Just listen.

When you work in a hostel, you meet some interesting people.

Interesting in the sense that the people traveling through your doors are always bringing new languages, foods and, wonderfully enough: stories from around the world.

There was the guy who just got back from the Peace Corps where he lived on a coffee farm in Costa Rica. He actually stumbled into the cafe while I was working – wondering about our nightly rates and, I think most importantly, about our coffee.

One morning I had a tall, lanky guy with the body of an ultra-runner ask to borrow my blender. I found this odd, even more so when he used an avocado in the smoothie he was constructing in the corner. Turns out, the smoothie has a life-changing story. Though he grew up in California, he had spent the past two years exploring the world… “just because.” He did some volunteering in a few places and when he fell ill from protein deficiency, he wrote to a “food blogger” friend who sent him a smoothie recipe. It helped rebuild his energy and he let me try it. I highly suggest this life-saving smoothie.

The people who stay in a hostel bring stories along with their broken English and over-sized backpacks. Everyone is coming from somewhere different and going somewhere different. Some of them are looking to leave something behind or to just escape it for awhile. Others are on business or resting while continuing on to New York or Montreal.

Boston is sometimes merely a pit stop for short conversations with fellow travelers.

I love that I can be a part of these adventurers stories. Mostly, in the cafe, I contribute through smiles and music. I’m finding that many foreign travelers enjoy Ben Howard (mostly some French and German folks) and that the perfect song can help kickstart someone’s morning when you have no idea what lies ahead of them.

I’m surrounded by new people all with something interesting going on that reminds me of how brilliant life is. But one guest’s story stays with me.

I saw her standing outside the cafe one morning as I locked my bike across the street. She was smoking a cigarette with a boyish charm complimenting her gentle smile. She was wearing a shirt that read “Science is Awesome” or something of that sort.

I’ll call her Fran because she was from San Francisco. She was interesting and I’ll be honest to say she made me really nervous at first. That morning, she came into the cafe for a coffee and spent the next hour pacing, slowly, in circles around the cafe. She was just smiling and staring at her cup. She said nothing. I said nothing. And it made me nervous.

But that upset me because I am a person working in hospitality and a person who cares about mental health. Yet, I immediately assumed she wasn’t right in the head. So I told myself to ignore her until she leaves. Don’t get involved. She could be dangerous.

Because that’s what the stigma does. It ingrains in our brains that these people just shouldn’t be talked to. That we shouldn’t get involved with people who pace in circles,or talk to themselves or holler at people on the streets. “These people are dangerous” is tattooed to our thoughts, as if it were able to pick up a signal on anyone who suffers from mental health. And when the signal gets picked up, it warns you to say away and build yourself a force field.

That’s not right.

So when Fran sat down, I went over and said “hello.”

It took one simple word to change everything.

Within seconds of speaking with her, I knew she was suffering. I knew she had been waiting, hoping, praying someone would talk to her so she could talk to them. She needed someone to just listen. I decided to be that person for her.

She told me about her life in San Francisco, working in technology. She was really excited about a scooter she had just built. I was really excited to meet someone who could build a scooter. But her story kept switching from the good and the bad. The good being her job; her dog; and her confidence in her skills and knowledge. I could tell she was a smart woman.

But the bad was all very dark and consisted of a long history of being bullied for her sexual identity and the fact that she “dressed like a boy.” She had no real family – they disowned her when she came out as being gay. She grew up in a small, rural area that was very conservative and apparently chased her out of the area for “her sins.” She kept going on about people who would follow her, taunt her and just yell horrible things to her outside her apartment.

In my mind, I deemed her “paranoid.”

I tried very hard to just listen and not stereotype her, but it’s hard. It’s really, really hard. And I’m a person who knows these stereotypes and stigmas are wrong. I am a person who knows very well how hard it is to hear people use terms like “bi-polar” or “depressed” as if they applied to every day life. I am a person who suffers and these words mean something to me; so how could I just allow my mind to use them against someone else without knowing their story? I was angry with myself for this.

But it’s hard to not think that when someone tells you people lined their hotel room with paint thinner to “get rid of her.”

Maybe that did happen. I guess we can all choose which story we want to believe, but I am not here to say whether or not those things really happened. If she tells me those are true, all I know is her story.

But I am just here to listen.

So I let her tell me about all the bad things that had been happening to her and around her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the day before the Boston Marathon bombings occurred she had the thought of “I should move to Boston because it seems like a safer city than San Francisco and I need security.” I didn’t know how to answer her questions; I didn’t have any good advice to give. I wrote down some resources for her – of safe places where should could talk about these issues with other people or to get help if she needed it. She had a lot of baggage and a lot of shit going on.

But she kept thanking me for talking to her.

A couple days went by and every morning when she would come into the cafe I would check in with her. Some days she was “okay” or “doing better,” and she had gone on a few job interviews. Today was her last day and when she came into the cafe for breakfast, I’d never seen such a big smile.

“I’m leaving today! I’m going back to San Francisco; I have an interview with a few companies and I think I’ll get one of the jobs. I found a new place to live and I feel so much better.”

She looked much better. She sounded much better. I don’t know if she’ll be okay in the long run, but she seemed to carry herself pretty well. I smiled and told her I was happy for her. She thanked me and the rest of the staff at the hostel for being so hospitable. She said she just needed to get away from everything for awhile, to clear her head and figure life out. And that she was happy to be able to do so surrounded by good people.

I handed her her coffee and she thanked me again for listening to her. She said she thinks she is going to get the job she is interviewing for and that she had a wonderful time in Boston.

I told her “I think someone is looking out for you.” And she said “I know, I looked up and God smiled. He smiled for me.”

I don’t know everything, in fact I’m still learning quite a lot.  But, what I do know is that rather than keeping to ourselves, I think what we all need is the courage to make friends with one another. I admit that I’ve done this before – by plugging myself into my phone on the bus or ignoring people on sidewalks.

We’re afraid that if we talk to other people, we might actually have to hold a conversation.

But sometimes those conversations are the few minutes that someone just needs to help them feel heard. I caught myself doing exactly what everyone else does when it comes to mental health – turning a blind eye to the person with their head down.  Ignoring the person we can tell needs help.

But I caught myself and what I learned is that we just need to always love people.

INT. ALASKA AIRLINES FLIGHT 35 CABIN

Seat 15 A. It’s a window seat.

Snow covered fields lay peacefully below me.

My mind races as it usually does on airplanes.

Maybe this is my peace? Maybe covering this white sheet is my way of fighting off the loneliness.

The sickness.

The beating pain against my forehead.

The tingling feeling in my wrist that I always get.

This happens when I think too much or when I can’t think at all.

I think writing on paper and typing it up later does help more.

(Given my latest string art addiction, I’m assuming I have a need to cover up blank spaces.)

Maybe that’s why I feel so lonely?

And why I confuse relationships with God with relationships with people.

I wish I could sit peacefully on a plane like most of the people around me.

But I can’t.

And my ears are filled with a mix of sounds encouraging me to get it out.

And the thing is, I’m not entirely sure what that is right now.

I’m really happy.

Really, I am.

But that doesn’t mean depression is gone.

Or loneliness.

It comes and it goes. But I’m headed in a really good direction.

I am happy and I don’t know how many people can honestly say that.

I also know what I want to do with my life and I really don’t know how many people can say that.

But this past week was incredible.

Life changing.

Eye opening.

Inspiring.

Brilliant.

Portland is really cool. There are alot of friendly and creative people there. I think I’d rather line in Seattle (Something about the Olympic National Park won’t let me forget Washington. And Damien Jurado.)

But I could move to Portland if it felt right.

Anyway, I saw one of my dreams come to life at the Hold On Another Day + Project Believe In Me concert.

I stood on stage, told my story and felt inspired by all the artists – their stories and how they impacted people.

Alex and I went to a middle school and talked about bullying. The kids loved it. I loved those kids.

(Stubborn Love by The Lumineers just came on and my heart needs to melt a little bit.)

So, seeing your dream in reality is pretty cool. I’ll never give that up.

“Make the money don’t let the money make you,” is what Macklemore reminded me.

I come from a wealthy family. All my siblings are going to make alot of money and help alot of people.

And that’s great.

I am happy for them.

I am proud of them.

But my path is different.

And I can’t wait to keep going down it.

Because I am so in love with so many people.

And places.

And this job – Hold On Another Day – lets me have both.

I’d never trade that for anything.

Dreamers see everything in color

Almost a year ago, right before summer began, my friend, Alex, asked me if I wanted to collaborate and do a bullying prevention mix CD for his organization. I spent my summer living in Los Angeles, juggling the stress of working for a major production company, taking a summer class and planning what a bullying prevention music compilation would look like. And even though it was hard and stressful and I’m still nervous about how well the concert is going to go, I think about those first series of e-mails when Alex and I would discuss this and the fact that we made that vision turn into a reality is the most amazing feeling.

So, I look at this photo and think about how this poster was made by a friend of a friend who does design work in Indiana, and now her designs are showing up around Portland, OR. And I think of four of those names on this poster who are musicians that may have never thought they’d be performing alongside Kimya Dawson. And I think about the KZME logo in the corner and how I secured that partnership on my own, even though people will tell you PR is something only professionals can do well.

And then I think about the people who will show up to our concert – people I don’t know but they’re going to come out to an event some girl in Boston has been planning to do in Portland for a few months. And I think about how really fucking cool that is.

So, my point is – don’t sell your dreams when people tell you you’re being unrealistic. Don’t listen to them. Because when you see something you dreamed about or drew on a piece of paper come to life and exist in your reality, it’s a feeling and experience that will always mean more to you than anything. People want to tell you that you’re in over your head or that you need to “get real.” Those people, the people who try to stop you, are only doing that because they let someone else stop them.

Dreamers see everything in color. Don’t ever settle for someone else’s ideas.

Come hang out with me in Portland on 2/23/13 for a night of positive music meant to help inspire youth to overcome bullying and be empowered by music. Tickets are only $10 and I promise you, it’ll be worth it:www.tinyurl.com/HOADconcert

Also, I just decided I’m writing a book. 😉

Missing Washington

Leaving Washington last week was hard. It felt like the end of a long-distance relationship. You know how you feel when a loving relationship ends? When you don’t know when, or if, you’ll see that person again? It feels like that, only, less dramatic and the comfort of knowing I have the choice to return or not.

But, leaving Washington was hard because it was a place and a culture I have come to love over the past year. After five trips spent out there – four on the Olympic Peninsula and one only spent in Seattle – it’s hard to not feel like I’ve found a new home. I think I find that comforting feeling of home in the twinkling stars at night and the cool breathe that wades off the wet tree trunks of the Evergreens. Or maybe it’s the long, winding roads along the coast or Lake Crescent that provide an oddly relaxing sway as the perfect song matches the car’s turns.

There is something about Washington that has swept me off my feet. Head over heels in love I have fallen with the Cascades and Olympics. And that view of the sun setting from the top of Hurricane Hill in the Olympic National Park, well, I believe I could die quite peacefully up there.

I’ll admit I felt a little sad as my plan departed SeaTac and headed East toward a smaller city. As much as I have loved the first part of my life spent in the rolling hills of Ohio and alongside the Atlantic, I believe there comes a time for change and, this is that moment for me. The Pacific Northwest is where I am headed for the next chapter of my life. That is the decision I came to as I fell asleep watching the Evergreens fade behind the clouds. But I think this was a decision I knew the moment I first woke up in Seattle, standing on a porch overlooking a lake painted from head to toe with a pink sunrise. They say you know when true love hits you because it feels like a lightening bolt to the chest. This was more of a vibrant burst of electricity  alerting me that I have found the place I have been dreaming about.

Washington, I miss you. I don’t know when I will keep myself grounded to you, but until that moment comes, I promise to fall in love with many more landscapes and horizons, always remembering that yours will one day be my home.

 

Apologies, followers

I apologize for the lack of writing lately – the whole point of this blog was to keep me writing, eek! But, I fell ill with the flu and am starting to get back into it.

What’s coming —

While I’ve been away, I traveled back to New Hampshire for a volunteer ski trip, so i’ll write a reflection on that experience.

Tomorrow I leave for a 5 day trip to Seattle, WA – so there will be lots to write about! Oh how I miss the Cascades and the evergreens!

Thirdly, I’m making some progress on my plans to travel to India this summer to work with an orphanage (also a bucket list item for me) so, I’ll probably write a though blog on the experience of planning/designing your own volunteer trip.

Okay, so, that’s what I’ll be writing about over the next couple of days/week. Hope that sounds interesting to you!

Now, time to drink as many fluids as possible anddd…GO!

Oh and just because this post needs a photo, here’s me running down the side of a volcano in Nicaragua this summer:

🙂

 

How To Keep In Touch While Traveling

I’m going to be honest – my friends are better than your friends.

These may look like two normal notebooks to you, but they’re not. Which is why my friends are the greatest.

These notebooks (and one other) are more than just paper books with pretty covers – they’re four years of friendship documented in a travel-journal style. You see, when my three best friends and I graduated high school, we were all going to different schools in different places. Ohio. Colorado. Massachusetts and New York. After girling-out (okay, that’s not a word but it is for the purpose of this post) over “The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” series, we decided that, though we couldn’t document our travels on a pair of magical pants, we could just, you know, write about it. So, these ordinary notebooks were passed around between the four of us, being there to document our travels, successes and heartbreaks, so we could stay in touch with one another while starting new lives and making new friends. “Make new friends, but keep the old,” is what we’re taught when we’re younger. I have made new friends, but I’ve kept my old ones closet to me and, whenever the notebook would arrive at my dorm, sublet or apartment, I’d get a little piece of them right there, with me. And that’s what makes these books so special. They were always more than just a source of documentation, rather, these notebooks acted as a way to connect with my friends, no matter how far apart we may be, and with myself, my past travels and thoughts.

It’s all right there and I can have those memories back simply my turning the pages.

It’s not always a happy book, though. As the years went on, it became a little harder to keep the notebook going, mostly when one of the four of us stopped sending it and we realized the sad truth that our friendship wasn’t as close with her anymore. Yet, the remaining three of us kept sending the book and, though it was unfortunate to no longer send it to our other friend, it reminded us that we could keep this going.

Then the summer came and I was traveling to six different locations; one friend would be in MA and the other, in Spain.

I’m not going to tell you too much of what is written in this notebook (and I’m only showing you the pages I wrote on) because that’s for my friends to know and for you to write with your own friends.

It can be really hard to maintain friendships (or a relationship) with someone when you’re on the road or traveling on. So rather than make broken promises of “I’ll come visit” or “I’ll call you every week,” I think sending postcards, letters or, of course, a notebook, can be those simple, brilliant ways to remind someone that they’re on your mind. It doesn’t have to be a long, hand written note explaining how much you miss someone, it just has to be real. And honest. Because when you’re out there exploring new places, you’re put into the position to recognize how you really feel about the people and places you’re with, in that moment; and how you miss (or do not miss) the people and places back home. Perspective, that’s what you get. But mostly, when you take the time to write a page in the notebook, or mail a postcard, you send a message that you’ll take the time to think about them.

It’s too easy nowadays to send a message on facebook; send a quick text or pick up the phone and have a fast-paced phone call with awkward silent moments. I don’t want that when I travel – I want the people I care about to experience my moments with me as much as they can without being there. To do that, it turns out, requires you to write what you feel, when you feel it; sketch out those images with a colored pencil and sometimes, to just rub a little dirt from the mountain you climbed right on that page.

Los Angeles. San Francisco. Seattle. Port Angeles. Denver. Nicaragua – those are the places I went this summer and all my favorite thoughts from those travels are only known to myself, my two closest friends and, well, the notebook. There’s something great about that. And, when I find myself forgetting how alive I felt during the summer, I can turn these pages (when it’s my turn to do so) and instantly remember what I told myself not to forget:

I am truly happiest when I don’t have much of a plan, but have good company around me. I just love to travel and I don’t get homesick because I’m so curious to discover new places and people. I have seen great beauty this summer -in the mountains; in the love experienced after a great tragedy; but mostly in myself, for how much I feel I’ve grown from my interactions with people and landscapes. Lately, I’ve seen many people lose someone close to them. It’s reminded me how lucky I am, but also how vulnerable we all are. This summer I’ve realized we can’t control what happens later – or when -but we can control the moments of NOW.

So, my friends and fellow writers/bloggers – I urge you the next time you travel to pick up a pen, buy and old notebook or a simple postcard and send it to a friend or someone you want to tell about your journey. Later down the road, when you need to remind yourself of how you felt, ask them to show you what you wrote and I promise you, only good can come of it.

Portland, Portland

 

 

 

It’s official – I’ve booked my stay at the Portland Hawthorne District Hostel for Feb! I am beyond excited, this is the sort of planning I’ve needed to have done, so I can look forward to the great adventures that await me in Portland.

I’ve never been, but from what I hear, it’s a brilliant city. It’s one of those places that whenever I tell people I’m thinking of moving there or visiting, they always say “oh YOU will love Portland.” I love that. I hope it’s true, too.

So, though I have some time before I actually depart for this adventure, it’s nice to look at a calendar and see a week’s time blocked off with the name of a place I’ve never been to. I can’t wait to explore the city and get a nice hike in – any suggestions?

Oh and I’m a sucker for adorable buildings and this hostel is just wonderful.

 

Portland, Portland, I just cannot wait to see what you have to offer!

I’ve figured out what this blog is about. The title of my blog comes from a song called “Down In The Valley” by The Head and the Heart. My life, my dreams, my perspective on everything, can be summed up by the lyrics in this song. At least the way I interpret it does.

We do it over and over and over again
We do it over and over and over again

I know there’s California, Oklahoma
And all of the places I ain’t ever been to but
Down in the valley with
Whiskey rivers
These are the places you will find me hidin’
These are the places I will always go
These are the places I will always go

04 Down In the Valley

My parents asked me what I was doing. People are always asking me what I’m doing.

“You say you just want to travel around and write about it, but what are you really doing?”

“Living,” is what I want to tell them, but I know no one will ever fully understand that.

I just don’t want to live an ordinary life.

I didn’t want to graduate and move to Los Angeles and immediately start working for someone else; start living through someone else’s perspective and having my time run on a system. Right now, everything sucks and I feel afraid and confused about what my next step is. I’m trying to figure that out, but I think I only feel scared because other people are telling me I should be.

Then I think about this song, what it means to me and all of the different places I traveled to this past summer, listening to this song. I think about all the other songs that, when they come on shuffle in my iTunes library, I immediately find myself back in those places: sleeping on top of a mountain in the Olympic National Park; freezing on a mountain in California, eating lentil soup at a deserted cafe; driving down the 101 with the windows down singing at the top of my lungs; driving in the bed of an open truck in Nicaragua, watching the stars from a new location and running down the side of a volcano as a torrential downpour soaks my entire body.

Maybe I’m not a realist and maybe I live in a world of fantasy where I can travel the world and not have to worry about any thing. So what if my dream is to experience the world, meet new people and write about their lives and mine? Adventure is my favorite word and you know why that is? Because when you live that word, you know you are just the happiest and most free you will ever be. And when you write that word, or think of that word or look at the word, you remember  your great adventures, whatever those may be.

So you know what, world? I am going to live out my adventures. I am going to write about them here and I am going to encourage all of you to get off your butts and go on a brilliant adventure.

I don’t believe I need to “wake up and face reality,” because I am living it. I look at the world and I see an adventure down every street and every path. I want to see those places I pin on Pinterest. I want to go to those places I dream about. I want to go back to all those places where I made wonderful memories. And that’s what I’m going to do. And if you want to read about my adventures, this is the blog for it. And if you want to be inspired to go on your own adventures, this is the blog for it.

“If you want to be extraordinary, you have to think extraordinary.” Living a brilliant adventure, to me, is being extraordinary.

I am currently fulfilling the unemployed writer stereotype by sitting in a cafe, writing.

I’m working on a book, well, I guess I can’t really call it a book until it’s published and people actually read it. I hope people would actually read it. I want to use my writing to inspire people to tell their own stories and live their own adventures. So, I figure, if what I love doing is traveling and writing, that’s just what I should do. And if I travel and write enough, I’ll have enough stories to tell, this creating a book I can sell. That makes sense, right?

My brain works in very odd ways, I think that’s the problem with other people trying to understand me. Every time I talk to someone about where my life is right now, I get puzzled look after puzzled look question my “intentions with my life.” I’m really getting sick of that.

“But like, what are you going to be doing?”

“Writing.”

“But like, how are you going to make money?”

Last night, I created a string art design on a blank wall in my apartment. I’ll post photos of it later, but I think that’s a good illustration of how my brain works. It’s very different from the line of doctors I come from.

Meh, I wish people would just worry about themselves. I’m not worried about it, so why should they?

I’m just going to continue working on my book and a screenplay. Then, one day, people will realize I knew what I was doing all along.

Until then, here’s my friend Heather and I in Times Square for New Years. That’s a fun story, I’ll write about that crazy adventure soon.

It’s 12:37AM and I’m Back

Hey —

I’m back. I fell off the radar (the radar being this blog) during my last semester of school but, now that I’m unemployed and a college graduate, I guess I should start doing something with my life. And for me, as a writer, that’s transforming myself from “student writer working towards a degree in writing” to “writer…with a degree in writing.” I still don’t know exactly what a degree in writing means, but I guess that’s for me to figure out and do with it what I decide.

And I kind of like that.

Anyway, so this blog will return to it’s previously scheduled programming of being about my adventures and travels. I have a few adventures to catch you up on, so i’ll be writing about those over the next few days. Also, just because it’s a part of my life, I’m also going to post about my crafts. So, I guess this is an adventure travel + crafting blog … how does that sound to you?

Here’s to new adventures in 2013. Here’s to spending the rest of my life doing what I love. Here’s to being terrified because I don’t really know what I’m doing, but here’s to figuring that out and proving everyone wrong.

Also, here’s me skiing on top of a mountain.

Stay tuned, world.