keeps on turning

You didn't know this but I actually returned "home" to Brooklyn just a couple of short weeks ago. My silence may have been an indication; the unexpected, churning, at times soul sucking, crushing whirlpool of New York existence ultimately to blame. High, low, up, down, around, upside, downside, inside, out, around again. I have to say: the usual.

The best parts have been reuniting with friends I truly missed and am so grateful just to know and have the support of and have in my life to relax with for a little longer at a bar, beach, park, or otherwise. Two of which have more than generously housed hobo me these recent weeks; the rest reminding me why I even bothered with this city in the first place.

And making it that much harder to leave.

But leave I shall. One week from today, the adventure continues.

In the meantime, I have retreated twice, a weekend upstate very the next out East. Mountaintime and her company just as epic and wonderful as ever; now currently cozy, holed up in this beloved house in Quogue. I've been sitting here for hours enjoying the purest solitude I have known in months or even years. The skies here are staying gray, offering the perfect light and backdrop to my current calm, quiet mood and mindset. What a gift to hear myself think again, to be able to tackle small life tasks leading up to my upcoming departure, to listen to my usual not-so-secret Spotify reggae radio (oops ub40?!), to drink endless coffee, to stare out the window, to not get properly dressed if I don't want to. To text all day, to read, to write. To be.

All the while I am so nervous. I am freaking out. I am overwhelmed. But I am also optimistic. I am looking forward, onward, upward, all the things.

And so here it is. My final days and minutes in this life as I have known it.

West coast: you await.

As always, to be continued...

 

 

diggin deep

We started off the morning a little scattered.

The night before had been my unofficial birthday celebration, a lobster feast fortuitously timed to ring in another year of my short life but really the result of Eric the Fisherman's availability in schedule to provide. I swam both before and after dinner. Perfectly calm salty Northumberland strait providing for me as it so often does. This along with the beach fire that Rita arranged and I wanted for nothing.

The next morning we woke early and sure enough, Ernie was up for the clam adventure discussed at dinner. We ate toast and drank coffee, plus blueberries and one half of a banana covered in cream. We packed buckets, shovels, small umbrellas just in case. Ernie arrived and we were off. I was admittedly tired but the drive seemed to take awhile. We knew we needed to go past Kouchibouguac but after that, where? Rita boldly tracked down a fisherman's number at he marina, our soon to be good friend Nyo who Rita may or may not have bought lobster from the year before. We had missed low tide but a woman assumed to be his wife advised he was still out digging and we might be able to catch him if we tried. She provided his number and the name of the street on which to turn right on two orange sticky post its, with a little patience we finally found out way. The water was hip deep by the time we arrived but we trolled nonetheless, shovels in hand. There were a few clam diggers still out and by now Rita had tracked down Nyo who showed us the ropes, or at least told us about them. Were the water not obscuring our view we would have looked for the telltale holes, stuck a shovel in, shaken the sand off, moved to the next. When the water settles, you rapidly collect. Our method was more along the lines of digging blindly and still, ridiculously, managing to procure ample clam families. His setup and efficiency humbled ours. But he was friendly enough to scatter his own haul and let us scramble for it, feeling like we'd done a lot in a very short time. His and his buddy's proper floating wood framed baskets were filled to the brim with a bounty we'd soon purchase two bonus pecks from. All told, two overflowing buckets, one surreal morning activity in Canada, bags and bags of frozen clams, and one steaming plateful shared with friends old and new. This really is the life.

 

sight seers rewards

Oh, how I love a scenic day trip!

This one was initially born from necessity; my for-the-week partner in crime Josh needed a ride to Halifax and Rita was happy to accommodate and let yours truly tag along. We set out early Sunday morning following all but sleepless nonstop days. A classic Canada pit stop to Tim Hortons for coffee, a leisurely and scenic drive to the wilds of Nova Scotia. We said goodbye to Josh at a McDonald's and continued to Halifax where we lunched at the wharf, embracing all touristic delights. From there, we continued through barrens, bogs, ponds, and rocky coastline. At times it reminded me of coastal Maine, others the glacial remains of Iceland. The skies were overcast and gloomy but cast an ultimately appropriate hue and mood over our eventual destination of Peggy's Cove. Depending on who you ask, legend has it that many years ago a ship wrecked and all but a tiny child named Peggy perished. Her fate was to wash up on he rocks and eventually be adopted by a local family, this cove bearing her namesake forever more. How lil Peggy survived at all is beyond me and likely all who visit on a day as blustery as this one. The waves crashed high and powerfully, as Rita said, "it would be goodbye Charlie Brown" were you to venture to close and by chance get swept up in them.

In any case, it was a spectacle for which I am grateful to have seen. Being Labor Day weekend, it was overflowing with tourists but I didn't mind a bit. In certain areas it felt like we were collectively walking on another planet, their silhouettes on the rock faces actually added to the perception of scale in this impressive cove and the wind and waves made it so you could still only hear little more than yourself think. The surrounding fishing village maintains its perfectly rustic and undeveloped charm. Multicolored houses, local artisans, tiny boats, buoys, and bric a brac.

Our adventure ended with homemade icecream before a drive that admittedly felt twice as long as the first time around. Rita, forever the master storyteller, kept me entertained and laughing but, after days and days of nonstop activity, arriving back to my pink bedroom never felt so deservedly sweet.

 

glass half full

It wasn't my intention to abandon the internet for all of these days that I just did. The sun came out, the would-be last glimpses of summer took over, I found myself enjoying the splendor of actual and undocumented life as it unfolded, one day at a time.

Simple pleasures: a concept I am no stranger to. Seaside ice cream, swimming four times a day, my father turning 67. Kayaking, biking, beach fires, backyard fires. Freezie pops, french fries, fried green tomatoes, homemade almond butter. Local blueberries, local beers, family gatherings, potlucks, and squeaky cheese.

This entire summer has been filled with moments like this. This past week I really let myself submit. But...now what?

Drifting through these days, I have been thinking a lot about what led me here and obviously where this vision quest of mine is ultimately going to take me. Is a work/life balance truly possible? Looking back I can reflect on the ways that the implied futility of New York can feel so heavy; defeat so often the given, not the exception to the rule. Even when you are, by all accounts, "successful", it can drain you completely. These past days in semi-rural Canada, surrounded by family and new friends, have, among other things, reminded me that one can simply DO and BE and it can often work out just fine. What if it were all just...possible? Just because stress is ingrained in me it doesn't mean that it's actually really real or necessary. Just because I have previously, for at least fourteen years, associated work and much of what I have done professionally with anxiety and inadequacy, it doesn't mean it's always going to be this way. This feeling of overachieving coming at the consequence of selling your soul and killing yourself in the process could have been just a product of my surrounding and imagination, not the definitive result for whatever I choose to do or be.

So, now what? All I can say right now is that I'm working on it. And gratefully taking it one day at a time.

 

waking up

I woke up in Canada for the third time since landing here days ago.

After London, after the ultimate friend reunite, after celebrating a wedding, after wondering if London was more charming than I ever gave it credit for, after drinking cider, after dropping my iPhone into a toilet I didn't even use, after taking a deep breath and feeling like my vision quest was over, after the confusion of saying goodbye to people I had only just said hello to, after getting on a plane and embarking on a semi circuitous route as part of a ultimately fourteen hour plus travel day, after finally landing somewhere ....familiar.

Enter the deep, dark jet lag. Or is it more life lag all over again? I realized I haven't really stopped with a forever go go go since that final beautiful beach day weeks and weeks ago. Time change, life change, exhaustion.

This morning I am waking up again, but just barely. Another nine plus hour sleep after a day that included a two hour nap. Still feeling wonky eyed; nearing full energy but not even close. This is the third day of gloomy skies, a reality I have never known here in this maritime utopia. There's a certain relief in the weather dictating a lack of pressure to get outside and be productive or, at the very least, leisurely. Laziest me is just waiting for the sunshine to give me the jolt I think I need in order to reacclimate to this time zone, to routines, to inch closer to real life. Wondering all the while if this is another cosmic life lesson forcing me to overcome the would-be givens in order to arrive stronger on the other side.

In the meantime, patience. And another cup of coffee.

 

 

peace out

Adios e muita obrigada Portugal.

It's been really really real and surreal.....

 

 

we are love.

If I could ever boast a descent into the belly if the beast, this would be the moment.

What was that? Where was that? Where was I? Who was I? What?

The Boom Festival.

Conjure up a notion of things I am least likely to attend and this would rank high on the list. But here I am in Portugal and everyone, including people I really respect, started asking me if I was going. A week long festival that happens every other year in the middle of nowhere near a beautiful lake. Thousands of people, an international gathering. Camp for a week, attend lectures, watch documentaries, go to yoga classes. Music, art. Raw food, permaculture, sustainability, optimism, community, oneness. We are one, we are love. And as we now know so well, the answer for me is always yes in this country. So I went with these dear friends of mine, to this last hurrah in the desert... and wow. What a week it was.

The truth is that it was one of the craziest things I have ever seen or experienced in my life. And I am EXHAUSTED. And prior to the shower I took last night circa 2am when we finally returned to civilization, I am sure I was definitely dirtier that I have ever been too. But it was, as they say, really something.

Watch a discussion panel, sleep in the shade. Dance in the daytime, then swim in the lake. Walk through the gardens, drink a fresh juice. What time is it? Was that today or yesterday? Are we here? Where is there?

The Liminal Village, the Sacred Fire, the Chill Out Gardens, Alchemy Circle, Dance Temple, Healing Area.

There were of course the requisite moments when I felt too old, too tired, too not on drugs in the middle of the day. But then there was this entire other side of it where I looked around and felt like it was one of the most incredible things I have ever witnessed or been a part of. Completely environmentally conscious, actually "clean". Temporary structures made entirely of reclaimed materials. Compost toilets, solar and gravity fed water taps, recyclable everything, respect for the land. The things I learned, the good energy, the social responsibility, the unfailing friendliness of the community as a whole, the lake, the lectures, the inspiration, the togetherness. There were forty thousand people from every corner of the world. Old, young, weird, beautiful. I believe I actually witnessed something happening and lives being changed. The love, the acceptance, the encouragement. My own views on the world and of myself influenced, and so often in the least expected of ways.

And with that said I am so grateful to be back in this reality. Waking up to the quiet sunshine pouring through my sweet friend Rénata's loft as opposed to the endless bass of psytrance music thumping through my own body whose temperature was steadily rising critically higher in my tent. There's no Boom Breakfast smoothie here, no spicy chai, no overpriced (but so worth it) oranges. We might swim in the ocean later but we'll have to drive to get there. But we have landed again, we are here. Looking back I cannot even imagine how that week just passed or if I could ever do such a thing ever again. But my only actual regrets center around my lack of photography to attempt to document the amazingness of it all, maybe a few lectures I missed out of absentmindedness and dwindling sense of time, perhaps my eventual laziness to rally for the bizarre array of morning yoga and otherwise. But all in all, the most fitting send off imaginable.

Because today also happens to be my last full day in Portugal within this crazy vision quest I have been on. And that actually feels ok to me, it actually feels like it's time.

One more day, one more adventure. And as always: here we go.

 

(For the record, I will never ever go to Burning Man.)