The Things I Will Carry

Above will be, aside from clothing and my car, the whole of my possessions for the next few months; and my camera, as it's difficult to take photos of the camera with the camera. Just books and electronic essentials, as well as a notebook, a good pen, and my passport.

The books are a mix of some old friends (Nicole Krauss, Jonathan Safran Foer [two of my favorite books, especially when read as companions], Cynthia Ozick, Kazuo Ishiguro, and David Sedaris), the afore mentioned James Frey, some insightful nonfiction from Oliver Sacks and some dry, dry, dry instructional nonfiction in the form of HTML4. Also included, but not purchased yet are The Gnostic Gospels by Elaine Pagels, and Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, as this is also, ultimately, a journey of the spirit.

Of course, this many books is likely unrealistic, as I think that I've managed to finish one book in the past three months -- and it was a short one. (A Single Man, by Christopher Isherwood, and which may also make it's way into the pile due to the location and themes addressed.) All in all though, I think that I've chosen these particular books as guides for wherever it is that I'm trying to go, and especially as I embrace this trip as a sort of vision quest. All said though, I really do need to make it through that HTML4 for Dummies if nothing else.

So yes, this will be "my life" in terms of possessions for at least two months; crazy, no?

Westward and to the South

Growth is painful. it marks us with stretch marks, wraps rings around the insides of trees; bands of experience and expansion that are physical evidence of what we have come to call “growing pains”.  We are marked inside and out as we grow and change, sometimes for the better, and sometimes for the worse; regardless, there is always evidence, if only you know to look hard enough. 

Lately I’ve had my own growing pains, becoming more persistent over the past year, until by the beginning of November I felt almost as though I was knitting new bones. My growing pains stemmed from self awareness and the realization that the past year had taken me further from my goals rather than closer. Unhappy in career and locale, it was a perpetual struggle of two steps backwards for every one forward. 

Friday I made the decision to move to Los Angeles for the winter after a week and a half of serious re-evaluation of, essentially, every aspect of my life. What I hope is that this will be my spirit walk, my vision quest, that brings me back into sync with my goals and brings me closer to achieving them. The hope is that I can walk away from my life, just for a short time, and come back more centered and focused, and the better for it. Essentially, a chance to hit the reset button and see the world with eyes that aren't nearly as tired.

By Monday, I had cancelled my now expired gym membership, given notice at my apartment, begun packing, and found a storage space. Suddenly everything is frighteningly, vividly, Kodachrome real. The reality of the people and places that I will be leaving (yet again, only temporarily, so why the deep melancholy?) settles like a cold fog, replacing the bright optimism that existed when this was all mere fancy. There will be time enough to bask in California's golden sun, cooling toes in her oceans and roasting marshmallows in the embers of her wild fires; today we mourn our losses, real or imagined. 

All of this is coming at a cost, as does everything, and with that cost is tied the hope that the gains will offset the losses. In the end, a life of what if and missed opportunity is as dry and bitter as a mouthful of ashes. Nothing wondrous is ever achieved without risk, even if, in the end, the risk isn’t even that great.

Joni Mitchell :: California (BBC 1970)

I went through a time recently where all I listened to was Blue by Joni Mitchell; there was something comforting in the folksy simplicity, and while the music was infused with nostalgia, it was also fairly up tempo at times. Perhaps it's because of where I will be taking my life soon, or perhaps it's my own embrace of nostalgia that longs for some sort of mooring, but the song "California" stayed with me more than anything else on the record.

The song embraces the experiences that created the person that she is (was) while simultaneously longing for the comfort and anchor of the familiar. Obviously I can relate -- though the California that I long for is the optimistic place of my youth and my youthful perception (a place that I've not lived yet); a place where the skies are clear, the ocean blue, and the hills full of gold. My hopes for California are great, my heart is open for something remarkable, and I want to believe that I will accept no less.

Here, right here, you can see Joni singing (and with dulcimer!) on the BBC way back in 1970.