Observer

You could say I’m rather shy, or quiet may be a better way of describing it. Reserved perhaps, soft-spoken. Many people do in fact, make it a point to tell me I’m this way. As if I didn’t already know, as if it’s something I’m doing on purpose. The fact that people notice this about me only heightens my awareness of it, making it worse, making myself feel more awkward among others. This one little trait I possess defines me of who I am.  It is the one reason (in a nutshell) of why I’m choosing to live my life this way. I’m purposefully forcing myself into situations where I can develop traits that I lack, and expanding myself as an individual through trying times. But sometimes I need to be reminded of this.

Rather than labeling my timidness as a negative quality, I prefer to convince myself that it is a positive thing. I prefer the term observer. It’s not an excuse either. I can and often do spend hours sitting in silence, just looking around me, letting the chunks of light and dark seep into my eyes without forming shapes. Without opinion I sit transfixed, delighted to accompany the romance of color and sound (or lack there of). I am easily entertained by the meander of a young ant, roving aimlessly from stem to leaf to stem, covering ground but never touching the forest floor. I don’t need to say anything, I can just watch. Thoughts are automatically erased and I can breathe, damn it. I’m quiet, and I like being quite. I like what silence sounds like. I will often observe my surroundings this way when I’m in the company of others as well, and people sometimes consider my lack of contribution to the situation as me being introverted. But on the contrary! I’m really just taking it all in, trying to be consistently aware. Most of the time when I’m speaking with someone I’m focused more on the way their face is arranged rather than what they are saying. It’s hard for me not to be captivated by the way a face moves, or not get lost in peoples’ eyes. 

It’s been a while since I’ve written so I’ll back up a bit and quickly catch you up. I found myself home this past holiday season regarding a series of unfortunate events that I won’t bother going into. The ultimate decision being that I came home from my time at sea, as it was clearly necessary. During the last four months at home I have done some work for family to make some cash. I’ve been living at my parents’ house to avoid paying bills and rent (THANK YOU MOM & JACK) so that I could save everything I earned. Having a small financial cushion in the bank feels pretty good, like I could go anywhere or do anything I want (travel-wise). But then should I spend it traveling, it would no longer be a cushion, would it? 

A most delicious Boston Cream Pie

So (as much as I hate to admit it) I’ve decided to be normal for a while and get a job over the summer to make a little more cash. I'll be working as a pastry chef on a Dude Ranch located in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. I’m happy to have landed this job, because as far as working goes I appreciate being on my feet all day and providing a meaningful service to others who appreciate what I’m doing. I love to bake (I've been doing a lot of practicing lately, see picture) and I’m looking forward to further developing those skills. And in my free time on the ranch I’ll have the freedom to ride horses, camp, and explore the Rio Grand National Forest to my heart’s content. The position ends in October and by then I’ll really have some cash saved up to travel with as well as the current cushion I have now as my reserve for emergencies or over-the-top, on-a-whim expenses like getting the extravagant tattoos I’ve always wanted. The job starts in mid May and I plan to ride my bike there (YAY!!) so my departure date is creeping up on me fast. Though the ranch is only 800 miles from my front door I am going to give myself 4 weeks to get there, just so I don’t feel rushed and I can take my time and enjoy the ride. I’d like to give myself ample time to get lost, break down, and mosey as much as I please. This time I’m doing the whole ride alone and I’ll have to go through the mountains, so it’s likely to be a whole different ball game. I’m quite excited about it!

There are still many important things I need to do before I leave. I need to get professionally fitted to my bike and fix this whole nerve problem thing with my left hand. My hand has regained full function and mobility for everyday use but I can tell my ulnar nerve is still slightly damaged when I leave it in the same position for too long. Even after a short 30 mile ride it begins to go numb. Adjustments will be made to my bike so we fit each other better, which might mean ordering a new stem and set of handlebars all together. My weight needs to be shifted more to my ars and less to my wrists, and I should probably buy some of those padded shorts that real cyclists wear. I’m sure people don’t wear them just to look cool, because we all know the second anyone squeezes into a pair of the diaper-daunted spandex shorts their Awesome Meter spikes to ridiculous heights. Can the world handle one more? I also need to start seriously training again and get myself physically and emotionally prepared for this trip and change of lifestyle. 

Thoughts of my training and emotional preparations are what led me to my blog today. Lately I feel as though I’ve regressed back to my old self, or that all the growing I did during my time on the road has been buried again. I’ve dried out and shriveled back beneath the surface, hiding from the sun. It’s almost as if I don’t feel accepted here in modern society, where people are full of quick judgments and mindless talk. I’ve put myself in awkward situations and handled myself poorly, and I too can’t help but judge myself. When I was on my own I forced myself out there, to make bold decisions and speak before spoken to and make a real effort to connect with strangers and learn from my surroundings and experiences. And when I'd foul up I accepted it as a learning experience rather than regretting it and letting it consume my thoughts. When I’m home my shell consumes my speech. My home town is a vacuum that sucks my voice out. I revert back to the way people expect me to be. That person I was becoming on the road, if just barely there before, has faded into the reflection of hot air and turned invisible once again, like the way the hot distant pavement seeps with steam into the sky. I can’t see clearly, I can hardly focus. My body feels as if it’s in a whirlwind and I’m spinning haphazardly amid the moments. What I choose to acknowledge and ignore doesn’t make sense, and my motives seem confused. People look right through me, and I can’t engage. I can’t connect! So I am hoping that with my reentry into living nomadically I can again find and further develop myself and be happy with my progress. 

Yesterday, as I sat on my haunches in the wet forest without a care in the world except for a flimsy little ant, I remembered how effected I am by nature. With wide eyes I looked around and listened to only the raindrops fall through the leaves, just a few managing to reach my face. I observed the trees conversing, I was a witness without being watched. I didn’t have to do or say anything, and I felt more alive than I have in a long time. I studied the new curled buds beginning to bloom, so tender and vibrant. The little ant walked on top of the water drops that stood upon the leaves, skating over them with glee. They seemed permanent and solid, like dried globs of hot glue. The ant’s pace was steady but directionless. It seemed lost but without worry. The ant often retraced it’s footsteps, shamelessly circling, and eventually it would find it’s way to the next leaf, stretching across a gap wider than the length of it’s body. Almost flying through the air, the ant was so small it seemed to cling to the molecules of air surrounding the leaf itself. I want to have the same motion as that ant, content adrift the fallen drops from the sky, accompanied by a constant petrichor to the air.