California, Through Reborn Eyes

It has almost been two years since I last visited southern California, but when I stepped from the connecting hallway from the airplane into the airport, I pulled in a deep breath, and Mary and I both exclaimed, “It smells like San Diego!” Their airport is imbued with the smell of fresh pastries, an aroma that tripped a wire in my head and spilled out memories. From the (long and roundabout) walk from the airport to the hostel, I kept on remarking on every tree, bush, stoplight, and fast food restaurant I remembered from last time. Just as I remembered, that Jack-in-the-Box where we ate that one time! Oh, and I remember those kinds of trees! And this pavilion in this park!

Most of all, I remembered the kind of yellow wildflower that first inspired me to lift my depressed head out of the mud and look toward God. When I saw the slope covered in them, casual as dandelions, I felt a blaze of joy. By His grace I’m stronger, and more content, and slowly regaining everything that I thought I had lost two years ago. By His grace, I’ve already enjoyed my trip much more than I ever thought possible two years ago.

Today has been delight— in cloud-shadows on the desert, in snowy mountains seen from the plane, in conversations with strangers, in walks with my sister, in eating supper at a colorful burger joint, in making my bed at the hostel, and in travel plans working out. Today has been a day of goodness. I can’t wait for the rest of the trip.

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Packing Light

There’s never enough time for me to finish everything I want to finish before a trip. However, this time, I’ve been happy that packing has gone smoothly. I have just a few more items to add, and then I’ll be done.

Many people have wondered how I fit all my necessities for multiple months into this:

To sate your curiosity and give you some hints on packing yourself, here is my complete packing list. Hope it helps.

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Quart-sized ziplock (for carrying liquids 3 ounces or less per TSA guidelines)

Deodorant

Shampoo (doubles as laundry detergent)

Coconut oil (functions as both lotion and hair conditioner) 

Toothpaste

First aid kit (Band-Aids, gauze, tweezers)

Toenail clippers (also for fingernails)

Floss

Disposable razor 

Makeup (only eye shadow and lip balm)

A bottle of PMS pills and Ibuprofen

Chapstick

Brush

Comb

Shoelaces (I’m paranoid about not having shoelaces when I need them)

Orthodontic retainer

Toothbrush

Feminine products

Sunblock (essential if you’re as fair-skinned as I am)

Tissue (emergency toilet paper!)

Trash bags (good for holding stinky clothes)

Ziplock bags (useful in many different ways)

Trail mix (I like almonds)

Spoon/Fork/Knife (plastic to be lightweight, but I wash and reuse them)

Metal water bottle

Cell phone, flash drive, iPod, laptop, headphones, camera, and all the batteries, cables and chargers used to power them (Heavy, but useful)

Mini flashlight (useful for rummaging through your bag at hostels after lights out)

Portable Bible (maintaining my faith is important on the road)

Paperback books (I like to bring a new one, an old favorite, and one that I hope will blow my mind)

Travel journal (like a diary, but full of tickets, postcards, bus schedules, and travel brochures)

Backpack

Foldable tote bag

Fanny pack (Yes, it’s dorky. But it’s also handy since girl pants have tiny pockets!)

Laundry bag (I can throw all my clothes in it and leave it at the hostel to lighten my pack for a day trip)

Large lock (for the lockers at hostels)

Luggage lock (a little TSA-approved one)

Money belt (for keeping my debit card, ID and passport safe beneath my clothing)

Compass/whistle (a handy little gadget to wear when trying to navigate or when trying to draw attention to yourself because that creepy guy is too close for comfort)

Pens and mechanical pencils

A baggies containing a large needle, a spool of thread, tape, safety pins, stamps, and envelopes (all of which have come in handy at some point)

Umbrella (useful for protection against both rain and sunshine)

Money, ID, debit card, a couple personal checks, insurance card, Hostelling International membership card

Back wrap (This takes up quite a lot of room, but I have a bad back)

1 pair tennis shoes

Slightly more dressy shoes (which can still be worn as tennis shoes, though not as comfortably)

Flip-flops (handy for tide-pool exploring, chilling in the sun, and avoiding nasty shower floors)

Sarong (possibly the most useful thing I ever take on a trip— functions as skirt, dress, beach wrap, warm scarf, beach towel, regular towel, picnic blanket, sheet, head covering, bag, privacy hanging and so much more)

Tank top (doubles as an undershirt)

1 long sleeved shirt 

Sweater 

1 short-sleeved shirt 

3 pairs socks, 4 pairs underwear (Seriously, this is all you need. If you do your laundry every day, you can get away with so much)

2 bras (I like sports bras because they fold down smaller and double as undershirts and swimsuit tops)

1 t-shirt

2 pairs jeans (If I had the money, I’d buy much lighter polyester-blend cargo pants instead. But hey, I found jeans that fit me at Goodwill.)

1 pair full-length leggings 

Rain-resistant jacket

Shorts (double as swimsuit bottom)

Warm hat (if the weather warrants it)

Crusher hat (I prefer this over a ball cap because it covers my ears)

Bandanas (another awesome multipurpose item: napkin, hankie, small sack, washcloth, head covering, scarf, etc.)

Belt

Hairbands 

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Party Without the Booze

Last night, I threw myself and my sister a party. When freezing rain began to patter down, I didn’t know who would show up, but to my happy surprise, a good amount came over, and thus followed an evening typical of our wild-and-crazy parties: tons of yummy food (potluck style), animated conversation, word games, loud singing, and copious amounts of pictures with people looking drunk. All this occurs without the aid of alcohol or any sort of drug— the hardest drink anyone took was A&W Root Beer. Most of the guests went home, but almost half a dozen people simply crashed on the living room floor after I gave them a pile of pillows and blankets. There were no hangovers this morning.

From time to time, I hear people talking about drinking, and it makes me sad that it’s the only way most people can loosen up and have a good time. I don’t need any booze to help me enjoy myself; in fact, when I was volunteering at the hostel in Florida, my friends kept on checking to make sure I wasn’t sneaking the happy-water. I don’t have any moral objections to drinking, but when someone has to rely on a crutch in order to have a good time, something is out of perspective.

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Locks of Love

Today, I had my first professional haircut. Yes, it’s true: I’ve relied on my dear mother (and lately, sister) to trim my hair whenever it was getting too unruly. I decided one day that I wanted a professional haircut. But, of course, I didn’t want to pay for one— think of what I could do with all that money I’d waste on hair! That’s when I learned that a lot of salons will give you a free haircut if you donate your hair to Locks of Love. Thus, I determined that I was going to grow out my hair and get my first professional cut at the same time.

That was three years ago. Yes, I have waited three years so that I could donate a full twelve inches and still have enough hair to put into a ponytail. Finally, today, I was ready.

The women at Fantastic Sam’s were nice, and the stylist, Christy, spent longer than I expected trimming my hair up so it would look just right. I looked at the four ponytails she snipped from my locks: they looked thin and a little scraggly, but I hoped the people at Locks of Love could find a use for them anyway. After I bid Christy goodbye and left, I tried to tie my hair back in a ponytail and laughed that I had already forgotten there is only a tiny poof of hair when I bind it up.

I’ll miss my long “hippie hair,” I love the sensation of swishing my hair around when I swing my head side to side. However, mostly I’m excited about how much easier it will be to take care of when I hit the road in five days!

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Meditation on a Single Jellyfish

On Wanting and Doing

"Either you want to write or you don’t, and thinking that you want to write really doesn’t mean anything. There are lots of things I think I’d like to do, and yet if I don’t actually make the time and effort to do them, they don’t get done." ~John Scalzi

A good deal of my life has been spent listening to people ramble about the stories that they’re going to write. Are they interesting? Definitely. Could they be wonderful, engaging novels and plays? Of course. However, I often find myself getting impatient when I listen to them expound on all the cool and amazing things they’ll write. Very few of these people have ever actually written more than a few pages.

Although it’s fine to have pipe dreams, I get annoyed when people say that they want to do something, and then take not a single step toward actually doing it. In general, I’m very self-motivated and practical, but I too have slipped into the deadly trap of the word “can’t.” 

A life-changing moment occurred on my Epic Trip Out West. I was talking to my second cousin about how my mom wrote several books because she had researched the market and figured out what kind of book would sell well. As a creative, my mind doesn’t work that way. “I just can’t do that,” I said, shaking my head.

“No,” my second cousin said bluntly. “You just won’t.”

His comment hit me like a slap in the face (I believe my response was “Ouch”). If I really wanted to, I could become a successful freelance author. Nothing was holding me back. However, that was the moment I realized that, at this point in my life, being a successful freelancer is not my desire. No, I want to travel.

It was the first time that it occurred to me that I was not, in fact, career-oriented. And if I wanted to keep traveling, I would have to make my writing talent serve that greater passion, rather than the other way around. Fortunately, travel and writing coincide beautifully, so I’m able to sustain both passions, each one inspiring the other. It made me happy to realize that I’m not trying to be a full-time freelancer— I’m choosing to be a travel writer instead. By focusing on what I can do rather than what I wouldn’t, I freed myself and opened my world.

Too many people are stuck, as I was, in denial about the true nature of the “can't.” The number one excuse for not writing a novel is, “I can't do it; I just don’t have enough time.” This is a lie the person tells himself so he doesn’t have to hold himself responsible. It’s not that he doesn’t have time; he won’t make time. People often have this idea that things happen magically. They don’t. They happen when you realize that you truly want something, and actually do something about it.

Right now, I want to go to Europe. So I’m looking into travel insurance, reading about travel tips and stories, checking plane tickets online, working out timetables, brainstorming Europe-related article ideas, looking for phrasebooks, and trying to get myself as fit as possible. It’s a lot of hard work, but I’m working through the logistics of my trip in a tangible way. It’s not a sure thing, but I’m going to try as hard as I can to make it happen. If you have no concrete steps to accomplish your goal, it’s probably not a goal.

“I wish I could draw.” Pick up a pencil and draw.

“I wish I could take a trip.” Get out a book about budget travel and join an online travel community.

“I wish I had more friends.” Call up some acquaintances and invite them over to bake cookies or play a board game.

“I wish I was in better shape.” Find a buddy who thinks the same thing and commit to exercising together and eating healthier.

“I wish I could write a novel.” Then do it. It’s time-consuming, but if you enjoy it, it’s not that hard.

In anything you want to do, find the first step, and take it. Stop wishing, and start doing.

~~~

On the Sensitive Issue of Weight

I used to tell people, when I was trying to lose weight, “I’m trying to lose weight.” After after eighty million variations on the responses, “I hate you,” “You’re too skinny,” “You have a wonderful body!” and “Are you anorexic?” I stopped using those words. As many times as I tried to explain that I’m not too skinny (I’m on the high end of healthy weight for my height and bone structure), I have no self-image problems about my appearance (I’m rather fond of my long-limbed body), and I like food way too much to ever have an eating problem, people of all shapes and sizes vehemently shoot down the idea that a girl of my size should ever have to think about losing weight.

Weight and fatness are right up there with religious exclusivity as taboo subjects in today’s culture. A few people have spoken out about the beauty of a large girth, that a woman can be attractive at any size or shape. The hipless boy-bodied models on the magazines claim otherwise. I think women especially think of weight in terms of attractiveness: skinny = pretty, fat = ugly. So when I utter the forbidden words, “I’m trying to lose weight,” the women around me interpret that to mean, “I’m trying to become more attractive.” Thus the flurry of jealousy, concern, and assurances that I’m beautiful just the way I am. Women heavier than me see it as an indictment on the way they look. Women skinnier than me see it as a competition. But although I’d like to see my pudgy belly go away, for me losing weight is not at all about how I look.

That’s why I changed the way I phrased it. When I’m trying to lose weight, I say, “I’m trying to get in better shape.” This is much less threatening to everyone, and it’s also a more accurate description of what I hope to accomplish by losing weight. I’ve put on about fifteen pounds over the past several months. It’s not very noticeable because I’m so tall, but I feel it every time I walk. Carrying an extra fifteen pounds takes a toll after a while. I get out of breath easily. That’s fine when I’m talking a short two-miler with my mother, but what happens when I’m lugging a thirty-pound backpack up a mountain in Oregon? Every pound counts, whether I’m carrying it on my back or in my belly. I don’t care what size or shape my friends are, as long as they have the energy and means to live life to the fullest. In my case, it means being strong and lean enough to hike twenty miles in a day. When I can’t do that, I haven’t reached my full potential.

So if I slip up sometime and say, “I’m trying to lose weight,” please forgive these highly offensive words. What I really mean is, “I want to enjoy life as fully as I can.”

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A Surprising Thought That Should Not Be Surprising

Today, I realized that different people have different starting points for their personalities. It’s not always a varying point of the same view: sometime it’s a completely different view. Not everyone has a slightly different angle on the way I think. In short, some people are not like me.

For some reason, this came as quite a shock.

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Back from Carolina

The last few days have been a whirlwind of final goodbyes to the beach, Carolina pines, antebellum towns, gleaming Atlanta buildings, Tennessee hills, and miles upon miles of highway rolling beneath our wheels. The last day on the beach was sunny, the water sparkling and frothing with foamy chemicals washed up by the rainstorm the night before. We walked along the shore, watched the morning take shape, and finally splashed into the surprisingly tepid water for a while. Then we were off on the road home.

We drove relatively short spurts every day, taking leisurely meals at Chick-fil-A and Subway, playing word games for hours, and following a detour so we could jump out of the car just across a state line and yell, “We’re in Alabama!” Yesterday we stopped to visit some cousins, Emily and Rachel, who I hadn’t seen in at least fifteen years. As with the other family I’ve re-met over the past year, we got along easily. I played with their kids (and the amazing toys), ate a yummy supper Emily made us, and stayed up late with an intense game of Scattergories. This morning, Emily sent Mary and me on our way with a massive bag full of clothes to try on. 

Although I’ve enjoyed this trip immensely, I felt the tug to be back home. It hardly feels like we’ve been gone— it’s been a year and a half since I’ve taken a trip of this length, so it flew by. However, I know that I’ll be heading right back out in ten days, and for much longer (in fact, I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone on my trip to California and Oregon). I want to spend time with my parents and friends and brothers before my sister and I take to the air toward the west coast. The drive today felt long even though it was only about seven hours. I listened to a lot of music and looked at the atlas to see where we were. Midwest landscape flew by. The sunset glowed over snowy cornfields and through the black silhouettes of trees, framed by the branches like a stained-glass window. At last we pulled up to my driveway, where I saw Christmas tree lights blinking in the living room. We all piled out of the van and spent the next few hours swapping stories and showing off shells. I’m tired in the way that makes me want to snuggle down into my own bed and savor the feeling of sinking into sleep.

It was a very good trip.

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Tourists in New Bern

Yesterday, we took advantage of the quickly-clearing weather to take a day trip to New Bern, a place that we visited a lot when I was a kid because my grandparents lived there. We still have relatives in town, and we met with my aunt and uncle at Smithfield’s and caught up over heaps of Eastern Carolina barbecue, hush puppies, baked beans and fries.

Perched at the confluence of the Neuse and Trent rivers, New Bern was settled by Swiss and Germans in 1710. Today, it’s a historic area with a pretty downtown area marked by churches, tasteful tourist shops, blossoming trees and southern mansions. We parked the car near the square and walked around, past stores selling teddy bears, home furnishings, seashells and pilates lessons. Old holiday decorations lingered in the windows, including an elaborate mural featuring excerpts of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. Our first destination was the waterfront of the Neuse River, which looks more like a bay from its still waters and seashells we could see through the clear water. We wandered along a walking path next to a yatch harbor, then emerged at Union Point Park and strolled by the water, solid blue under the sky.

As Mary and Ryan watched the dozens of birds bobbing on the water and fluttering through the air— herring gulls, mallards, coots, and hoards of pigeons— Mary said, “I wish we had some bread.” A minute later she glanced over the boardwalk and saw a loaf of stale bread floating by the shore. We all said she should have wished for a million bucks instead. C’est la vie. At any rate, the magical bread provided a lot of entertainment for all of us. 

No trip to New Bern would be complete without a visit to the birthplace of Pepsi-Cola. I don’t usually drink soda, so I just sat with the others in the café area and watched a documentary of Pepsi’s history, beginning in 1898 with the tagline “Pepsi-Cola: Delicious. Healthful.” We chatted with the help for a while, and they recommended us to the perfect place for dessert: the Cow Café. The ice cream was all homemade, with bovine-themed flavors such as “Cowpachinno” and “Almoond Joy.” I bought a double-decker cone of chocolate “Gooey Cowphooey” and “Peanut Udder Cup.” Anyone who’s ever worked on a dairy farm would gag at the thought, but I, a city kid who has never milked a cow, ate the ice cream with abandon. The guy at the counter gave us heaping servings, too. We tipped him well.

A search for the post office led us to another part of the waterfront, where a wetlands restoration project was in effect. We strolled across the boardwalk and watched a flock of coots dabbling around nearby as the sky took on pre-sunset colors. It was a relaxing afternoon of tourism, and I went to bed content with where I was and how the day had gone. 

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