Few things are more refreshing than long conversations with distant friends.
If you work with high school students and announce that you'd theoretically be willing to get a public haircut, be ready to lose your hair in dramatic and humbling fashion.
Developing a meaningful friendship with someone preparing to leave the country for six months is at once beautiful and painful, thrilling and difficult.
My brother Ryan is one of the most loved people I know. His 30th birthday party was last night, and the assembled friends and family represented every stage of his life, from Ryan as awkward middle schooler to Ryan as 30-year-old financial advisor. It was a joyful and intriguing clash, and I loved it.
Internet and constant connection may be rotting my brain. Most of my reading in the past year or so has been fiction or online essays, and the return to more weighty texts is proving to be depressingly difficult. This partially contributes to my refusal to buy a phone with which I can check my e-mail.
Growing up in an environment that espouses certain opinions you no longer share is a blessing. There are those who make tremendous fortunes yelling on TV about how fundamentally better you are than the people who disagree with you--especially in an election season. An entire industry revolves around telling you that the person over there--"the other"--is brainless and heartless and trying to destroy our country. But when you're in constant relationship with those people, it is difficult to boil the entire person down to a few political nuances. I'm not belittling differences in belief, and I think meaningful debate is a gift, but the idea that a partisan line permanently separates you from the other half of the country is a terribly dangerous lie.
The right song at the right moment, especially when accompanied by a hot cup of tea and rain streaking the window beside you, is a thoroughly transcendent moment.
High school students can teach you a whole lot more than you think.
Eavesdropping on a sign language conversation is an impossible pleasure.
If you shave your head and attempt to grow facial hair, then randomly run into an old friend who remembers you as long-haired and clean-shaven, you're guaranteed the most enjoyable kind of awkwardness.
Titling a post "What I'm Learning" is an invitation for frustration. There is too much to say, let alone in blog snippets. So let's talk sometime.
Remember love.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Wedding, Sand and Stillness
I could start with my mom’s wedding. Or my trip to Jacksonville a couple weeks ago. Or the group of students I get to hang out with every week, and how much they mean to me. Or the fact that I’m still enjoying my job and haven’t started growing restless yet. Or the book I’m reading right now.
The wedding, you say? Good choice.
This feels a bit silly since it was almost a month ago now, but you should know at least that it was a subdued evening--in the sense of the size and the general craziness, not the mood, which was anything but subdued. The passing storms rested long enough for the ceremony and the mingling after, with the families and a few dozen close friends wandering around the house and backyard. I can’t really talk about the actual moment, sitting in the grass with my siblings and watching our mom walking onto the patio and saying her vows, without getting all sappy. So I’ll just say that it was one of the more surreal and weighted moments of my life, a reminder that restoration is real and miracles are real and redemption is more than empty rhetoric.
I have a new Wednesday night tradition, after youth group and dinner and bringing students home, of heading out to the beach to sit and listen and wait. I’m enjoying my life right now, but it’s kind of crazy--stillness is rare, silence even more rare. So I’ve decided that a little sleep loss is worth some moon-watching and wave-listening and sand-wandering and breathing and reflecting. I bring this up now because last Wednesday I was out there thinking about my mom, Mike, new friends, words, challenges and questions, and God…and feeling a whole lot of gratitude.
I guess that’s the best word for where I’m at right now: gratitude. I have plenty of uncertainty about the long-term future, but there are enough meaningful and significant things happening in and around me that, whenever I slow down and take a step back, I can’t help but feel grateful. And excited.
A couple weeks ago I went up to Jacksonville for a few days, and my friend David went with me. I love when different parts of my life interact with each other, and letting a Bradenton friend meet the people who were my community and joy and support in Jacksonville was a really good experience.
Have you seen Inception? If not, do it.
Last night we were talking about redemption, about the idea that it’s never too late for someone to find hope, meaning, and a deeper kind of life. I want this to affect how I look at people…I want to always believe that people are capable of tremendous good when they are engaged in something outside of themselves. This idea is rooted in and dependent on a belief in a loving and compassionate God. I know that a bunch of you reading this don’t share that belief, so I won’t push it. I said it here because it’s impossible for me to talk about where I am now without bringing that up.
Something lighthearted next time, I promise. Maybe I’ll tell you about the man I met walking around my new neighborhood the other night. For now, I hope you find rest and silence and stillness. And whether or not you share the beliefs I mentioned here, I hope you are engaged in something outside of yourself that breaks your routines with depth and gratitude.
Remember love.
The wedding, you say? Good choice.
This feels a bit silly since it was almost a month ago now, but you should know at least that it was a subdued evening--in the sense of the size and the general craziness, not the mood, which was anything but subdued. The passing storms rested long enough for the ceremony and the mingling after, with the families and a few dozen close friends wandering around the house and backyard. I can’t really talk about the actual moment, sitting in the grass with my siblings and watching our mom walking onto the patio and saying her vows, without getting all sappy. So I’ll just say that it was one of the more surreal and weighted moments of my life, a reminder that restoration is real and miracles are real and redemption is more than empty rhetoric.
I have a new Wednesday night tradition, after youth group and dinner and bringing students home, of heading out to the beach to sit and listen and wait. I’m enjoying my life right now, but it’s kind of crazy--stillness is rare, silence even more rare. So I’ve decided that a little sleep loss is worth some moon-watching and wave-listening and sand-wandering and breathing and reflecting. I bring this up now because last Wednesday I was out there thinking about my mom, Mike, new friends, words, challenges and questions, and God…and feeling a whole lot of gratitude.
I guess that’s the best word for where I’m at right now: gratitude. I have plenty of uncertainty about the long-term future, but there are enough meaningful and significant things happening in and around me that, whenever I slow down and take a step back, I can’t help but feel grateful. And excited.
A couple weeks ago I went up to Jacksonville for a few days, and my friend David went with me. I love when different parts of my life interact with each other, and letting a Bradenton friend meet the people who were my community and joy and support in Jacksonville was a really good experience.
Have you seen Inception? If not, do it.
Last night we were talking about redemption, about the idea that it’s never too late for someone to find hope, meaning, and a deeper kind of life. I want this to affect how I look at people…I want to always believe that people are capable of tremendous good when they are engaged in something outside of themselves. This idea is rooted in and dependent on a belief in a loving and compassionate God. I know that a bunch of you reading this don’t share that belief, so I won’t push it. I said it here because it’s impossible for me to talk about where I am now without bringing that up.
Something lighthearted next time, I promise. Maybe I’ll tell you about the man I met walking around my new neighborhood the other night. For now, I hope you find rest and silence and stillness. And whether or not you share the beliefs I mentioned here, I hope you are engaged in something outside of yourself that breaks your routines with depth and gratitude.
Remember love.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Thunder!
The past two days brought with them two of the best storms of the summer so far. Last night's roared and shook and blanketed everything for hours. Tonight's was more removed, but the dusk clouds and distant lightning were a wonder.
I watched the clouds and lightning and fading sunlight from Chipotle's patio, where I was eating dinner with a friend from high school. Side note: I realized earlier that every one of my in-progress books is marked by a Chipotle receipt. I'm considering counseling.
While we ate, my friend--we'll call her Allison, since that's her name--commented on something I wrote on here a few weeks ago. Then she said I should write something new. I said I didn't know what to write, so could I write about her?
"No, that'd be weird."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Okay. What would you say?"
I wiped some sour cream off my chin. Chipotle, by the way, has the most ridiculously wonderful sour cream. Ever. "I'm not sure. I could write about how you're a world famous actress or something."
"But I'm not."
"No. That'd be interesting, though, wouldn't it?"
We weren't getting anywhere, and an especially striking bolt of lightning changed the subject for us, so I think I'll leave it at that.
A short story publication that I like has an open submission ending this week. I've spent the last couple days working on a story to send in. Since moving home from California I've barely done any non-work writing, and I had forgotten how much I enjoy it, the process of forming characters and letting them interact and trying to figure out the best possible way to say it all. I had also forgotten how terrifying the actual submission is, waiting for someone to accept it or reject it, love it or forget it. I'm sweating right now thinking about it, so let's move on again.
I found out recently that the magazine office closes for furlough the week after the 4th. This means that a much-prolonged trip to Jacksonville will finally happen, which is terribly exciting. I miss my friends there so much.
And I also miss my non-local siblings, who are all coming home for our mom's wedding Friday. !!! It still feels strange saying that, "mom's wedding," but I'm so excited for her, and so excited about having everyone together next week. Mike is a welcome bit of calmness for our family.
On that note I will say goodnight, and thank you to my famous actress friend Allison for a wonderful dinner, and congratulations to my not-so-famous teacher friend Grant, who got married tonight. I asked the road monster to eat away the distance between here and Arizona so I could go, but I guess he was busy. Seriously, I'm thrilled for you, and I wish I could've been there. Remember to ask Lauren to tell me when her long-lost twin shows up so I can go out there and propose to her.
Remember love.
I watched the clouds and lightning and fading sunlight from Chipotle's patio, where I was eating dinner with a friend from high school. Side note: I realized earlier that every one of my in-progress books is marked by a Chipotle receipt. I'm considering counseling.
While we ate, my friend--we'll call her Allison, since that's her name--commented on something I wrote on here a few weeks ago. Then she said I should write something new. I said I didn't know what to write, so could I write about her?
"No, that'd be weird."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Okay. What would you say?"
I wiped some sour cream off my chin. Chipotle, by the way, has the most ridiculously wonderful sour cream. Ever. "I'm not sure. I could write about how you're a world famous actress or something."
"But I'm not."
"No. That'd be interesting, though, wouldn't it?"
We weren't getting anywhere, and an especially striking bolt of lightning changed the subject for us, so I think I'll leave it at that.
A short story publication that I like has an open submission ending this week. I've spent the last couple days working on a story to send in. Since moving home from California I've barely done any non-work writing, and I had forgotten how much I enjoy it, the process of forming characters and letting them interact and trying to figure out the best possible way to say it all. I had also forgotten how terrifying the actual submission is, waiting for someone to accept it or reject it, love it or forget it. I'm sweating right now thinking about it, so let's move on again.
I found out recently that the magazine office closes for furlough the week after the 4th. This means that a much-prolonged trip to Jacksonville will finally happen, which is terribly exciting. I miss my friends there so much.
And I also miss my non-local siblings, who are all coming home for our mom's wedding Friday. !!! It still feels strange saying that, "mom's wedding," but I'm so excited for her, and so excited about having everyone together next week. Mike is a welcome bit of calmness for our family.
On that note I will say goodnight, and thank you to my famous actress friend Allison for a wonderful dinner, and congratulations to my not-so-famous teacher friend Grant, who got married tonight. I asked the road monster to eat away the distance between here and Arizona so I could go, but I guess he was busy. Seriously, I'm thrilled for you, and I wish I could've been there. Remember to ask Lauren to tell me when her long-lost twin shows up so I can go out there and propose to her.
Remember love.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Content
A few days ago, on my way to see a visiting Britton, something about the clouds and the sunlight and the general mood reminded me of the bookstore in Pasadena. I thought about the outside steps where I used to take my break and stare at the so-close-you-could-touch-them mountains, and I missed it. I missed the bookstore, and the Metro, and Los Angeles in general. So I started to think about whether or not I would want to move back there.
And then I started laughing. Not because it’s a ridiculous thought, but because I can’t even imagine leaving Bradenton right now.
This is an exceedingly good thing.
For the first time I can remember, at least the first time since middle school, I am content--in almost every sense of the word--with where I am. I enjoy my job and the people I work with. I love my family and friends here, the weather, the beach, the baseball games, the occasional thunderstorms, being able to help out with the youth group I was raised in. I'm learning and growing. I’m excited thinking about how my work right now could be laying the foundation for an actual career…though even in contentment such a permanent thought makes me a little nervous. Which reminds me that this contentment is probably temporary--that eventually I'll want to be somewhere else. And I'm okay with that, because it's not that I'm feeling settled here, more that I'm finding this time in my life to be fulfilling.
All this to say that I am happy. I’m busy, and mildly stressed about 70 percent of the time, but I’m okay with that. And I consider myself ridiculously fortunate that I can look back on past stages of my life, in Jacksonville and California, with intense fondness and nostalgia…yet still be thrilled with where I am.
Some culture thoughts:
Lost. In case you just moved home from the moon (which is gorgeous tonight), the series finale was Sunday. The last season (or two) has been pretty disappointing, especially because I’ve moved away from my Jacksonville viewing family and mostly watch it when I find some spare time and some Internet. But I stuck with it, and I’m glad I did. Even with its sappy pluralism, I loved the ending. It made me think fondly back to the first couple seasons, and it highlighted themes of community and sacrifice that stretch over the entire series. I hope that someday, preferably far in the future, someone close to me will decide to watch it, and I’ll join them, because I would appreciate seeing the beginning in light of the conclusion.
World Cup. I played soccer when I was younger, and I enjoy it for fun now and then, but I’ve never been able to watch it. Every four years, though, the world gets caught up in this most international of sports, and at least a few times during the Cup I sit down and pretend like I enjoy it for a few minutes. No doubt this will happen again this year, especially considering how soccer has become the trendy go-to sport for people who don’t watch sports. And maybe this year I’ll make it through an entire game; I can see myself getting caught up in the on-field energy and off-field passion, and I appreciate the dramatically un-American low scores. Maybe I’ll even watch enough to start calling it football and make comments about how we pirated its name for a sport that barely involves feet. But, most likely, fifteen minutes of the relentless back-and-forth will be enough for me and I’ll call it quits for another four years. I’d gladly trade it for the final round of the Masters or any game of baseball. I still enjoy the culture of soccer, though…which is why I’m closing with this:
Remember love.
And then I started laughing. Not because it’s a ridiculous thought, but because I can’t even imagine leaving Bradenton right now.
This is an exceedingly good thing.
For the first time I can remember, at least the first time since middle school, I am content--in almost every sense of the word--with where I am. I enjoy my job and the people I work with. I love my family and friends here, the weather, the beach, the baseball games, the occasional thunderstorms, being able to help out with the youth group I was raised in. I'm learning and growing. I’m excited thinking about how my work right now could be laying the foundation for an actual career…though even in contentment such a permanent thought makes me a little nervous. Which reminds me that this contentment is probably temporary--that eventually I'll want to be somewhere else. And I'm okay with that, because it's not that I'm feeling settled here, more that I'm finding this time in my life to be fulfilling.
All this to say that I am happy. I’m busy, and mildly stressed about 70 percent of the time, but I’m okay with that. And I consider myself ridiculously fortunate that I can look back on past stages of my life, in Jacksonville and California, with intense fondness and nostalgia…yet still be thrilled with where I am.
Some culture thoughts:
Lost. In case you just moved home from the moon (which is gorgeous tonight), the series finale was Sunday. The last season (or two) has been pretty disappointing, especially because I’ve moved away from my Jacksonville viewing family and mostly watch it when I find some spare time and some Internet. But I stuck with it, and I’m glad I did. Even with its sappy pluralism, I loved the ending. It made me think fondly back to the first couple seasons, and it highlighted themes of community and sacrifice that stretch over the entire series. I hope that someday, preferably far in the future, someone close to me will decide to watch it, and I’ll join them, because I would appreciate seeing the beginning in light of the conclusion.
World Cup. I played soccer when I was younger, and I enjoy it for fun now and then, but I’ve never been able to watch it. Every four years, though, the world gets caught up in this most international of sports, and at least a few times during the Cup I sit down and pretend like I enjoy it for a few minutes. No doubt this will happen again this year, especially considering how soccer has become the trendy go-to sport for people who don’t watch sports. And maybe this year I’ll make it through an entire game; I can see myself getting caught up in the on-field energy and off-field passion, and I appreciate the dramatically un-American low scores. Maybe I’ll even watch enough to start calling it football and make comments about how we pirated its name for a sport that barely involves feet. But, most likely, fifteen minutes of the relentless back-and-forth will be enough for me and I’ll call it quits for another four years. I’d gladly trade it for the final round of the Masters or any game of baseball. I still enjoy the culture of soccer, though…which is why I’m closing with this:
Remember love.
Friday, April 30, 2010
Bradensota
Yesterday, as a sort of birthday inspiration, a former professor of mine suggested that I “write something smart and funny.” Of course that would be enough of a challenge on my most prolific of days, but it’s even more of one considering I’ve got about an hour before I’ll have let the entire month of April go by without writing anything here. And we can’t have that, so here are some words. I can’t promise “smart and funny,” but I can promise words that form sentences that hopefully combine into a coherent thought process.
I’ve been home now for more than a month, and I don’t think I want to sit and write--and I know you don’t want to sit and read--every detail of what’s happened in that time, so how about a semi-comprehensive run-on? Remember that part about “a coherent thought process”? Let’s put that on hold for the moment.
I started an editorial internship at Sarasota magazine which is awesome and I’m learning a ton and I get to write articles for the website about film parties and chili and sand mandalas and then my uncle bought back the magazine and I went to a crazy fun wedding in Jacksonville and missed all my friends there then my mom got engaged (!) then I started helping out with web stuff at the magazine and they’re paying me now so I guess it’s not really an internship anymore and everybody makes the same joke about how amazing it is that my English degree is actually getting me paid and I nod and laugh like I haven’t heard that one before and I’ve been going to a bunch of Little League games which stirs up all sorts of good memories and last Thursday was two years since Dad died and that slowed down all the newness and made everything feel quiet for a few hours and this Thursday was probably the most mellow birthday I’ve ever had but it felt complete and ended outside watching my friend David in a concert that was fun and lovely and it was so beautiful outside and sometimes I miss California and a lot of times I miss Jacksonville but mostly it’s good to be here and I think I might be around for a while.
And...breathe.
Let’s blame my silence here on a transitional moment in life. I’m settling into a routine at work, which means I might start to write on this thing somewhat regularly again. But maybe not. I’ve been surprised by how little free time I have, and I want to keep working on short stories to submit, so it’s possible that my words here will be more infrequent. We’ll see. In the meantime, if you get a hankering for some Beau words, you can check the magazine’s website (www.sarasotamagazine.com) and see if I have anything new there. Then you can write long letters to the editors about how moved you were and how, in your professional opinion, they should quadruple my pay.
I’ll try to write about big changes on here, at work or in life or about the process of finding somewhere to live come July. And of course when I have both the thoughts and the time I’ll share some of the stories and moments that are my absolute favorite things to write about.
For now, I’ll leave you with some Berry words. Wendell Berry, not fruit. From Jayber Crow:
“I knew too that this new war was not even new but was only the old one come again. And what caused it? It was caused, I thought, by people failing to love one another, failing to love their enemies. I was glad enough that I had not become a preacher, and so would not have to go through a war pretending that Jesus had not told us to love our enemies.”
“If you could do it, I supposed, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line--starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King’s Highway past appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circle or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I have deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led--make of that what you will.”
Remember love.
I’ve been home now for more than a month, and I don’t think I want to sit and write--and I know you don’t want to sit and read--every detail of what’s happened in that time, so how about a semi-comprehensive run-on? Remember that part about “a coherent thought process”? Let’s put that on hold for the moment.
I started an editorial internship at Sarasota magazine which is awesome and I’m learning a ton and I get to write articles for the website about film parties and chili and sand mandalas and then my uncle bought back the magazine and I went to a crazy fun wedding in Jacksonville and missed all my friends there then my mom got engaged (!) then I started helping out with web stuff at the magazine and they’re paying me now so I guess it’s not really an internship anymore and everybody makes the same joke about how amazing it is that my English degree is actually getting me paid and I nod and laugh like I haven’t heard that one before and I’ve been going to a bunch of Little League games which stirs up all sorts of good memories and last Thursday was two years since Dad died and that slowed down all the newness and made everything feel quiet for a few hours and this Thursday was probably the most mellow birthday I’ve ever had but it felt complete and ended outside watching my friend David in a concert that was fun and lovely and it was so beautiful outside and sometimes I miss California and a lot of times I miss Jacksonville but mostly it’s good to be here and I think I might be around for a while.
And...breathe.
Let’s blame my silence here on a transitional moment in life. I’m settling into a routine at work, which means I might start to write on this thing somewhat regularly again. But maybe not. I’ve been surprised by how little free time I have, and I want to keep working on short stories to submit, so it’s possible that my words here will be more infrequent. We’ll see. In the meantime, if you get a hankering for some Beau words, you can check the magazine’s website (www.sarasotamagazine.com) and see if I have anything new there. Then you can write long letters to the editors about how moved you were and how, in your professional opinion, they should quadruple my pay.
I’ll try to write about big changes on here, at work or in life or about the process of finding somewhere to live come July. And of course when I have both the thoughts and the time I’ll share some of the stories and moments that are my absolute favorite things to write about.
For now, I’ll leave you with some Berry words. Wendell Berry, not fruit. From Jayber Crow:
“I knew too that this new war was not even new but was only the old one come again. And what caused it? It was caused, I thought, by people failing to love one another, failing to love their enemies. I was glad enough that I had not become a preacher, and so would not have to go through a war pretending that Jesus had not told us to love our enemies.”
“If you could do it, I supposed, it would be a good idea to live your life in a straight line--starting, say, in the Dark Wood of Error, and proceeding by logical steps through Hell and Purgatory and into Heaven. Or you could take the King’s Highway past appropriately named dangers, toils, and snares, and finally cross the River of Death and enter the Celestial City. But that is not the way I have done it, so far. I am a pilgrim, but my pilgrimage has been wandering and unmarked. Often what has looked like a straight line to me has been a circle or a doubling back. I have been in the Dark Wood of Error any number of times. I have known something of Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven, but not always in that order. The names of many snares and dangers have been made known to me, but I have seen them only in looking back. Often I have not known where I was going until I was already there. I have had my share of desires and goals, but my life has come to me or I have gone to it mainly by way of mistakes and surprises. Often I have received better than I have deserved. Often my fairest hopes have rested on bad mistakes. I am an ignorant pilgrim, crossing a dark valley. And yet for a long time, looking back, I have been unable to shake off the feeling that I have been led--make of that what you will.”
Remember love.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Easterly Finale
I don’t know what I was waiting for in postponing this update. Something felt incomplete about being home, and part of me wished I was still in the middle of the trip coming here. I wanted to be in Arizona, fingers and toes completely numb, about to watch the sun paint my first view of the Grand Canyon, or feeling the surprise again of entering Gila National Forest in New Mexico, or even just on the road in the middle of nowhere, excited by solitude and fully engaged in all of the unknown land around me.
Most people would be totally grateful for a week-long trip, and the thought of driving across the country would be terribly exciting. And believe me, I have been so excited and grateful. But when I woke up in Bradenton Friday morning, the settled-ness got to me, and I didn’t feel ready for it. I sensed a familiar restlessness, and this worried me.
But these thoughts began to change. I ran errands all day Friday, and the familiarity of this town was a comfort instead of a bother. Then Saturday, my mom and I went kayaking in Terra Ceia, through mangrove passages and hidden inlets, the sun bright and warm, the Gulf water splashing all over me. Later I drove to the beach to catch the sunset. It was there, sitting in the sand, watching the crowd gather at water’s edge to say goodnight to the sun, that I began to feel some sort of completion. And then excitement. I was overwhelmed, grateful to be around family and old friends and such familiar places, looking forward to this new stage in my life.
While I hope I will be traveling as much as possible in the future, I also believe that, no matter how long I’m here and where else I go, Bradenton will always be home. And, for right now, it feels so right to be here.
Three final thoughts about this trip:
1) As of Louisiana, I have now been in a car in all forty-eight of our continental states. I’m proud of this, though I am also consistently amazed by how gigantic our country is and how much there is still to see. I have lists of places around the world I want to visit, but even if I end up only traveling these states, I know there is enough to keep me thrilled and curious for the rest of my life. I want to wander the Oregon coast, hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and sleep by the river, become familiar with Gila National Forest, camp in Yosemite…there’s so much. And while I enjoy the idea of feeling settled here, I hope to never lose a sense of wonder and curiosity about the rest of our country.
2) For the past couple of weeks I have been reading and re-reading Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry. This trip, moving to Bradenton with some sense of permanence for the first time since high school, has allowed for all sorts of thoughts about the act of returning home, a process that encompasses every part of our being and creates room for seemingly endless reflections on life’s present, past, and future. This book has complemented and paralleled this process in an astonishingly beautiful way. Berry is the literary saint of small-town America, with a soft, thoughtful tone perfect for roadtrips and outdoor reading, and his ideas about returning home challenge and clarify my own. It doesn’t hurt that he writes with a careful eloquence that can make me close my eyes with a peaceful smile in one moment and then make me sick with jealousy in the next. I can’t imagine a better traveling companion for this trip. Except maybe Britton, or someone else who could have an actual conversation with me. But that’s beside the point.
3) Six days, nine states, and 3,373.5 miles, for anyone who was wondering.
On Wednesday I go to Sarasota to meet with the editor of the magazine where I hope to intern. If that works out, the temporary permanence (if there is such a thing) of my return to Bradenton will feel more complete. If it doesn’t, I am not really sure what’s coming next. But don’t worry…I’ll be sure to write.
Thank you for reading. Remember love.
Most people would be totally grateful for a week-long trip, and the thought of driving across the country would be terribly exciting. And believe me, I have been so excited and grateful. But when I woke up in Bradenton Friday morning, the settled-ness got to me, and I didn’t feel ready for it. I sensed a familiar restlessness, and this worried me.
But these thoughts began to change. I ran errands all day Friday, and the familiarity of this town was a comfort instead of a bother. Then Saturday, my mom and I went kayaking in Terra Ceia, through mangrove passages and hidden inlets, the sun bright and warm, the Gulf water splashing all over me. Later I drove to the beach to catch the sunset. It was there, sitting in the sand, watching the crowd gather at water’s edge to say goodnight to the sun, that I began to feel some sort of completion. And then excitement. I was overwhelmed, grateful to be around family and old friends and such familiar places, looking forward to this new stage in my life.
While I hope I will be traveling as much as possible in the future, I also believe that, no matter how long I’m here and where else I go, Bradenton will always be home. And, for right now, it feels so right to be here.
Three final thoughts about this trip:
1) As of Louisiana, I have now been in a car in all forty-eight of our continental states. I’m proud of this, though I am also consistently amazed by how gigantic our country is and how much there is still to see. I have lists of places around the world I want to visit, but even if I end up only traveling these states, I know there is enough to keep me thrilled and curious for the rest of my life. I want to wander the Oregon coast, hike to the bottom of the Grand Canyon and sleep by the river, become familiar with Gila National Forest, camp in Yosemite…there’s so much. And while I enjoy the idea of feeling settled here, I hope to never lose a sense of wonder and curiosity about the rest of our country.
2) For the past couple of weeks I have been reading and re-reading Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry. This trip, moving to Bradenton with some sense of permanence for the first time since high school, has allowed for all sorts of thoughts about the act of returning home, a process that encompasses every part of our being and creates room for seemingly endless reflections on life’s present, past, and future. This book has complemented and paralleled this process in an astonishingly beautiful way. Berry is the literary saint of small-town America, with a soft, thoughtful tone perfect for roadtrips and outdoor reading, and his ideas about returning home challenge and clarify my own. It doesn’t hurt that he writes with a careful eloquence that can make me close my eyes with a peaceful smile in one moment and then make me sick with jealousy in the next. I can’t imagine a better traveling companion for this trip. Except maybe Britton, or someone else who could have an actual conversation with me. But that’s beside the point.
3) Six days, nine states, and 3,373.5 miles, for anyone who was wondering.
On Wednesday I go to Sarasota to meet with the editor of the magazine where I hope to intern. If that works out, the temporary permanence (if there is such a thing) of my return to Bradenton will feel more complete. If it doesn’t, I am not really sure what’s coming next. But don’t worry…I’ll be sure to write.
Thank you for reading. Remember love.
Easterly Pt. 3
San Antonio left me with two surprises. The first came soon after I posted my last update. I hadn’t realized how late it was until I noticed the Panera staff cleaning up for the night. After I closed my computer and cleared the table, I was greeted by a young lady -- I would guess the night manager -- offering me a loaf of cinnamon raisin bread.
I understand that it’s normal for Panera to give away the bread they can no longer sell, but I was surprised by the gesture and felt all sorts of gratitude. I told her I was in the middle of a long trip, so this was perfect for me, then she and another employee started asking about where I was going and how long I’d been on the road, and before you knew it we were all the best of friends. At least according to Facebook. So to my Panera friends, thank you again.
San Antonio’s second surprise came as I was on my way out, back on I-10, and I started seeing signs for Houston. I suddenly realized that I had completely misread my map, and that the drive to Christopher’s was not nearly as far as I thought. This was cause for celebrating, which I did with a slice of cinnamon raisin bread and an unreturned wave to the car in the next lane.
Not too much later I crossed the Colorado River. It was too dark to actually see it, but I honked anyways and offered my thanks for the Grand Canyon. I stopped about half an hour out of Houston, found a place to park on a quiet street away from the interstate, and curled up for some sleep.
A heavy fog moved in before sunrise. This was beautiful, because it cooled the air and gave the day’s beginning an eerie significance. But it was also unfortunate, because it turned everything kind of sticky and damp and made the funny smell in my car a little bit funnier. So I rode into Houston with the windows down to let everything air out.
Dark clouds were hovering over the city by the time I reached it, threatening but never delivering rain. I spread some apple sauce on my new cinnamon raisin bread and made a sandwich, then pulled out my bike and wandered downtown for a bit. I wasn’t in much of a city mood, though, so before long I was back on the interstate. It was only a couple hours to Beaumont, and the drive was pleasant enough, if not exceedingly memorable. I remember the sky clearing up quite nicely, and I remember crossing increasingly frequent bayous and rivers, with colors and textures that spoke unmistakably of an allegiance to the Gulf of Mexico. This made home feel close and allowed for a pleasant frame of mind.
I reached Beaumont around lunchtime. Yes, my brother lives in Beaumont, and yes, this allowed at least a few moments of narcissistic satisfaction on my part. As a man next to me at a gas station said so eloquently, “Wait, your name’s Beau? And you’re in Beaumont? Oh wow, what a gas!”
I was surprisingly and thoroughly charmed by Beaumont. By this point it was a gorgeous, clear day, and the downtown streets wound through a collection of small parks and old buildings. There were pillared government centers, weathered brick buildings, an ancient limestone church, some small theatres and a great regional art museum, even a Back to the Future style clock tower on an old hotel. I biked down Main Street, which wandered past shady parks with fountains and flowerbeds, then ended up at The Barking Dog café for lunch. There I noticed a sign saying that, starting next month, they could no longer afford to stay open during the day. This pointed to a sad theme hanging over the town: despite its charm, it was eerily still and quiet for a Monday, clearly overshadowed by the endless miles of development surrounding it, filled with fast food restaurants and chain stores you can find in any city in the country.
With the heavy realization that this perfect little corner of America was fading away, I biked down to a rolling riverside park, complete with a terrific steel bridge for trains and pedestrians. Downstream a bit the river was lined with factories and smokestacks, but even so it was a beautiful scene and the soft breeze carried a wonderful woodsy scent, so it wasn’t long before I was stretched out in the grass asleep.
Later that afternoon I found my brother’s apartment and took a long, much-needed shower. I hadn’t realized how gross I had become until standing in front of his mirror, but after the hot water and about a gallon of shampoo I was as good as new. I visited with Chris for a bit when he came home from work, then we both decided to nap for a couple hours. His couch was the closest I’d come to a bed since California, and when I stretched out I could feel knots in all kinds of new spots on my back from the nights of curling up in my front seat, so this was perfect.
Christopher treated to a hearty dinner, then we wandered a bookstore for a bit before heading home. We stayed up for a couple hours sharing about our lives. He’s in an interesting place right now, carving out a life in an area so far removed from anything we’ve experienced before, and I loved being able to see him there.
I regretted having to leave so soon, but there was still a whole lot of road in front of me, so after a long and full night of sleep I climbed back in the car and said bye to my brother. I noticed then that the tingling in my right hand, which had been there since I got so cold and numb at the Grand Canyon, was finally gone. A good night of sleep can work wonders.
Texas ended after not too much longer, and before lunchtime I was in Louisiana. This stretch of I-10 was interesting; at several points the road transformed into low, flat bridges, one of which lasted more than half an hour. These bridges tore through the heart of swamp country, which allowed for an odd sensation: still being closely surrounded by trees, but looking over the edge of the road and seeing water in every direction. I was intrigued by this terrain, and would have liked to see a little more, but I wasn’t terribly sad to keep driving. I think my heart may still have been on the rim of the Grand Canyon.
Just before Baton Rouge I crossed a gorgeous steel bridge spanning the Mississippi. This, crossing such a monumental landmark, always feels significant. Now I have to remember to add “east of the Mississippi” to all my superlatives. Baton Rouge came and went fairly quickly, as did New Orleans. I had taken this route with the intention of exploring New Orleans, but I was in a driving mood and before I knew it I was crossing another state line.
Mississippi was remarkably unmemorable. The landscape could have been compelling in its simplicity if not for the monstrous casinos and the endless miles of billboards advertising them. I have heard good things about parts of Mississippi, especially the Biloxi area, but by this point I was rather grateful for the relentless interstate, and I had no thoughts of slowing down.
At first Alabama didn’t feel a whole lot different. Except no casinos, which made for a much more pleasant drive. Then, Alabama began to Floridafy. My word. The land dried up, the trees grew and thickened, the grass became distinctly Floridian, and by the time I reached the state line I was already feeling at home.
This feeling continued through the panhandle, which lasted for about an eternity but somehow remained enjoyable. It might have been the dusk sky, or the fact that I was in my home state again, or maybe the rolling hills that always surprise me about this part of Florida…whatever the reason, I was in a ridiculously good mood.
I had been planning on pulling over for the night, but somewhere before Tallahassee I realized I could finish it all in one drive. When I stopped for gas I called Jacksonville to make sure I had a place to land when I got in town, and with a renewed burst of energy I continued across the northern middle of our state.
Of course by now it was fairly late, and I had been driving since morning, so that energy didn’t last too long. By Lake City the main thing keeping me awake was the occasional action required to flick off my brights for oncoming traffic, that great nighttime equivalent of the friendly wave, a way of nodding at my fellow travelers and saying “Hey, I see you and I don’t want you to go blind. Now drive safe, you hear?” For the last hour or so I was also kept up by the thought of being so close to a familiar place, a place with memories, where I share a meaningful history with a community of people terribly close to my heart.
Quick side note: at one point I saw a bumper sticker that said “Thank a Vet.” And I thought this was a wonderful idea, showing some appreciation to the people who care for our pets. This might be a sign of how tired I was, but it wasn’t until I was about to pass the car that I realized the sticker was talking about an entirely different kind of vet.
When I reached Jacksonville I stopped to mail some Grand Canyon postcards to a few people I would be seeing the next day. That seemed strange, but something about handing out postcards in person feels so silly to me. Then, after almost fourteen hours of driving, I pulled into the house of some friends, just about the closest thing I have to a home in Jacksonville, and immediately settled in for another long night of sleep.
The next day I joined a few people for lunch, then wandered the campus where I had studied, amazed by the growth and the changes. I got to see a couple of friends and old professors, but it was spring break so most people I had hoped to visit with were gone for the week. Then I headed out to the beach, stopped by the Atlantic for the sake of capping off the feeling of a cross-country trip, and met up with my friend Brendan for a few hours. Many parts of my time in Jacksonville are rooted in the different stages of that friendship, so it felt good to be with him again.
We had a relaxed night, dinner with a few friends and some conversation back at the house where I was staying. My relationship with these friends is such a central part of who I am that it felt as if no time had passed, like I had been there all along, so our time together was natural and refreshing.
In keeping with a theme of this trip, my Jacksonville stay ended entirely too quickly. After an early lunch the next day with my friend Shailyn, I was on the road for Bradenton. Partly because of the nature of our lunch conversation, and partly because of having to leave so soon, that last drive was emotional and difficult. But I’ll be back in Jacksonville again in a few weeks, and that thought was a comfort.
So was the idea of being close to Bradenton. I’ll have more thoughts about this in the next post, but something about the journey of returning home speaks powerfully to me, and by the time I turned from 301 to I-75, which led me through the rolling farmlands and sunny fields north of Tampa, I was once again wearing that ridiculous and shameless grin which had marked so much of my trip.
Thursday night we had a giant family dinner, complete with Kathryn home for spring break and the family’s new special someone, about whom I don’t feel ready to write in such a public place. The night was lovely and delicious and an absolutely perfect way to mark a homecoming.
I think that’s all for now. I’ll post a few final words in a bit to wrap up my thoughts here. In the meantime, remember love.
I understand that it’s normal for Panera to give away the bread they can no longer sell, but I was surprised by the gesture and felt all sorts of gratitude. I told her I was in the middle of a long trip, so this was perfect for me, then she and another employee started asking about where I was going and how long I’d been on the road, and before you knew it we were all the best of friends. At least according to Facebook. So to my Panera friends, thank you again.
San Antonio’s second surprise came as I was on my way out, back on I-10, and I started seeing signs for Houston. I suddenly realized that I had completely misread my map, and that the drive to Christopher’s was not nearly as far as I thought. This was cause for celebrating, which I did with a slice of cinnamon raisin bread and an unreturned wave to the car in the next lane.
Not too much later I crossed the Colorado River. It was too dark to actually see it, but I honked anyways and offered my thanks for the Grand Canyon. I stopped about half an hour out of Houston, found a place to park on a quiet street away from the interstate, and curled up for some sleep.
A heavy fog moved in before sunrise. This was beautiful, because it cooled the air and gave the day’s beginning an eerie significance. But it was also unfortunate, because it turned everything kind of sticky and damp and made the funny smell in my car a little bit funnier. So I rode into Houston with the windows down to let everything air out.
Dark clouds were hovering over the city by the time I reached it, threatening but never delivering rain. I spread some apple sauce on my new cinnamon raisin bread and made a sandwich, then pulled out my bike and wandered downtown for a bit. I wasn’t in much of a city mood, though, so before long I was back on the interstate. It was only a couple hours to Beaumont, and the drive was pleasant enough, if not exceedingly memorable. I remember the sky clearing up quite nicely, and I remember crossing increasingly frequent bayous and rivers, with colors and textures that spoke unmistakably of an allegiance to the Gulf of Mexico. This made home feel close and allowed for a pleasant frame of mind.
I reached Beaumont around lunchtime. Yes, my brother lives in Beaumont, and yes, this allowed at least a few moments of narcissistic satisfaction on my part. As a man next to me at a gas station said so eloquently, “Wait, your name’s Beau? And you’re in Beaumont? Oh wow, what a gas!”
I was surprisingly and thoroughly charmed by Beaumont. By this point it was a gorgeous, clear day, and the downtown streets wound through a collection of small parks and old buildings. There were pillared government centers, weathered brick buildings, an ancient limestone church, some small theatres and a great regional art museum, even a Back to the Future style clock tower on an old hotel. I biked down Main Street, which wandered past shady parks with fountains and flowerbeds, then ended up at The Barking Dog café for lunch. There I noticed a sign saying that, starting next month, they could no longer afford to stay open during the day. This pointed to a sad theme hanging over the town: despite its charm, it was eerily still and quiet for a Monday, clearly overshadowed by the endless miles of development surrounding it, filled with fast food restaurants and chain stores you can find in any city in the country.
With the heavy realization that this perfect little corner of America was fading away, I biked down to a rolling riverside park, complete with a terrific steel bridge for trains and pedestrians. Downstream a bit the river was lined with factories and smokestacks, but even so it was a beautiful scene and the soft breeze carried a wonderful woodsy scent, so it wasn’t long before I was stretched out in the grass asleep.
Later that afternoon I found my brother’s apartment and took a long, much-needed shower. I hadn’t realized how gross I had become until standing in front of his mirror, but after the hot water and about a gallon of shampoo I was as good as new. I visited with Chris for a bit when he came home from work, then we both decided to nap for a couple hours. His couch was the closest I’d come to a bed since California, and when I stretched out I could feel knots in all kinds of new spots on my back from the nights of curling up in my front seat, so this was perfect.
Christopher treated to a hearty dinner, then we wandered a bookstore for a bit before heading home. We stayed up for a couple hours sharing about our lives. He’s in an interesting place right now, carving out a life in an area so far removed from anything we’ve experienced before, and I loved being able to see him there.
I regretted having to leave so soon, but there was still a whole lot of road in front of me, so after a long and full night of sleep I climbed back in the car and said bye to my brother. I noticed then that the tingling in my right hand, which had been there since I got so cold and numb at the Grand Canyon, was finally gone. A good night of sleep can work wonders.
Texas ended after not too much longer, and before lunchtime I was in Louisiana. This stretch of I-10 was interesting; at several points the road transformed into low, flat bridges, one of which lasted more than half an hour. These bridges tore through the heart of swamp country, which allowed for an odd sensation: still being closely surrounded by trees, but looking over the edge of the road and seeing water in every direction. I was intrigued by this terrain, and would have liked to see a little more, but I wasn’t terribly sad to keep driving. I think my heart may still have been on the rim of the Grand Canyon.
Just before Baton Rouge I crossed a gorgeous steel bridge spanning the Mississippi. This, crossing such a monumental landmark, always feels significant. Now I have to remember to add “east of the Mississippi” to all my superlatives. Baton Rouge came and went fairly quickly, as did New Orleans. I had taken this route with the intention of exploring New Orleans, but I was in a driving mood and before I knew it I was crossing another state line.
Mississippi was remarkably unmemorable. The landscape could have been compelling in its simplicity if not for the monstrous casinos and the endless miles of billboards advertising them. I have heard good things about parts of Mississippi, especially the Biloxi area, but by this point I was rather grateful for the relentless interstate, and I had no thoughts of slowing down.
At first Alabama didn’t feel a whole lot different. Except no casinos, which made for a much more pleasant drive. Then, Alabama began to Floridafy. My word. The land dried up, the trees grew and thickened, the grass became distinctly Floridian, and by the time I reached the state line I was already feeling at home.
This feeling continued through the panhandle, which lasted for about an eternity but somehow remained enjoyable. It might have been the dusk sky, or the fact that I was in my home state again, or maybe the rolling hills that always surprise me about this part of Florida…whatever the reason, I was in a ridiculously good mood.
I had been planning on pulling over for the night, but somewhere before Tallahassee I realized I could finish it all in one drive. When I stopped for gas I called Jacksonville to make sure I had a place to land when I got in town, and with a renewed burst of energy I continued across the northern middle of our state.
Of course by now it was fairly late, and I had been driving since morning, so that energy didn’t last too long. By Lake City the main thing keeping me awake was the occasional action required to flick off my brights for oncoming traffic, that great nighttime equivalent of the friendly wave, a way of nodding at my fellow travelers and saying “Hey, I see you and I don’t want you to go blind. Now drive safe, you hear?” For the last hour or so I was also kept up by the thought of being so close to a familiar place, a place with memories, where I share a meaningful history with a community of people terribly close to my heart.
Quick side note: at one point I saw a bumper sticker that said “Thank a Vet.” And I thought this was a wonderful idea, showing some appreciation to the people who care for our pets. This might be a sign of how tired I was, but it wasn’t until I was about to pass the car that I realized the sticker was talking about an entirely different kind of vet.
When I reached Jacksonville I stopped to mail some Grand Canyon postcards to a few people I would be seeing the next day. That seemed strange, but something about handing out postcards in person feels so silly to me. Then, after almost fourteen hours of driving, I pulled into the house of some friends, just about the closest thing I have to a home in Jacksonville, and immediately settled in for another long night of sleep.
The next day I joined a few people for lunch, then wandered the campus where I had studied, amazed by the growth and the changes. I got to see a couple of friends and old professors, but it was spring break so most people I had hoped to visit with were gone for the week. Then I headed out to the beach, stopped by the Atlantic for the sake of capping off the feeling of a cross-country trip, and met up with my friend Brendan for a few hours. Many parts of my time in Jacksonville are rooted in the different stages of that friendship, so it felt good to be with him again.
We had a relaxed night, dinner with a few friends and some conversation back at the house where I was staying. My relationship with these friends is such a central part of who I am that it felt as if no time had passed, like I had been there all along, so our time together was natural and refreshing.
In keeping with a theme of this trip, my Jacksonville stay ended entirely too quickly. After an early lunch the next day with my friend Shailyn, I was on the road for Bradenton. Partly because of the nature of our lunch conversation, and partly because of having to leave so soon, that last drive was emotional and difficult. But I’ll be back in Jacksonville again in a few weeks, and that thought was a comfort.
So was the idea of being close to Bradenton. I’ll have more thoughts about this in the next post, but something about the journey of returning home speaks powerfully to me, and by the time I turned from 301 to I-75, which led me through the rolling farmlands and sunny fields north of Tampa, I was once again wearing that ridiculous and shameless grin which had marked so much of my trip.
Thursday night we had a giant family dinner, complete with Kathryn home for spring break and the family’s new special someone, about whom I don’t feel ready to write in such a public place. The night was lovely and delicious and an absolutely perfect way to mark a homecoming.
I think that’s all for now. I’ll post a few final words in a bit to wrap up my thoughts here. In the meantime, remember love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
