My heart hurts tonight.
Tears come and go without warning.
Surrounded by love and freedom, something liberating and terrifying.
Sitting with the uncertainty is so hard.
I keep trying to distract myself, but it keeps bringing me back.
Be. Here. Now.
Trying.

The Cliff

I have been in Hawaii for a week. This thought came to me, far more slowly than I would have anticipated.  The question, what will happen next keeps looming on my mind...

I have met several women here who I have been questioning (probably annoyingly so) about their experiences with traveling. With this acknowledgment of being annoying, does not, in any way, mean I am going to stop asking questions of these divine women.

The one statement that I have been left pondering is, "you aren't going to die if you don't have a job". This struck me as a very strong statement. My gut reaction was, "well, sure, I won't die, but it is SO irresponsible... right? right?".  The next thing she said to me was "stop living to work, and start working to live".

This level of higher thinking is something that I know I posses deep in my personhood, but to make it an actual reality is somewhat terrifying.  How do I transition to such a "faithful" way of living?

I am looking, cautiously, over the cliff at all the possibilities...

First Night in the Jungle

I am not sure I am going to make it here. Sure, in the light of day, everything is beautiful, breathtaking, and generally heaven-like, night-time though? That's a whole different game of survival of the fucking fittest!

Since I haven't totally adjusted to the time change, 8pm felt really late. I tried staying awake as long as possible. Admittedly, I was trying to be brave, but as the night hours grew deeper, my courage ran thin. Also, dear reader, keep in mind that the sun is set and it is dark by 8pm. Around 9pm, flashlight in hand, I made the journey toward my tent, passing along the way, the "caution wild pigs" sign, which did nothing for my nerves.

I cozy down, and even turned all the lights off, just to see how dark it was. That lasted all of 2 seconds. It was darker than the darkest anything ever. Lights back on. Ok, little wind-up lantern will eventually go out, all is good. Starting to close my eyes, and my freakin spidey sense, ever so gently whispered, "look over there". By the way, I could really use less of a spidey sense. I noticed a shadow inside my tent, "what the hell could that be?" my sleepy mind thought. So I grabbed my flashlight, turned it on and lo and behold, the BIGGEST FUCKING BEETLE OF ALL TIME a near 2 inches from my face. Needless to say, there was much swearing, and frantic planning on how this creature was going to meet its maker. I grabbed a book, the soft cover one (idiot self). Now the monster had crawled onto the side of the bookshelf, a place where it knew I wasn't going to be able to get it. Shit. "bug spray!" I said out loud, as if to proclaim to the bug you better get the FUCK OUTTA here! And with lightening speed, I grabbed my can of (illegal here at hedonisia), my deet filled spray. And just as you likely thought, the monster was now gone. Fuck. This. Shit.

Now what? It was me, and the BFBOAT, alone, in my zipped up tent. There was nothing I could do. Of course, it took about an hour to come to this realization. So, go back to bed? That would be what I tried to do, "tried" being the operative word.

Coqui frogs. They are loudest mutha fuckas I have ever heard. It baffles me that something so small could be so deafening! I suppose there is a metaphor to be made here, but that is another blog, today I will be focusing on my hatred of them. Think about a nature show, on FULL FUCKING BLAST, times TEN! The peircing sound stabbed my ears, for hours! I tried listening to music, on full blast, but it was not loud enough to drown out these fuckers. Keep in mind, I am normally a nature loving person, you know, live and let live, but I want these frogs dead. Dead!

Now the pig issue. I started hearing snorting and rustling, which assured me that they were smelling me out in order to eat me. And since I have not actually seen them, I have no real sense of their size. But at this point, I am sure they are the size of cars. I was told to make noise to scare them off, so I rattled my tent. And I heard them scatter off, but now they know I am here. Shit. This happened 4 times. Four. Fucking. Times.

And while the beetle was hunting me, frogs were stabbing me in the ears, pigs were snorting me out... I am under an avocado tree. I heard the loudest CRASH on the little make-shift roof. For a moment I thought the sky was falling. My eyes burst open, and a flash of light, for what I assume, was the fear hormones rushing through my body. These falling avocados happened 3 times.

Of course, there was also an epic rainstorm. The loudest rain I have ever heard, and I am from Portland. The rain also scared me. I mean, at this point, I felt like Mother Nature was being a real bitch, and I was fucking scared of her.

All in all, I am not sure how I am going to do another night. I am going to try earplugs, buy a knife to kill pigs, and maybe pray a little harder for Mother Nature to have mercy on this very tired soul.

Innocence Lost

As a 31 year old woman, I think one would expect that I would be all grown up. In some ways, I suppose I am. I have a woman's body, I have my first few wrinkles, discovered botox, gray hair, and I can't go out partying like I used to. However, in many ways, probably the ways that matter more, I feel like I am a child, coming of age.

I was asked a question about choosing a mate, and upon thinking about it, when I got married, I certainly wasn't thinking about "choosing a mate", I was simply doing what I thought I was supposed to do when you're in love: Get Married.  I thought I was old enough (20 years young) to make that decision, and I certainly can tell you, that no one would have been able to talk me out of it. I am an entirely different person that I was when I was 20. Just saying the number "twenty" and "getting married",  together in the same sentence, out-loud, sounds preposterous. If someone I knew was getting married at 20, I would think they were crazy! Did people think I was crazy, and simply kept it to themselves? I don't really care one way or the other if they did, but it is an interesting question.

I was thinking about when I moved to Irvine, CA for a fateful week.  Trying to transfer colleges, and ultimately getting duped by the, oh-so-christian-concordia, college system. I had to return to Portland. I was thinking about how much Andy and I were in love then. He was so happy to see me when I returned. I remember like it was yesterday, seeing him at my parents house - there is even a picture of us on that day, smiles as big and bright as the sun. We were young, innocent, lovers.

I saw a boy, roller skating down the street, with a red rose in his hand. He was skating, swiftly down the road, on what I will assume to be, his lovers home.  If only love could stay as simple as that rose. But like the rose, with time, love withers and dies. Petals fall to the ground to become swept up in the dust that becomes our lives.