Crashing Couches Casually Cultivating Close Connections

There is something I've gained from every trip I've taken. Each location resonates in me one way or another. Each place has called to my heart to return, but of all the places I've been, there have only been four in the continental United States that I've returned to time and time again. Monterey, CA, Annville, PA, Tampa, FL, and New York City.

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I've found that it is not the scenery, club scene, nor quality of restaurants in these places, that causes me to return. To me, although I generally seek adventure and new experiences, there are certain traits from my exploration to which I find myself drawn time and time again. I've learned in life, you can see the most beautiful sights and participate in the most crazy exploits, but if you cultivate no connections along the way, the road can quickly become devoid of meaning, and then, instead of revelling and enjoying your journey to self discovery, you can find yourself flailing without an anchor, seemingly happy to untrained eyes, but truly empty and alone. Essentially living a Beat Generation existence in true form: travel, passion, alcohol, sex, debauchery, but missing vitality of the soul.

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I just returned from one of the most beautiful islands in the world, Republica Dominicana. To date, this is the only international location which I've revisited. I spent a month there last February, mountain biking, wandering, hiking, dancing, and meeting people. This time I spent just one week on the island. The motivation, to the passive onlooker, might obviously have been the First International Bachata Festival. The opportunity to be part of history, where the people who love bachata travel from the other side of the world for the first time to celebrate its existence in the bachata capital of the world. However, in truth, it wasn't the festival itself so much as the prospect of having the chance to experience, once again, relationships I'd created along my path to self discovery at said festival that brought me to purchase the full pass and airfare.

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My participation in Couchsurfing.org has brought to me a lightness of spirit in travel and life in general. In learning to be open to making connections, hearing stories, and sharing moments with new friends around the world, the states, and close to home, I've become much more free with my heart. In past musings, I was known to say I loved horses and dogs, tolerated people...and it was true. In a crowded room, I was always amongst strangers, surrounded by acquaintances, distracted by thoughts of places...potential... practicalities. Half listening to everyone, half wishing I could disappear and hear no one. Half wanting them to like me, half not caring if they despised me. Half wanting recognition, half wanting to be ignored. Always with one foot out the door. Always on the outside looking in, and thoroughly enjoying the seclusion of separation; if only mental. Always judging. Always convinced nobody understood me, my plight, my story, and more so, feeling it wasn't worth explaining the restlessness and subtle boredom I felt around them.

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That was then, this is now. No, I'm not referencing The Greasers. Though I enjoyed the genre thoroughly as a child.

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Through travelling with nearly nothing, I've been exposed to the goodness of people: that spark in a soul that tempts your heart to reveal itself unabashed, and in turn nourishes the subsequently planted seed of friendship. With this gradual change in ideology, my horizons have expanded infinitely. I barely recognize my recent self when I consider the chained, dark moments of years past. The beauty of the transition is its subtlety. There was never a specific day I consciously chose to open my mind and heart to accept people from different paths. There was no distinct moment where I decided to be connected as opposed to removed.

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I woke up one morning on a creaky, damp mattress sans sheets in a jungle cabin with no electricity near Puyo, Ecuador, covered in mosquito bites and smiling. I fought my way out from under the faulty mosquito net, and made my way to the crudely assembled wooden table in the kitchen, revelling in the sound of a torrential jungle downpour beating on the thatched roof. I smelled of sweat with a twinge of mildew, but not enough to overpower the sweet scent of Mother Nature's 100% organic cleaning solution that softly kissed my face in a misty breeze as I passed an open window. I greeted a couple from Riobamba, 4 Finnish girls, and a couple from Seattle that had already been wandering for four months when I sat down. Together we relaxed, shared stories, laughed, and enjoyed breakfast to the melody of a careless percipitation. It was in that moment I realized I wasn't on the outside looking in. I wasn't feigning interest. I was intrigued, and it wasn't forced. The best part? I realized in that moment that I would only be excluded in my future if I chose to be, because I recognized the lightening effect relationships have on your being.

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There is something I've gained from every trip I've taken. Each place resonates in me one way or another. Each place has called my heart to return, but it's not the scenery, club scene, or quality of restaurants that tempts me. Solely people have the ability to lasso my spirit and draw it back to a location with me in tow. Whether it's Wlady in Ecuador, Don, Knikki, Tim, or any of my Chilkat Guides family in Alaska, Jota and Dina in DR, Cat in Monterey, David in England, Jorge in Spain, family in NY, FL, and PA, Peter, Aut, or Spaci in Czech Republic, Marydale in Afghanistan, Maurycy, Pawel, Erik or Quin in Seattle, Merlin, Rebecca, or La Familia de la Salsa in Watertown and Syracuse...whoever, wherever. These casually cultivated close connections are the true reason I return.

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These days I am proud to declare honestly that I love horses, dogs, AND people.

Heartbreakingly Blind to Blatant Beauty

Sometimes people who live in small towns spend hours daily dreaming of escaping the dull confines of underpopulated living. They spend 48 weeks sitting behind their desks planning and imagining the fun they'll have on their 4 weeks they'll be given free as a reward for their invested time. They label someone who has travelled beyond the next two towns as unique, bold, and mysterious. A soul simply plagued with wanderlust is an intrigue, and treated as such. They coral the bold adventurer and fire question after question about experiences. Which place was the best? Where were the people the most eccentric? Why did you go to THIS country, why did you visit THAT one? Were they racist there? Did you drink the water? How do you FUND this? Aren't you scared to travel alone?

They quip about the doldrums of small town living. They scoff at the scenery from their windows saying things like, "There's nothing worth seeing HERE," "You must have cabin fever being stuck in THIS little town after the things YOU'VE seen," "You'll NEVER find a view as beautiful as (insert random vacation resort/country here) in THIS shit hole." Day after day the adventurer listens to their complaining, all the while wondering why, if they are so discontent with their surroundings do they insist on remaining there in said small town? Is it the town with which they are truly dissatisfied or could they find flaws in paradise? The adventurer is perplexed, as her presence in this hole in the wall forgotten oasis was a deliberate decision, and over 3,000 miles had been driven solely to be there.

Further confusing the adventurer is the reigning dissatisfaction with local culture among certain individuals. The adventurer enjoys the friendliness of the young people working at the local cafe. After two days, they'd ask upon her arrival if it would be the "usual" or something different for the evening. She has been recognized as an out of towner, and accepted by the older community as well. There are not only many friendships to be had, but also many trails to run, hikes to take, rivers to see, mountains to climb, slopes to ski, movies to watch, salsa to dance, open mike nights to attend, and potlucks in which to participate.

Moments after being told how there were no beautiful sights, the adventurer walked outside and experienced an incredible sunset. The sky, set ablaze and chilled simultaneously in blazing crimson and icy blue, beckoned her to run back inside and grab her camera to return snapping away frantically at the sight. The vibrant pastels that followed made her want to climb a mountain and shout out to the world, "OPEN YOUR EYES! THE BEAUTY IS RIGHT THERE IN FRONT OF YOU!"

You see, to the adventurer, the world is inherently beautiful as people are inherently good. There is a moment in each day that will take your breath away if you open your eyes and allow it to touch your heart. There is beauty around each corner, in each day, each morning, each evening.

Look up, look around, turn off your phone or computer, and smile at somebody or something tangible. Guaranteed, it will make you appreciate your life more, and you might even find yourself inviting somebody to visit the newly discovered awesome town in which you live.

Survival School

When I first heard I had received the scholarship to attend the Boulder Outdoor Survival School 28 day Field Course, I was curled in the fetal position in a lower end motel in North Central Mexico trying to keep down the scant fluids I struggled to sip all day. I had spent the day in a 15 passenger van with 17 other people travelling over 6 hours. It was the day after having run the Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon, and my body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder, twice. I shivered under the dingy comforter with gaudy pink flowers that smelled slightly of stale ashtray as the automated almost feminine voice barked at me, "Four new messages." The first two were mundane (sorry if you left them). The third was different.

As Jenny Stein's voice came over the line, I found myself tensing muscles I thought were completely spent. When she uttered the words, "Offer you the scholarship," I found myself out of bed screaming like a tween who was just told she was going to get a limo ride with the young Jonathon Taylor Thomas. I spun around, gave a little whoop and a jump, then slowly and methodically returned to the bed, tucking my knees into my sternum again, wishing I hadn't spontaneously shaken up my stomach.

You see, the BOSS program was something I dreamt of doing, and the scholarship would allow me to attend the $4,000 plus course for free. After having turned down the opportunity to take a nice cushy office job sheltered from the elements using my security clearance and no natural instincts, the prospect of travelling miles on foot over rugged terrain for 28 days with no comforts was music to my ears. When I received the paperwork, I chuckled at the wording of the physical waiver I had to get my doctor to sign. “Is this person capable of going without eating for at least 4 days while walking 18-30 miles daily on rugged terrain?” Sure. Why not? Maybe on a swollen ankle, or one sneaker and one flip flop. Throw it at me! I’m ready!

I spent the summer in the sleepy town of Haines, AK floating down the mighty Chilkat River daily, chatting with my passengers about the approaching survival school. Some looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language that they not only did not understand, but thought sounded incredibly stupid. Others smiled at me like I was a ten year old expressing my desire to become a professional ball player in adulthood. Others yet mused that they wished they could do it, too, but I didn’t feel anybody truly understood my need to do it or I would have seen them, too, on the 26th of October in the equally sleepy town of Boulder, Utah.

Only one person who told me they truly understood why I wanted to go did I believe fully and without reservation. Dave’s mother. Dave had died on the second day of the BOSS 28 Day Field Course in 2006, and it was through his death and her generosity that I had the opportunity to participate in the course in the first place. She told me that she could understand why her son had felt the need to join the course, but she now understood. There are some things in life that are outside of your normal comfort zone that just need to be done.

I arrived in Boulder expecting nothing. I had not read too deeply into the instructions or the course description. I wasn’t even quite sure where Boulder, Utah was located. As a matter of fact, most of the people with whom I spoke in Provo were also unsure of the town’s location. One of the first things I was told upon arriving was to get rid of my expectations, and try to accept the class with an open mind. No problem.

There were seven of us. All from different financial backgrounds, with different stories, different accents, different experiences, and different fitness and skill levels. All with at least one thing in common. A desire to fully experience the experience: 28 days in the canyons, learning while going without eating for at least 4 days while walking 18-30 miles daily on rugged terrain. And that we did. All seven of us made it through, spending the first four days without food while covering 18-30 miles daily on rugged terrain. We learned the basics about survival in the outdoors while lugging around our gear wrapped up in a blanket on our backs. We made friendships that will last a lifetime, and all learned at least one important previously unknown fact about ourselves.

We also did the complete opposite of smart survival. Often. We saw a nasty storm coming and continued to climb in elevation until we reached what we half jokingly named Mordor, all the while being pelted by hail, torrential rain, and finally snow. We camped in recently flooded flash flood zones several times, where trees were strewn haphazardly through the slick mud, reminding us constantly of the potential for raging river water to come through and sweep us away. We arrived almost daily in camp moments before dusk, only to be greeted by long, duff concealing shadows. Maybe that was part of the learning experience as well.

We spent the month dreaming up new recipes, new baking techniques, making grocery lists, thinking of what snacks we’d have upon regaining our freedom to choose. I even saw a chocolate chip cookie on the trail we were hiking. I still stand by my cookie sighting. It was a portion of a Chips Ahoy. I swear! I’m sure it was stale and would have crumbled into dust when I picked it up, if I could have found it after I accidentally stepped on it and kicked a pile of sand over it. The other students swore it was a hallucination, but I know what I saw: a half eaten chocolate chip cookie in the middle of the desert.

I learned a bunch of practical skills, like how to make fire if you have nothing but a cord and a knife. I learned what plants to eat, how to make traps, how to bake bread in a sheep’s stomach, but aside of the simple survival techniques, I walked away from this class with an even more in depth understanding of what truly matters and what doesn’t in this life. I had already decided to sell all of my furniture upon my decision to move to Alaska. I had opted to get rid of the bulk of everything I owned for profit or peanuts, as long as it would not be mine anymore. Still, I brought too much with me, and I never used half of the things I toted along in my little Rav4 to the Frontier State. I’m going through yet another cleansing now, taking droves of clothing to the thrift store, giving away non essential items. How liberating...the second wave of purging life’s inanimate burdens.

This road trip will be much lighter. The best part about it is the final destination. I’m heading home to Pennsylvania. It occurred to me in survival school that I know lots of small towns around the world pretty well. When I return to Monterey or Haines, there are people around that know me and greet me warmly. I can give you directions to get around Alcoi, Riobamba, Copperas Cove, and Watertown, but I don’t know the lady that works at the café across the street from my parents’ house in Annville, PA. Essentially, I’ve grown to know people everywhere but home.

It’s time to slow down for a few months. It’s time to have a home base. It’s time to cook for my parents, finish selling or giving away the last of my things, and finish up Call Me Stupid. I guess chapter four of freedom will be called Reconnecting with what Truly Matters, Family.