Busy Doing Something Close to Nothing

"Good call, dad."

Micrommunity

Sitting in a small-town coffee shop reading my book and enjoying a coffee cake. No frills, but clean and bright and surprisingly spacious. A group a dozen or so older ladies is gathered around a table engaging in lively and friendly conversation…well, conversations. A wonderful group of friends perfectly comfortable and happy to spend time with one another and discussing anything and everything that comes to mind. They’re a community unto themselves and a microcosm of small-town life. Even a fly on the wall, I feel both relaxed and energized by their presence, which seems to emanate “welcome.”

The Curse of Routine

I’m feeling the need to have some prolonged solo time. I love having access to my parents and the natural beauty of my childhood home, but I’m finding myself mired into an adopted routine that best matches the routine of my parents. The best way to break from that routine might be a change of scenery and some dedicated alone time. Then again, I might find myself distracted by the lack of regular social interaction. Only one way to find out.

Bismark Park

Bismark, ND. I’ve never spent any time in North Dakota as an adult, so I decided to spend a night here on my return from Minnesota. I’m enjoying a hot chocolate at a little coffee shop (Terra Nomad) while I reflect on my recent visit with friends and contemplate what I want for my future—and how that has been shaped by my past.

My friend “Joseph” and I had a chance to have some great conversations late into the night during my visit and I’m once again confronted with the feeling of longing for infinite free time to spend with my people.

I’ll occasionally buy a lottery ticket—it is more for the exercise of hope for unrestricted potential. A blank slate for daydream imagination combined with a problem-solving panacea.

Minnesota is beautiful and green. Most of the little towns hit a lot of my dream-home buttons: sparse populations; tight and bustling communities; quality local shops, bakeries, and delis; well-maintained and cared for public spaces; beautiful old architecture; virtues of hard work, respect, honesty, and balance all clear and effortless. If there were mountains and milder summers (with fewer bugs), I’d become a resident tomorrow.

Is it possible to replicate the success of these dream conditions elsewhere? I kind of think it is. When I visited Germany and Slovenia, I got a similar impression (though it was admittedly a brief sample). Both of those visits included mountains, so what’s keeping me from moving there? If money were no object, I might be compelled to test out such a move, but ultimately the truly lacking variable would be my friends and family. At the end of the day, I need my people.

*Does that mean I should try to make my people (i.e. marriage and children)?

**Should I try to transplant my people to the same location?

***Should I find a way to be happy with limited access to my people?

Nothing's Gonna Hurt You Baby

It’s pretty easy to get discouraged about the state of the world and the apparent path we’re taking: political division…violence…extreme environmental effects…cynicism…depression…youth in revolt…and no apparent end in sight. We’re blessed to be in a time of unprecedented access to information, yet cursed with convenience without toil. Much of the world struggles to identify fundamental truth in morality or even understand the value of connection to one another. My analytical mind begins to spin with growing momentum with so many troubles without firm solutions and while I’m fully aware that the most productive activity is just to let go and enjoy peace and quiet, I feel like I need to find answers to these troubling questions. That’s my responsibility…isn’t it?

What if it isn’t?

What if my real responsibility is to exercise patience and chip off moments of understanding as I go?

What if that sense of security and protection I once enjoyed as a child without responsibility is still possible—as long as I can recognize where bedrock lies? There’s strength hidden within freedom…when you can choose how much a thing can hurt you…rather, you can choose to feel something stronger than hurt.

Trouble Closing the Door

After not hearing from Emma for a few days, she finally responded that she didn’t feel there was sufficient chemistry between us and she wished me luck for the future. We had had barely three dates in the course of eight months, so there was plenty we didn’t know about each other. She was also moving thousands of miles away and any continued courtship seemed unlikely. Realistically, the fact that she didn’t feel a spark should have been as good a reason as any to call things off.

Unfortunately, my heart didn’t agree.

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that my imagination has a tendency to run away with itself, particularly when it comes to romance. I’m prone to “imaginary girlfriends” or proximity infatuations as mental exercises and daydreams. Too often I’ll create an image of a girl in my imagination that requires very little in the way of anecdotal support. These exercises are distractions and don’t survive much longer than the few moments I’m daydreaming.

When it comes to an actual relationship, I do a pretty decent job of checking my romantic brain at the door and actually discovering more about the real woman. I try not to assign any extra significance beyond what she provides and I try to let things evolve naturally. Most of the time, the results are similar to what Emma described and in the vast majority of cases, the lack of “spark” recognition is mutual. In this case, despite my best efforts, I felt myself imagining the future with Emma. I still tried to take things slow so as to avoid getting too far ahead of myself. In retrospect, my applying brakes to keep a slower pace may have resulted in my sapping the romantic “spark” from our interactions, leaving Emma with the impression of a platonic interest. 

If it’s true that my actions created a false impression, does that change anything? Doesn’t the fact that I was able to feel something that Emma was not evidence that even the fledgling relationship was doomed to imbalance? Should I still strive for a relationship of (close to) even pacing and balance? The fact that we were platonically compatible would definitely be a positive sign in a romantic relationship, but being friends does not necessarily translate into being lovers. The last thing that I want is to fall in love with someone who does not love me in return.

It’s possible that this was just another temporary detour as I continue the search for…whatever I’m meant to find. It definitely felt different from the rest.

Coffee Date

I went to visit Emma in Wyoming. She was in the area on a road trip east and we had a chance to reconnect. It got me thinking about the nature of our decisions in life—specifically our motivations for difficult choices. I tend to be pragmatic much of the time, but the real motivations seem to be self-preservation in the form of risk aversion and a measured dose of romance as a means of embracing freedom. Freedom. That is a concept that seems to be stitched into my soul. I find myself valuing freedom above most things…part of my risk aversion is to keep from excluding other possibilities. Do I value freedom because it allows for infinite possibility and hope or do I value possibility and hope because they are expressions of freedom?

Tough Mother

Visited my friend “Trevor” in Kalispell today. Trevor suffered two strokes just before this past Christmas and he is working on his physical therapy and recovery. He’s 35 years old.

When I first met up with Trevor, he was standing on his porch and I couldn’t tell if anything was different. After he started walking down the stairs, the mobility struggles became apparent with his left foot dragging and the stilted cadence of his gait. We went for a hike and he answered a lot of the questions I had on the way. I learned that he had two rare forms of stroke simultaneously that should have left him unable to speak or walk—making the progress he’d already made that much more remarkable. He still struggles with recall (though I didn’t personally witness any gaps) and his kinesthetic awareness for his left limbs. His vision is also impaired, but he has already seen improvement there, prior to any lens correction.

He was angry and frustrated with what he viewed as slow progress, but he also demonstrated his personal fortitude by predicting a full recovery. I mentioned that patience has never been his strong suit (a sentiment to which he claimed resentment, but also grudgingly admitted as accurate).

I felt much better about his condition and prospects after that one visit—he’s strong and determined and he has great support from his family and their local community. I’m looking forward to my next visit and witnessing the new progress he’ll undoubtedly make.

Through an Open Door

While visiting my brother, I received a text message from Emma informing me that she was moving to Wyoming and that it would be cool if we could meet up sometime. I was pretty stoked to hear from her, since I’d always felt like we had missed out on the chance to get to know each other due to poor timing, but I’m also trying to keep realistic expectations. I don’t know what I’ll be doing in the future and it sounds like her plans are equally uncertain, but it still seems like we should meet up to see if there’s any potential. She’s going to be pretty busy working on a horse ranch, but I’m sure we can find time to meet up.

Just Another Morning

I am taking my mom to breakfast this morning, so I am up before 7am.

The air smells like Springtime and there are rain clouds instead of snow.

After I drop my mom off at work, I take a drive in the country—which is pretty much anywhere outside the city limits of our small town—and I reach a stretch of road without encountering another soul for miles. This is a unique feeling of home…to be the only person in a place teeming with life. Trees, birds, deer, fish in the stream, rolling clouds in the sky…there’s peace and energy in that life. I love humans, but there’s something sacred about a moment alone with life.

Travel Update

Last day in Seattle: 1/31/2019

First day in the world: 2/1/2019

I spent the month of February traveling around visiting friends and family:

About a week with my friends in Yakima—playing with the kids, eating delicious home cooking, working on random projects with my good friend. No TV, just quality time.

About a week with my brother and his family in Idaho—playing with my nephews and niece, enjoying the snow (then shoveling TONS of snow), video games and quality time, and moving the last of my worldly possessions into my brother’s shop as I prepare to launch officially on the road.

About a week at my folks’ place in Montana - trying to keep the house warm amid -20F temperatures and snow. Loading firewood and adopting my dad’s routing of retirement (a lot of TV, but also trips to town for lunch with my mom while she is at work). The waterline breaks just as I am preparing to make a trip to visit my friends in Wyoming, leaving my mom and dad without water, but they are prepared with bottled and water from town.

About a week with my friends in Wyoming—playing video games and watching TV with my good friends. A nice balance of mindless entertainment, challenging boardgames, and stimulating conversation that reminds me of college. The old rhythm is there, though the perspectives may have evolved.

A few days in Colorado visiting my cousin and his family—playing with the kids and some more great quality time and conversation. I really value reconnecting with my cousin and I am thrilled to see how his kids are turning out (all of my nieces and nephews are such wonderful children who are glowing testaments to the efforts of their parents, but also examples of the consistent and awesome spirit of their youth).

The last half of March has been spent transporting water and assessing the water situation. Now that the snow has started melting, we’ve been able to trace the water to a leak in the line and after a lot of digging, we revealed crack in the line that will likely mean replacing the line altogether. There’s something therapeutic about the labor—a single task of digging in the rolling foothills with snowcapped mountains beyond; vast blue sky with high clumps of clouds and bright sunshine warming my back and head (along with the effort of the toil); the radio providing a rhythm, but the real soundtrack is the breeze in the pine trees and the birds calling to one another. It’s a familiar feeling from my childhood, but it feels much older than that…a primal resonance that’s more than just memories from my childhood home. It’s a perfect moment in time and I’ll honor it properly by just letting it be.

Yakima

Visiting my good friends, "H-bomb" and "Hammer" and their two boys on my way east. The kids (both under 7 years old) are pretty into skiing and they are eager to take me on my first trip to the mountain. I lived in Montana my whole life and never tried skiing--partly because we never had much extra money growing up, but even later in life, I felt like I had "missed the window" to start--but ultimately, my hangups seem like excuses to stay in my comfort zone, so I embrace taking the plunge and rent some ski equipment.

The experience proves to be a greater challenge than I had anticipated. I take a two-hour lesson and feel more confident on the flat land, but when I attempt a steeper hill, I'm reminded that I have a lot to learn (i.e. I fall a lot and struggle with stopping). That's enough skiing for one day.

There's plenty of other activity to occupy our time. Hammer constructed a custom kitchen table from scratch and we haul it from the wood shop to the house on a trailer. Time for some Mario Kart.