I still vividly remember being 14 years old and thinking that I would never be old enough to buy my own booze. Half the friends I had were no good and probably still aren't, and my decision making was highly questionable. I thought then that I was as adult as I was ever going to get, but I made it through adolescence and have arrived here intact, an actual grown-up. Sort of. So now, when I look at age 50 or 75 and feel like I have a world of time between now and then, I have to remember... I don't.
The other day, while musing about how cool it would be to set up a fish wheel in the river near wherever we end up, and without realizing he was bringing up such a deeply existential question, Josh asked me where I pictured myself when it was time to retire. It occurred to me suddenly that while I do have a very clear picture, that's... really all I've got.
It looks like somewhere deep in the forests of the Pacific Northwest. Trees so old and so huge, their very presence makes you aware of how small you are on this planet, let alone in this universe. Everything around it is mossy, grassy, green and lush, with a smattering of wildflowers. There is wind rustling the pine needles and the wood chimes hanging from the eaves, and birds singing. There are no cars, sirens or other people's voices. There are probably a couple of dogs minding their own business while I work in the little greenhouse next to a relatively small cabin. Golden retrievers. Or maybe Rottweilers. I can see the river (or the ocean) about a dozen yards from the rocking chairs on my wrap-around porch, and on lazy days I can take a fishing pole down to the little dock and drop a line in the water for my dinner. Within a 3 mile radius is everything my body needs to survive. Within a 50 mile radius, there is a big city, full of friends, live music, cool bars and great restaurants... but my little spot is all by itself. No neighbors to see me if I damn well feel like parking my naked butt in the yard to write a letter or read a book.
But that's not really an answer to the overall question he was asking me. It's just a picture. Where is this place? How do I make it mine? How do I get all the supplies needed to build it out to wherever it is? What does it cost? How do I pay for it? What is the chain of events in my life that leads me there? I can't just up and drive out of North Carolina to wherever this little sanctuary exists and set up shop. So basically... I don't have an answer. I never really have. The fact that 14 years old has turned into 30 years old so fucking fast makes it pretty clear that I had better come up with some of these answers pretty soon.
Otherwise I don't feel much different. There were no new gray hairs on my head this morning, no new lines of my face, no crushing feeling of being old or surprise urges to get hitched, have babies, or settle into any kind of normal routine. Only a clear sense of just how much life I've been fortunate enough to live in the year since I left Alaska, and how much I've learned that I would never have known had I not run off into the unknown.
I've lived in 6 different states and visited a few others. I lived in a little farm cottage on a big piece of land in rural Pennsylvania complete with a donkey, goat and a horse for company. I lived in what looked like a beautiful apartment in Alabama until we moved in and discovered the cockroaches (my worst fear) had claimed the place before us. We bought our now home; a 15,000 pound, 41 foot 5th wheel trailer that we tow behind our 8,600 pound king cab dualy Dodge 3500. We've put almost 5,000 miles on it in the last 8 months, from northern Virginia to Wilmington to Albuquerque to Austin to Jacksonville. We are 3 feet shorter than a Semi all-together and damn near as heavy. It's awesome. When we get tired, we pull into a rest stop and our house is right there. My shower, my kitchen, my bed.
Since leaving, I've visited the spot where the very first colony in America settled in the 1500's, on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We went to the Wright Brothers Museum and saw an exact replica of the very first airplane ever flown. I went to Independence Hall in Philadelphia where the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776, and then hit a concert and partied downtown until the wee hours. I spent two months in Austin, Texas, with a sunny little spirit I'd barely known before arriving but who I now count as one of my dearest and most unique friends. I got to visit my family's farm and my dad's parents, neither of which I'd seen in over 15 years. I climbed Enchanted Rock and hiked around Hamilton Pool. We drove forever up a steep cliffside to the hidden hot springs 3 hours outside of Albuquerque and watched the sunset turn the opposite rock face into pinks and oranges. Josh and I hiked all over Tent Rocks National Monument. We bought a Harley and I fucking love it. I caught a shark! I got to spend 8 days hanging out at practice at one of the very best fight gyms in the world; Jackson's MMA. I talked to 'the Natural Born Killer' Carlos Condit. I shook his hand. He smiled at me. Still haven't gotten over that one. I've been to the two biggest fights of Lauren's career, in Houston, Texas and Kansas City, Missouri, and in the process I landed my dream job writing for Fightland and the coolest editor I could have hoped for.
I own less than 4 boxes worth of material things. I've become an even better cook, with even less space or resources. I have no dishwasher or washing machine. I can pack up everything we own, strap the rest of it down, and be ready to bail out of any location for any reason in about 30 minutes. Hurricane coming? Gone. Running from the cops? Out of here in a flash. None of our license plates are registered to addresses at which we actually live now or ever will again (don't rat on me). I have learned to shoot a gun, and almost love them. I re-caulked my own shower. I alter my own clothes. I learned how to make friends with strangers without having an anxiety attack while doing it. I can fully pack for any excursion; plane, bike, international travel, you name it, in less than 20 minutes.
I've been through dozens of towns that all look exactly the same. Mom and Pop shops across the country have given way to the same 10 chain stores and restaurants. If there's a highway running through it, there will be a Walmart, a McDonalds, a few gas stations and hotels and very little by way of actual character. The best food I've had anywhere is still in Anchorage. I had no idea we had it so good at home as far as restaurants go. The best people, music and bars we of course in Austin. In fact, I pretty much knew this before I lived there for a while, but Austin is easily one of the best cities in America by a landslide. Albuquerque was gritty, Lebanon, PA was humble, Anniston, AL is the fucking armpit of the entire country (thanks Monsanto), Wilmington, NC is bad ass, and it's one of the oldest port cities in the country, Kansas City is full of friendly people (and trannys), and I still love Detroit.
This life isn't all roses, of course. I miss my family so much. I am still prone to random snippets of tears on days like today when I remember that a year ago I was standing around a fire surrounded by people who love me, because Jen always throws the best parties. I've met so many cool people that have made this excursion lack loneliness, thankfully, but we all know new friends just aren't the same as best friends. I miss the mountains painfully. Which is why I'll be taking a two week trip home in June for Summer Solstice, Primus, some fishing and some long overdue time with the people I love.
Til next time, friends.
Otherwise I don't feel much different. There were no new gray hairs on my head this morning, no new lines of my face, no crushing feeling of being old or surprise urges to get hitched, have babies, or settle into any kind of normal routine. Only a clear sense of just how much life I've been fortunate enough to live in the year since I left Alaska, and how much I've learned that I would never have known had I not run off into the unknown.
I've lived in 6 different states and visited a few others. I lived in a little farm cottage on a big piece of land in rural Pennsylvania complete with a donkey, goat and a horse for company. I lived in what looked like a beautiful apartment in Alabama until we moved in and discovered the cockroaches (my worst fear) had claimed the place before us. We bought our now home; a 15,000 pound, 41 foot 5th wheel trailer that we tow behind our 8,600 pound king cab dualy Dodge 3500. We've put almost 5,000 miles on it in the last 8 months, from northern Virginia to Wilmington to Albuquerque to Austin to Jacksonville. We are 3 feet shorter than a Semi all-together and damn near as heavy. It's awesome. When we get tired, we pull into a rest stop and our house is right there. My shower, my kitchen, my bed.
Since leaving, I've visited the spot where the very first colony in America settled in the 1500's, on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. We went to the Wright Brothers Museum and saw an exact replica of the very first airplane ever flown. I went to Independence Hall in Philadelphia where the Declaration of Independence was signed in 1776, and then hit a concert and partied downtown until the wee hours. I spent two months in Austin, Texas, with a sunny little spirit I'd barely known before arriving but who I now count as one of my dearest and most unique friends. I got to visit my family's farm and my dad's parents, neither of which I'd seen in over 15 years. I climbed Enchanted Rock and hiked around Hamilton Pool. We drove forever up a steep cliffside to the hidden hot springs 3 hours outside of Albuquerque and watched the sunset turn the opposite rock face into pinks and oranges. Josh and I hiked all over Tent Rocks National Monument. We bought a Harley and I fucking love it. I caught a shark! I got to spend 8 days hanging out at practice at one of the very best fight gyms in the world; Jackson's MMA. I talked to 'the Natural Born Killer' Carlos Condit. I shook his hand. He smiled at me. Still haven't gotten over that one. I've been to the two biggest fights of Lauren's career, in Houston, Texas and Kansas City, Missouri, and in the process I landed my dream job writing for Fightland and the coolest editor I could have hoped for.
I own less than 4 boxes worth of material things. I've become an even better cook, with even less space or resources. I have no dishwasher or washing machine. I can pack up everything we own, strap the rest of it down, and be ready to bail out of any location for any reason in about 30 minutes. Hurricane coming? Gone. Running from the cops? Out of here in a flash. None of our license plates are registered to addresses at which we actually live now or ever will again (don't rat on me). I have learned to shoot a gun, and almost love them. I re-caulked my own shower. I alter my own clothes. I learned how to make friends with strangers without having an anxiety attack while doing it. I can fully pack for any excursion; plane, bike, international travel, you name it, in less than 20 minutes.
I've been through dozens of towns that all look exactly the same. Mom and Pop shops across the country have given way to the same 10 chain stores and restaurants. If there's a highway running through it, there will be a Walmart, a McDonalds, a few gas stations and hotels and very little by way of actual character. The best food I've had anywhere is still in Anchorage. I had no idea we had it so good at home as far as restaurants go. The best people, music and bars we of course in Austin. In fact, I pretty much knew this before I lived there for a while, but Austin is easily one of the best cities in America by a landslide. Albuquerque was gritty, Lebanon, PA was humble, Anniston, AL is the fucking armpit of the entire country (thanks Monsanto), Wilmington, NC is bad ass, and it's one of the oldest port cities in the country, Kansas City is full of friendly people (and trannys), and I still love Detroit.
This life isn't all roses, of course. I miss my family so much. I am still prone to random snippets of tears on days like today when I remember that a year ago I was standing around a fire surrounded by people who love me, because Jen always throws the best parties. I've met so many cool people that have made this excursion lack loneliness, thankfully, but we all know new friends just aren't the same as best friends. I miss the mountains painfully. Which is why I'll be taking a two week trip home in June for Summer Solstice, Primus, some fishing and some long overdue time with the people I love.
Til next time, friends.
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