Some Thoughts for New Year's Eve

Looking back over the past year, I am astonished at the amount of life that I have lived. Images come to mind: Holding my orange-lily bouquet, watching my brother stand at the altar to wait for his bride to enter through the back doors. Riding a rope swing under an almost-full moon in Florida as my new friends perform acrobatics in the tree branches to impress me. Hiking through sand-colored grass and seeing the Rocky Mountains as rows of tattered blue in the distance. Feeling the radiant glow of sunrise on the Grand Canyon. Beating my way through a circle pit of sweaty music fans in a sauna-like tent at Cornerstone. Eating Voodoo doughnuts beside a fountain in downtown Portland at two in the morning. Weeping for joy when Dad was pronounced cancer-free. Dancing the Duke of Kent Waltz with my new boyfriend, my silky dress swirling in folds around me. These are just a few of the thousands of mental snapshots of my past year, just a few of the memories that I have already begun to treasure. It’s been a year of stress and adventure, of growth and unexpected opportunities and intense emotions. It’s been a year worth living. 

Something that I’ve noticed as of late is that, somewhere along the way, I seem to have grown up. This is mostly shown in my increased self-confidence. I’m comfortable being Lisa. Sometimes this shows up in something simple, like wearing athletic shoes with skinny jeans even though that screams horrible fashion sense. Or listening to a band because I like them, regardless of what other people think of their music. It can be something more difficult, like not flinching when someone condemns the choices I’ve made. 

Self-confidence looks an awful lot like pride and/or apathy, because part of self-confidence is not caring what other people think. This should be tempered with being sensitive to what other people need, but all too often, people are afraid to stand tall for fear of looking like a jerk. When someone tells me I’m beautiful, I often don’t hesitate to agree with them. “Thank you, I think so too.” This is often written off as pride— one of the deadliest mistakes someone can make. I was blessed with two good-looking parents, who ending up having four good-looking kids, of which I am one. There is nothing prideful about thinking that I’m beautiful, as long as I don’t derive any of my worth from it, and as long as I can enjoy and appreciate other people’s beauty as well. All in all, this year I’ve learned to care less about what other people think, and have become more comfortable with being who I am. I’m reminded of a quote by Marianne Williamson:

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we're liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

So, now that I am comfortable with the past and the present, what about the future? A lot of people make New Year’s resolutions. I usually don’t, just because my goals fluctuate too much, with different priorities taking the front spot on a monthly or even daily basis. Of course, there are things I want to make happen this year— trips to North Carolina, the West coast, and Europe, namely— but more importantly, I want to focus on the intangibles, the goals that can’t be quantified. Only at the end of the year can you look back and see if you were successful or not. Some of these intangible goals include:

Making time for people.

Taking the time to experience life.

Growing in love as a believer.

Being spontaneous and exciting.

Trying new things and pushing my limitations.

Creating more. (See the awesome blog from my friend Joshua.)

Most importantly, I want to continue to resolve to be myself— my true self, the self that is revealed only when it stands in the Light. 

Happy New Year, everyone!

~Lisa Shafter

Weathered by the Storm

My parents met when they were 19. Despite going to different schools, they started dating and became engaged about five months later. What did their respective parents think of it? “Not much” and “Well, we can’t stop you” were the enthusiastic responses. A marriage counselor told them they were not ready for the altar. Their friends half-joked that they wouldn’t last a year. Mom second-guessed her decision all the way up to the wedding. Their neighbors had bets going on how soon they would get divorced.

Today, my parents celebrate their 38th anniversary. In a world that doesn’t understand commitment, their relationship is a lighthouse that shines with a kind of love that is rarer and rarer: the love of many years, weathered by hardship, and strengthened by the constant act of holding on. Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.

~Lisa Shafter

I Like It Here Very Much, Thank You

For the past few months, I’ve joked about being “The Stationary Mandolin,” since I’ve been camping out at home through the autumn and winter. Now, I’m down to the week before my next tentatively-scheduled trip, and I find myself in a familiar place: I don’t want to leave.

To my friends who have nicknamed me “The World Traveler,” the ones who have taken to asking me, “When’s your next trip?” before any other question, this is probably a surprise. You all know how much I love the road, and how antsy I get if I’m away from it for too long. But the truth is, when I come up to the eve of another trip, I feel a massive sense of anxiety.

Perhaps this has been conditioned into me because of the horrible news I always receive right before leaving on a trip. Whether learning that my family had to move, that my best friends had been lying to me, that my Dad had life-threatening blood pressure levels and/or cancer, or that my sister’s health had deteriorated, it seems that my trips are always preceded by news that sends me to bed in tears the night before I leave. Therefore, I always associate the beginning of a trip with sadness and anxiety, with last-minute regrets and declarations that I’m not going, followed by my family all but kicking me out of the house. 

Another factor is that I never feel like I get done everything I want to do while I’m home. I never tried to grow spinach in a window box like I had wanted to this autumn. My homemade yogurt still turns out runny and I don’t have time to perfect the recipe. Whatever happened to that tea party I was going to host? And those half-dozen friends that I haven’t seen in ages that I swore I’d see while I was home? The opportunities slip by, and I find myself puzzled by how I got here, making a list for another trip, dizzied in confusion at where the time has gone.

Of course, usually once I hit the road, I don’t want to come back. No matter where I am, I’m resistant to change. All the traveling in the world hasn’t cured me of that. The important thing is to embrace the change, plow straight into it, and not look back.

~Lisa Shafter

A Case for Public Transportation

America loves the automobile. Almost everyone owns a car, and we use them to go to work, visit friends, run errands, drive to church, and everything in between. I appreciate the freedom of the horseless carriage, but nonetheless I maintain that everyone, if he is able, should ride public transportation every once in a while.

I use public transit to visit my friend who lives in St. Louis city. The route takes about an hour and a half to traverse: a 2.3-mile walk to the bus stop, a bus ride to North County, a Metrolink train ride to the city, and then a half-mile walk to my friend’s apartment. 

A couple weeks ago when I boarded the bus, I found myself listening to a conversation between the driver and the passenger sitting in the front row. They were both elegant black women, their skin the color of coffee, with only a few darkened spots and creases to give away their late middle age. They were talking about how terrible America was. “The rich people don’t care about people like you and me,” the bus driver said. “They just care about the rich. There’s so much corruption.”

“Uh-huh,” the passenger said, nodding seriously. “They don’t care about the black people, either.”

“There’s so much racism in America.”

“If I ever won the lottery, I’d move to some other place. They’re just too racist here.”

“And then you got those Asian women moving in and opening up beauty salons, stealing our business.”

“I know! And of course there’s the war.”

“And here everybody eats so badly— everything’s full of transfat and prepackaged.”

I listened in fascination, simultaneously confused at the double standard of their logic and feeling vaguely apologetic for being white. I wondered how many times each of them had been treated poorly by a white person. I wondered how many times they had written off a white person simply because she was caucasian. I wondered the same about myself.

At the Metrolink train station, I was headed to the platform when I heard a friendly voice say, “I haven’t seen you here in a while.” It was a man I had met once who spends his days hanging around the bus station wearing a bright blue parka. He is tall and round, with an expressive face and a jovial love for everyone he sees. It had been several months since I’d seen him, but it was clear he remembered me. We chatted for a few minutes before I headed up to the platform and he returned to his place among the bus stops, waiting to talk to anyone who wanted to listen.

On the other side of the bench I sat on, a young man was tossing three slightly-bent cards onto the pavement, one at a time. I ignored him until a young couple joined him, and he began moving the cards around, using sleight of hand to make them hard to follow. The girl gave him a twenty and flipped over one of the cards. It wasn’t the one she expected, and she groaned. I saw the card man had a wad of cash in his fist, one of the bills a hundred. The girl pulled out another twenty, and the game began again.

A woman of quiet grace came up and stood beside me, watching the game through her small brown eyes. She wore a hooded coat against the cold, and she held her lips as if withholding a thousand important things to say. I caught her gaze, and she shook her head. The game continued, and we both tried to pretend we were ignoring it. At last she opened her lips and pronounced a single judgement with another shake of her head: “Young people.” Even though my young age was obvious, she made it clear that I was not included in her statement.

On the train, I sat next to a well-kept young man with braided hair and stylish skater clothing. He listened to his mp3 player while I stared out the windows at the city flashing by. Ruined brick buildings, patched up and boarded over. A row of windows in an old factory, replaced with so many different kinds of glass that the squares resembled a painter’s palette of earth tones. Trees and vines finding life in abandoned streets. 

I hopped out at the train station, the leftovers of a place that had once run steam engines. I jogged up the steps, one white passenger in a sea of diverse colors, crossed the street, and arrived safely at my friend’s house.

The same distance covered by car would have been about forty minutes quicker. But it would not have been the same vivid slice of life, close to other heartbeats, that the bus and train rides gave me. Once in a while, it’s important to step out of the car-induced bubble and travel a few miles with some strangers.

~Lisa Shafter

Ten Words Only Advanced Spell-Checkers Should Contain (for my sanity)

Now that I’m starting to feel better, I’ve returned to the world of editing papers. Today, for your amusement and information, I give you a list of words that show up in both student papers and friend’s emails and writing— and they usually shouldn’t. They are real words, but not the correct ones. I submit that spell-checkers should not accept these words, so I don’t have to do as much editing! …That’s reasonable, right? (I’m sure there’s already someone working on the to/two/too there/their/they’re problems.)

The word: strait

The word it’s supposed to be: straight

The way I read it in a sentence: Susan walked a narrow passage of water connecting two seas or two large areas of water into her house.

The word: summery

The word it’s supposed to be: summary

The way I read it in a sentence: In an adjective denoting the warmest season of the year, I would like to say that dogs are the best pets.

The word: minuet

The word it’s supposed to be: minute

How I read it in a sentence: After three slow, stately ballroom dances for two in triple time (popular especially in the 18th century) of tense waiting, Jim saw the light again.

The word: tern

The word it’s supposed to be: turn

The way I read it in a sentence: “This is an unexpected seabird related to the gulls, typically smaller and more slender, with long pointed wings and a forked tail, of events,” he said.

The word: defiantly

The word it’s supposed to be: definitely

The way I read it in a sentence: He was rebelliously upset when someone ate the last piece of pie.

The word: confidant

The word it’s supposed to be: confident

The way I read it in a sentence: Jill was a person with whom one shares a secret or private matter, trusting them not to repeat it to others, that she would ace the test.

The word: posses

The word it’s supposed to be: possess

The way I read it in a sentence: She had always wanted to be a body of men summoned by a sheriff to enforce the law something valuable.

The word: manger

The word it’s supposed to be: manager

The way I read it in a sentence: Harry was the assistant long open box or trough for horses or cattle to eat from at the café.

And two more, just for me…

The word: wok

The word it’s supposed to be: work

What I tell students: “You put a lot of hard bowl-shaped frying pans used typically in Chinese cooking into this revision!”

The word: god

The word it’s supposed to be: good

What I tell students: “This has improved a lot— god!” 

~Lisa Shafter

Merry Christmas

Well, after a hard round of antibiotics and eight days of fever, I can now announce… that I am still sick. Yes, the germs have decided to camp out in my body for a while, and no amount of sleeping and pleading can get them to go away. I assure all you mothers out there that I am getting plenty of rest, drinking lots of fluids, and eating as healthily as I can.

At least on Christmas day I felt well enough to gather around the tree with my parents and four siblings. Eric and Sarah gave me a convertible dress/skirt; Christian gave me earbuds; Mary gave me a security pouch for my passport and a Hostelling International membership. Add fair-trade chocolate and some music my boyfriend sent me, and a calendar planner from his grandmother, and it was quite the bounteous Christmas! I was happy, however, at the end of the night, to be able to pick up all my presents easily with two hands. 

My super-awesome nighty-night Christmas jammies make everything better.

That said, the day was spent in dullness. I’m sick; Mom’s sick; Dad and Mary are getting over sickness; Eric and Sarah were exhausted from getting up early. We didn’t do much. I napped a bit. We sat in the livingroom. A few of us watched A Charlie Brown Christmas.

In years past, I would have cried myself to sleep, since the day wasn’t everything I hoped it would be. However, last night I snuggled into the covers, and was content— everyone wasn’t at top of their game, but at least we were together. There’s always next year. Next Christmas has always seemed so impossibly far away. But the older I get, the more I realize that next Christmas will be here before I can put on my stockings. 

Is it just me, or am I actually growing up?

~Lisa Shafter

What Happens When Lisa Gets a Fever

Nothing knocks me down faster than a good bout of flu. One day I’m skipping down the street all day long, singing carols and spreading Christmas cheer— the next day I’m lying in a tangle of covers alternately sweating and freezing. I’d like to think that this young body of mine is invincible, and any evidence to the contrary makes me downright angry. My mind has retreated into a haze, and even now I’m finding it hard to string sentences together. Still, I wanted to offer a blog to explain my absence. 

Some random things on my mind that I’ve thoughts about while half-delirious:

1. My trip to Europe next year, and how much I might be willing to give up to afford it.

2. Wondering if my craving for milk and cereal is all psychological or if I somehow need whole grains and calcium.

3. Some of my travel friends, namely the ones I met in Florida, and how they’re doing.

4. What kind of dress I’ll wear if I ever get married, and how I could afford one that wasn't made with sweatshop labor but also wasn't secondhand.

5. Why everyone should take public transit every once in a while (I hope to write a whole blog about that).

6. Whether or not I’ll be well by Christmas.

Scattered? Yes. Meaningful? Certainly, if I could build the thoughts that accompany these topics into a structure rather than mayhem. Here’s hoping to my quick recovery. Until then, happy 20th of December!

~Lisa Shafter

Christmas and Consumerism, Part Three: The Gift

With materialism and reverse materialism crowding in on us this Christmas season, it’s obviously time to find the right balance. Materialism, no matter its form, is based in the idea that possessions of any kind— whether they are objects, minutes, road trips, or attitudes— define us and make us happy and accepted. The key, then, is not to condemn or idolize possessions, but to gain perspective on them.

When I was traveling in Colorado, I volunteered on an organic farm. A woman and her four children, two teens and two toddlers, were my hosts; her husband was working in California to try to earn enough money to pay their debts. Every day, I heard her complain about how finances were tight and how she didn’t have enough money. Every day, I also accompanied her to the grocery store, where she bought 50 to 100 dollars’ worth of food and supplies. She didn’t believe in leftovers; her fridge was crammed with food. One night, she told her daughter that her teenage friends couldn’t come for supper, because, “We just can’t afford it.” The next day, she came home with two stylish child’s lawn chairs, each one costing over $30, because, “They were so cute I couldn’t resist.”

The next week, I hopped the Greyhound down to Tucson Arizona, where I stayed with some second cousins I hadn’t seen in years: a father and mother and their grown-up daughter and her child. The first night, they fed me a feast of steak and corn-on-the-cob, and then explained how they had bought the meat through a local farmer. They were avid couponers, and took great delight in seeing how much money they could save on groceries and household items. They never hesitated to feed me the best food, and when they heard I had broken my camera earlier in the trip, they gave me one of theirs. I left Tucson loaded down with so many snacks that I could barely carry my backpack. 

Obviously, these two families had completely different views of material possessions. The first was stressed and stretched, terrified of sharing their gifts and having no idea of how to be wise about finances. The second family was prudent and thrifty, saving money where they could, but ready to let go of anything when generosity called for it. The contrast was marked, and the lesson stayed with me.

The idea of generosity comes up a lot during the Christmas season, as we fight to decide what to give whom, and how much to spend. One important question to ask is, “Am I buying this because I want to bless this person, or because I feel compelled?” Giving someone a useless trinket he doesn’t need is not blessing him. Giving a child everything on her wish list is not blessing her. Overspending and going into debt are not creating blessings. In contrast, giving someone a meaningful homemade gift is a blessing. So is giving a child a toy that will inspire her creativity. Choosing to give up some luxuries for yourself so you can give to other people is the greatest blessing of all. C.S. Lewis once remarked that if generosity does not come at a price, then it is not really generosity.

Eventually, some people just give up on the gift-giving side of Christmas altogether: either they don’t buy presents, or they buy the safest, most minimal presents they can and put their heads down until New Year’s. Neither of these options is in keeping with the true reason for gift-giving: love.

Two thousand years ago, mankind received a gift that changed the world. It would end up being the most costly gift in the history of the universe, but God thought it was worth it because he loves us. Gift-giving should always be a result of love— not compulsion, not guilt, not a greed for a thank-you or a feeling of self-righteousness. 

When we consider the people we love, what is the best gift we can give them? Sometimes, a material gift is an expression of inward love, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Other times, the harder gift to give is one of time, creativity, or effort. 

If we give honestly and generously, both of ourselves and our resources, we find the place of peace at the center of the Christmas season, freed from the stress and the demand of the culture’s expectations. This season, I encourage you to give freely, think wisely, and keep perspective on material goods that will rust and fade. Merry Christmas, everyone!

~Lisa Shafter

Christmas and Consumerism, Part Two: Reverse Materialism

Every time I hear materialism and money brought up in church, I always sigh and lean back in the pew, ready for the same sermon I’ve heard a hundred times before. “Don’t be greedy. God wants you to hold your money with an open hand. We all want more and more, we want to keep up with the Joneses, we are prey to advertising and we always think that having one more thing will make us happy.” Yes, this was essentially the blog I gave you yesterday. The points are valid and the problem is rampant. However, I think that most people fail to address the flip side of materialism, which I will call reverse materialism here: the constant search for less, rather than more, in order to find meaning and acceptance.

Although occasionally I would like something new or something additional, greed for material things is not a big problem for me (and for several of my friends). Instead, the materialism takes a different spin: I want fewer things, or certain kind of things, in hopes of finding acceptance. Why am I always quick to clarify that my name-brand shirt was a hand-me-down? Or that my expensive-looking leather coat came from Goodwill? Why do I feel compelled to tell people that my iPod Touch came free with my computer, that I didn’t buy it new? In the quest for having less, I have bound up my identity in other people’s opinions, thinking that my material possessions somehow show my status as a person. I am making the same mistake as the normal materialists do. 

Another mistake that reverse materialists make it to redefine “materials.” A friend I met on my travels lived without money, doing help exchange instead. He said he was free from greed and didn’t care about money. This worked out fine… until he wanted to take a trip to the Grand Canyon to meditate. Other friends of mine say they don’t care about money, yet they want cash in order to take trips, buy organic food, and purchase vintage clothing at secondhand shops. It cultivates a lot of arrogance as we consider that we’re not wasting our money on toys made in China. I find myself looking down on the woman with the Coach purse, even though I’m saving up for a plane ticket to Europe.

Reverse materialism often comes at a price: we are the freeloaders, taking the “higher road” on the normal materialists’ dollar. Reverse materialists don’t have a problem lauding freedom from money while relying on people who have money. This is something I have to constantly remind myself: someone always has to pick up the tab. There would be no secondhand shops if there were no firsthand shops; there would be no extra resources if there were not resources to begin with. People who tend toward reverse materialism must be grateful for those who have chosen to make money and share it as they see fit— we must not condemn them, and we must not feel superior. We too are trapped in a kind of materialism that is more subtle and just as deadly.

So on one side we have materialism— the search for meaning in more— and on the other side we have reverse materialism— the search for meaning in less. Where is the middle ground? How can we view materials in a healthy way, one that does not idolize or condemn? That’s a blog for tomorrow.

~Lisa Shafter

Christmas and Consumerism, Part One: Materialism

I have posted about this subject before, but it’s been on my mind the past several weeks, so I thought it was worth bringing up again. I work a Christmas job in which I spend my weekends talking to lots of families, especially children, and so I get an interesting sampling of the way people act and think around Christmastime.

At my job, the doors of our cast area/dressing rooms are with hung with children’s Christmas lists that we’ve received this year. Some are scrawled in pencil, but most of them are cut-out ads pasted on paper with a line or two of writing. The notes are generally polite— “Dear Santa, here is what I want, please!” “Are your elves healthy?” “What kind of milk do you like best?” Heartwarming? Absolutely. 

However, when I move beyond the polite words, I find the lists quite depressing. A child who writes in half-inch letters asked for a digital camera and six different video games, each one more expensive than the one before. More than one kid included a laundry list of over ten costly things that he or she wanted, all of them name-brands. The trend continues when I talk to the children in person. A boy on Santa’s lap asked for everything on the front page of a Toys R Us catalog. Tiny children continue to ask for Wii systems and MP3 players. When I asked what a 13-year old what she wanted for Christmas, she replied, “An iPad,” and her mother didn’t even flinch. 

Do I blame the kids for being greedy? Not exactly. The human heart is greedy from the start, but it’s clear that these kids are being fed consumerism. As usual, the children are a smaller and more dramatic version of the problems that plague adults.

Despite the warm fuzzies we all get when we watch A Charlie Brown Christmas, most people have fallen prey to the social pressure of a search for what makes you happy. Material things can’t give us joy, of course— everybody knows that. And so the Christmastime culture has invented a less threatening alternative: If you love your children/friends/family/coworkers/dog, you’ll get them everything they need to make them happy. This of course leads to, If you care about yourself, you’ll get yourself everything you need to make yourself happy.

This of course begs the question: what is it that we want? (Obviously it’s not a need, but a desire.) The thing that strikes me most about people is we all want to be accepted. This translates into, we want to wear what is acceptable, and buy what is acceptable, and act in a way that is acceptable. It’s no coincidence that nearly half of the little girls I’ve seen at my job this year have a small braid and/or feathers in their hair, and every third person I see is wearing a tasseled hat with an animal face on top. A trend occurs, and everybody follows. The children’s wish lists are eerily similar— what could inspire every single one to ask for a pillow pet or an American Girl doll? (And why did half the women last year wear that odd pseudo-Escher-black-and-white-checkered pattern on their coats?) 

The culture dictates what is acceptable. People choose the easiest, the fastest, and the cheapest. Flashier is better; name-brand is better; more is better. Christmas shoppers feel stressed about finding the right present, pressured by the constant push of the retailers, the advertisements, their own traditions, their family’s expectations, and cultural brainwashing. People are indoctrinated in the constant search for more.

What is the solution to resisting this stampede of misled ideology? The answer, of course, is just taking a moment to think. At my job one day, I asked a little girl, “What do you want for Christmas?” She thought earnestly for a few seconds, and then replied with a thoughtful expression, “I’ll like whatever Santa wants to get me.” It was a breath of peace in a madhouse of wants and wishes. 

We must step back for a moment and consider— am I enjoying gift-giving (or anything else) for what it is, or because I am required to do so? Do I want something because I will truly enjoy it (but will be content without it), or am I being greedy? The antidote to greed is, of course, contentment. However, this contentment is not limited to what we have, but to what we do. If that means giving only one present to each person for Christmas this year, then we must be content in our decision to do so. We must all take a deep breath, remember that neither greedy getting nor stressful giving can grant us peace, and then relax.

~Lisa Shafter

Time to Say Goodbye

Tonight I am half-asleep, suspended in a place where it’s too early to go to bed. My brain threatens to blow a circuit if I explain essay structure to one more student, and my adrenal glands angrily inform me that eating one salad and one apple does not negate the effects of consuming half a cheesecake over the course of the day. I feel dull and awake, treading water in a stagnant, overly-metaphorical pond of consciousness.

My friend returned to Portland Oregon today. He should be there within a couple hours if his flight is on time. Melancholy is the algae on the pond of my mind, covering everything with scum, but only surface-deep. I’m grateful for the time my friend and I had together, and I’m glad that he will be reunited with his family. Still, a large part of me wishes that I could have folded myself up into a neat carry-on case and sneaked aboard with him. In the fog of my present state— the muscle pain in my shoulders, my dry eyes, my sluggish mind— the memory of our goodbye is sharp as glass. This afternoon was gray and wet, and our breath smoked in the air even though it wasn’t that cold. The outside of the airport echoed with the murmur of crowds and the unintelligible announcements over the loudspeakers. Onlookers watched our goodbye unabashedly, with compassion. I caught a last glimpse of him through the sliding glass doors, and then he was gone.

This afternoon, I helped decorate our Christmas tree, hanging the bulbs in the order we’ve been hanging bulbs as long as I can remember. Joan Baez’s Noël played in the background as I decided whether to put the silver ornament next to the red or the blue bulb. Lost in the moment, my mind sparkled with the smooth glass in the multicolored lights. For a few more weeks, at any rate, my life is here. Then I’ll pick up my memories, dust them off, toss them in a backpack, and hit the road again.

~Lisa Shafter