The Game Plan

I'm leaving Colorado tomorrow for the next four months. 2009 has thus far been the Year of the Roadtrip, but now I'm venturing off by means of buses, trains, planes, kayaks, and most importantly, my own two feet. In lieu of a travel blog (I'm unplugging for the majority of this journey), I'm just going to write a tentative itinerary in case my journals meet premature ends.

August 25-Fly to Boise to see Cory. Get to see Ashley, who is also randomly just passing through Idaho the same day as me. Gotta love the AmeriBubble!

August 26-Greyhound to Portland. Staying with Cash Money herself, Amber Cash.

August 29-Bus to Seattle. Possibly seeing Amanda, Ashley, and Danae.

August 31-Start Outward Bound. 11ish days of sea kayaking in the San Juan Islands, 11ish days of mountaineering in the Northern Cascades

September 21-Return from Outward Bound, explore Seattle. Possibly check out Vancouver.

September 24-Fly to NYC

Sept 25-Visit Mirana in Albany

Sept 26-Go to Jones Beach with my mom and possibly Dottie, Adrienne, and Bob

Sept 27-Aunt Karen's Golden Jubilee

Sept 28-Catch a bus to Maine to see Kristina and watch the leaves turn

Sept 30-Down to Boston. Might see Lindsey

Oct 1-Fly to Sioux Falls

Oct 2-Gail and James' wedding

Oct 5-Bus to Madison, WI to see Sam

Oct 8-Somehow get to Michigan. Grand Rapids to see Gerry and/or Detroit to see Nia

Oct 12-Go see Dan in Chicago

Oct 14-Fly to Costa Rica to WWOOF and volunteer with rainforest conservation efforts

Nov 7-Turn 21

December 20-Back to Colorado in time to see Alex and Kalie who are coming for the holidays

I plan to come back older, wiser, tanner, stronger, with longer hair (if I can stand it), and healthier in mind, body, spirit, and soul. And also, I'll be only three states from my goal of 50 by 25. It might be the first long term goal I've followed through on, which is huge for me.

Characters, Part One

What is a character?

Someone larger than life who is comfortable in his or her own skin. Fascinating. Interesting. Memorable. You preface stories about them with a "you can't make this up" disclaimer, though it still seems unreal. One walks away from an encounter with a character much richer from the experience.

I've been on a road trip with my friend Michael and we've been collecting characters. Random people who are changing my life one conversation at a time. What follows is the story of O.C. and Quentin, straight from the pages of my journal.

Last Saturday, Michael and I started walking back to the car after a wonderful day at Audubon Park in New Orleans. Suddenly, the sound of tuba caught my ear, drifting across the grass and the parking lot and down to the river where we walked. Then drums kicked in. Followed by trumpets. And trombones. Yep, it was the unmistakable sound of a brass band randomly marching through the park with a hundred or so people clustered around them marching and dancing. Did I mention I LOVE this place? I recorded a video and started snapping pictures to try to capture the energy when two gentleman sitting on the back of a pickup asked what I was taking pictures of. I answered something to the effect of, "Life and the city I love." I half-jokingly offered to take their picture. The taller one said no, but I got a shot of his shorter friend. We made introductions. The tall one's name was Quentin. And his friend, O.C. And then the conversation began. 

We talked for ages about what an amazing place NOLA is. The guys hailed from Jefferson Parish, born and raised, and were only gone from the city for a couple weeks after Katrina (a rarity down there). Quentin grabbed some cups and ice and O.C. poured Michael and I each a brimming cup of the Wild Irish Rose wine they'd been working on. Southern hospitality goes beyond etiquette. It stems from a genuine love of people, which ran deep in Quentin and O.C.

They were probably in their fifties, though they didn't let the age difference get in the way of our new friendship. Quentin has a son my age. Both men were so close to their families--the kind of familial ties that brings a relative to share an opportunity with the rest of the family. Quentin's cousin worked as a stagehand for the Superdome, so he got to be backstage for the Broncos/49ers Superbowl. He also saw the Rolling Stones and met Mick Jagger without knowing who the Stones were.

We started talking life and how to make a difference in kids' lives, whether being a temporary positive influence can make a true difference. They asked me how I got to be so broad minded, a phrase I'd never heard but liked a lot. We talked about dreams and following them. When Quentin retires, he's going to school to study psychology or hospitality (perfect for a people person like him). O.C. dreams about his weekends. Family and work fill his week, but Saturday, he can call up the friends he's known his whole life and something as simple as a bottle of wine and the park means everything.

It got dark and the cops were coming around. I was swept up in their kindness and generosity and didn't want it to go unknown how much our time with them meant. My wine-loosened tongue thanked them and I told them they were good people. O.C.'s eyes got serious, but with a gentle smile he corrected me. "I know you don't mean anything by it, but there is still a lot of racism down here. Someone could take it the wrong way. Next time, all you gotta say is, "You've been good to us."" I apologized because O.C. was right. Words like "people" have been tainted by bigotry. I told them they had been GREAT to us. 

O.C. and Quentin, to me, ARE New Orleans. Cities are made up of people. And people reflect the collective personality of a place. Some go beyond reflection--They are the human embodiment. That's what those two gentleman meant to me. And I know whatever its problems, I will love New Orleans, O.C., Quentin, and all the other characters (Eric, Will, Sydney, Al, Patrick, Byron, Carol Carrington, ad infinitum) unconditionally.

Belly of the Beast

I've often wondered if emotions and habits can be contagious.

Call it empathy.

Or mirror neurons. 

http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/sciencenow/video/3204/q01-220.html

I'm certain feelings are communicable, but what I wonder, and hope, is there a certain point we are able to turn "that which makes us human" off.

Is communication an empathy fueled vehicle? There's a quote I rather enjoy: "Constantly talking isn't necessarily communicating." Putting it into this context, it makes me think about how much conversation occurs outside the realm of dialogue. Vocal tones. Facial expressions. Body language. Touch. Eye contact. Where does the real conversation take place? Through words? Or emotion? 

Have you ever tried scolding a dog? "Dawson! No! Bad dog! This trash is not for you!" Next time you get a chance, use the exact same tone and say something completely unrelated: "Dawson! That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet!" The dog will react the same way. It was a game I used to play to amuse myself growing up....I might have told my dog a lot of strange things in praise and punishment.

A similar thing happened to me in New Orleans. Carol Carrington changed my life in a lot of ways. She's a homeowner in Broadmoor whose home we worked on second round. And Carol has an accent stronger than titanium. In the beginning, I could maybe pick up every third word Carol said, which, given how Carol talked non-stop for eight hours straight, made it really difficult to stay verbally involved in the conversation. How can you ask follow up questions when you're not entirely sure what was just said? So, I just mimicked her facial expressions. Carol smiled a lot, so I found myself smiling. And then, the more we talked, the more I started to understand the rhythm of her speech. And I picked out more and more words. And eventually I figured out what Carol was talking about. Most of her stories were nothing to smile over. But Carol smiled through her pain as she recounted her life. Unfortunately, I too was smiling, unknowingly at her pain. It was a terrible realization and I felt awful. Though I'm really glad Carol kept telling me her stories because my life feels richer for having been able to spend that time with her.

I think emotion is the first thing we perceive when communicating with others. And to perceive it we must be able to feel it. And it's the initial feeling that stands as the skeleton on which we add the muscle of context, the flesh of dialogue. Many conversations stay with me, but time has a way of eating away the details. It's a strange concept to remember the impact of a conversation without recalling the conversation itself.

I guess I've just talked myself into seeing the necessity of emotion in communication. But here's my dilemma, what started this meditation:

I'm going to go take care of my dad for most of this week. And I'm excited to get to spend that kind of time with him. And help him. I don't doubt my ability to stay strong and help him during my time living with him, but I am a little concerned over how I'll be able to separate myself from his illness when I'm relieved of my duties.

Am I ready to carry such a heavy emotional skeleton? Am I ready to go confront my own ghosts? And is empathy the best way to help or is it more beneficial to be happy and allow for emotional vampiricism? Drink my happiness, may it help you recover. (I wish I could phrase that better)

Or to put another spin on it, now that we got the skeletons, ghosts, and vampires out of the way, let's go for/attempt science. Meteorology. Let's pretend happiness is a high pressure system and depression is the low pressure system. The air molecules in the high pressure system fill the gaps between the molecules in the low pressure system. So...though, I'm inclined to reject this theory, on some level, I think this might explain the transference of emotion. Certain emotions are high pressure, others low. And if whatever one feels resonates as an opposite pressure of another's emotions, something is going to transfer between them.

Eh...It was a limb....I went out on it

More things to ponder:

If it were possible to make a vaccine against feeling others' pain, would the people who received it be in a better position to help others, without the fear of burnout? Or would they lose the motivation to help in the first place?

What limits are we putting on communication through communication technology? Context is the only way we get emotion from the written word, the human element is out. Are we really advancing?

Unplugging

Sometimes the only way to stop feeling disconnected is to disconnect. And reconnect in different ways. 

I think I'm way too overstimulated. 

My attention span is shot. 

I know way too much about all my friends' lives. 

And acquaintances' lives.

I can't stand that in the middle of the day, hours before I'm going to be near a computer, thoughts pop into my head for Facebook status updates. I shouldn't be trying to describe my life in a sentence or two and then shouting it into the deceptively bright darkness of Facebook and hoping someone might care or be amused. This new level of freedom of expression is the most liberating ball and chain I think any generation before us has ever carried.

I've been thinking about doing a tech purge for months, but I'm terrified to. I don't think I can do it. Which is EXACTLY why I need to do it. There is nothing in life that we should not be able to go without for a mere week.

I remember I used to love the internet because I could IM all my friends while learning about random things. I'd read articles. I'd learn about music (this was in the days of dial-up, so I could only read about artists without hearing their music). And I'd type things I wanted to know more about into search engines and then peruse the wealth of knowledge at my fingertips. Simple multitasking. Though now that I've put that into writing, it doesn't bode well for my attention span. I guess it's been 8 or 9 years of overstimulation. There were quite a few exceptions last year, but in five months, I've made up for all the lost time of being tech-free. Maybe it's this state. Though I think it's just coincidence that I do a fair enough job of unplugging when I'm away from CO.

I'm rarely learning anything like I used to when I got online back in the day. And when I do learn something, I move onto the next thing so quickly, nothing sticks and I'm no wiser for having read an article. Or watching an educational YouTube video. 

And with Mac, all I have to do is open a ton of screens and hit F9 and all my activities of the last day are open to me. I can jump to Yahoo and Facebook and WorkAway.info and last.fm check each of them in three seconds and not even have to wait for the internet to load the page.

What finally gave me the courage to do a tech purge was this:

http://www.cnn.com/2009/TECH/ptech/04/14/twitter.study/index.html

A study found that Twitter and other social networking sites have numbed our sense of morality. I scoffed at the headline. But it makes sense. We're so inundated with updates on EVERYTHING that there's no time to process or really feel any emotion. The news used to outrage me. Or make me depressed. Or inspire me. Now, for the most part, I feel the same way about reading nutrition facts as I do about reading the news. How easy it is to forget that when we're staring at a box of pixels, human lives are usually attached. People. Real women and men and children. Pixels form letters, form words, form stories. Or pixels form videos and pictures of people. How easy it is to forget the realness. 

How do we respond to cries for help when we're face to face? I usually sit down and talk about it. I give hugs or even just a hand on the knee or shoulder. And I make eye contact. Always. And the most important. I listen. I care. And what about on Facebook? For me, it's rather pathetic. And I'm ashamed. But I'm going to hope it's enough of a universal experience that I don't have to put my reactions in writing for you to know what I'm talking about.

So I think that's enough to explain the first part of my tech purge: no internet, whatsoever. Which will be hard because I need to get emails for my work...I'll figure something out. Hoping for a really good friend to help me out.

Second part of my rant on unplugging...Texting. Here's something embarrassing. And shameful. I can't honestly remember the last time I invited someone to do something and actually CALLED them up to do it (one exception: my best friend doesn't do technology, so I have to call her). But for all the rest of what's been a very social time in life, I've used texting and Facebook to set up events, gatherings, even simple acts of hanging out. 

Only within the last couple years did I start texting. And less than a year ago did texting surpass phone conversation as a means of communication. But only within this last week did I start examining the implications of text invites. And, though I never intended it, what the text might be saying on another level:

Text: Wanna watch movies later? Possible side effects: I'm too busy to find out what's really going on in your life, but if you wanted to share something, you could come watch the movies and THEN I'll give you the time of day.

I don't like the way I've been treating my friends. And I don't like how overstimulated I've become.

 So I'm going to change it.

One week. No internet. No computer. No texting. Phone calls to set up face to face contact, but only that. Ack! I hate that I let it get this point where that seems like a big deal. All the more reason to do it.

The Story Of My Life

I felt

pangs of jealousy

when people 

started new chapters

in life

For me

new chapters

never started

Only

new stories

Until now

Woven together

the collection

of short stories

come together

Connect

Sometimes

the writer

checks out

Story suspended

in time

But

With 

each 

push

    forward

the momentum  carries    it     further

***Don't drink and blog. Otherwise, poetry happens.***

Motivational Statement

Today, while working on an application for ERT, I was asked to write a motivational statement for why I wanted to join. I guess I do well with writing prompts because I rather like the second half of this little snippet:

On March 24, I hopped online to check my email. I pulled up the Yahoo page and saw a picture of sandbags, rising water, and hundreds of people clad in more layers than I thought possible to wear while doing such physical labor. Fargo was flooding and everyone in the community was working on building sandbag dikes. I was on spring break that week, and since spring break should be all about sand and water, I called up my Fargo-based teammate from AmeriCorps NCCC and asked if he needed any help. By morning I was on the road, perfectly caffeinated for the fourteen hour drive from Denver to Fargo. I spent the rest of my break moving and filling sandbags in a race against the rising waters. And when it came down to the waiting game, when all the sandbagging was finished, I helped clear a family's belongings out of their basement, just in case. It was the best spring break ever!

There is something beautiful about road trips. The road is far enough away from daily life to allow for true reflection and when the radio reception cuts out, I feel like I have tuned into a perfectly clear frequency of epiphany. On the drive home, I realized this: I love doing disaster work. When a community experiences a devastating event and a major break from regular life where an all-consuming uncertainty washes away normalcy, what's left is the core of people's true nature. Last year, I was with FEMA after the Wisconsin floods and Red Cross after Hurricane Ike. I saw the same thing as I did in Fargo: most people, when all is said and done, are good people. Many are so willing to help others, sometimes even before helping themselves. There is something truly empowering about a group of people working incredibly hard to pursue a common goal of good.

Not bad for having to write something on the spot...I usually panic in that situation. And I've been meaning to reflect in writing upon how much the Fargo trip impacted me. I'm glad in taking the next step, I had to look backwards.

Sands of Misinformation

I remember when I was in sixth grade outdoor ed, there was a haze about the air wherever you looked, especially the sun, which appeared to be draped in an orange veil. The counselors told us there were wind storms in Mongolia that had blown sand and dirt into the atmosphere and it was circling around the world. Prior to that, I thought people were the only interconnectivity between the continents. Our technology and transportation were the only things shrinking our planet.
I've never verified that fact. I think about it too much to want to find out if it may indeed be false. But I do know for a fact volcanic ash travels the world. Krakatoa's ash cloud made the weather in Europe so gray and dreary that it inspired Mary Shelly to write Frankenstein. So it's entirely possible that during that week when I was twelve I was washing Mongolian dirt off my face after a day hike.
Whether or not the sand fact is true, misinformation is a lot like the grains of sand. And we're the wind that spreads it. I personally feel like a gale. The things in life that I best remember are learned conversationally. And I can't really verify those facts. But I still love sharing them with other people I happen to meet along my journeys. And I know they get passed on as well.
When I was in Fargo last week, I was sandbagging in a line with a bunch of funny and jovial guys. Somehow, I was able to throw out into the conversation that Jamie Lee Curtis is intersexed, that she was born with both male and female sex organs. I know this is an urban legend. But I remember a genetics teacher telling me about it and I've heard it asked as a question at pub trivia. So misinformation or not, it's prevalent in our pop culture, and I did my part to bring it to Fargo. I remember I told the guys that little bit shortly after sunset and right until we called it a night at ten, they asked every passing person, "Did you know Jamie Lee Curtis is a hermaphrodite?" I feel like I'm behind an epidemic against Ms. Curtis. Rumor, fact, or misinformation, I watched "knowledge" spread like wildfire over the span of three hours.
I think about the places I've been, the random conversations I seem to fall into, and the sea of facts in my head where the trivia leaps out like dolphins. As much as I feel like a grain of sand caught in the wind, I'm made up of more wind than sand and I'm blowing grains around the world.