushed the rust off of my photography skills. I joined a local art community. I registered for film courses at the local community college. I started a blog. I hiked across Spain. Since 2013, I have pursued several different endeavors and I have remained steadfast in my determination to never, ever be anyone's pawn ever again.

IF NOTHING CHANGES, NOTHING CHANGES. 

The current government shutdown offers something new and something old. What's new? News coverage of the very real plight and suffering of federal employees and contractors who are working to protect the country without pay or are furloughed altogether. What's old? Federal employees once again being taken hostage by politicians. Some federal employees will start looking for other jobs. Others will retire. Fewer will be recruited. Some will be okay. Some will go hungry. Many will suffer financially. Undoubtedly, no one who endures a shutdown will be the same when it's over. 

It would behoove this new Congress to immediately and unanimously pass a bill that would prevent federal government shutdowns from being used as a means to achieve an end. Forget the financial impracticality of it and just think about the fact that the government is starving its own people and forcing many—its own employees—to work for free, kind of like slavery. Yeah, let that sink in. It's happening right here, right now, in 2019, in the good ol' US of A.