"I want to date Taylor Swift so she'll write a song about me," my friend Bryan wished aloud as we drove back to his place. Taylor wasn't playing on the radio, so I'm not exactly sure where his dream thought derived from, but we both laughed at the ridiculousness (i.e. unlikeliness) of his idea ever happening.
But his statement prompted me to deliberate: Should I admit that I had written a song about him? I mean, it wasn't exactly about him, but it involved him, and a day we spent together... titled... That One Day... with simple chords, mainly the E to A to B slide on my guitar. I wrote it 13 years ago, but I could probably still play it - maybe. Ah, no, I can't tell him. He'll insist I play it for him, and it was one of the first songs (out of a half dozen) I've written so it isn't very good. In fact, it is bad.
Instead I shared what I recalled him telling me on That One Day. "We were at Doheny Beach, putting wax on our boards, and you told that someday you wanted to invent surf wax scented perfume for women. Surfwax and campfire."
But rather than starting a perfume business, Bryan took up professional poker playing. After a stint in Vegas, he moved to Colorado where, in the warmer months, he guides white water rafting excursions down the Blue River. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lOMuc9OcZh8
Our conversation wandered as we drove along that river. "For my birthday," Bryan explained, "my girlfriend asked, 'What do you want to do? It's your birthday. You get to do whatever you want.' And I told her, 'I already do what I want every day.'"
It's true. Most days he really does do whatever he wants. He lives the adventure so most days fall in the exceptional category rather than in the mundane.
I suppose that's why I was nervous about my birthday this year. I tend to live a lot of adventure, and especially so when I'm in California, where the adventuresome life seems far more accessible than in rural Michigan. In the weeks leading up to my birthday I had several perfectly amazing days - days where I did whatever I wanted. I feared my actual birthday would be a disappointment in comparison to my beach day and volleyball at Venice Beach, exploring and rockclimbing at Malibu Creek State Park, and my hot springs getaway at the Miracle Manor.
When you're single it's up to you to figure out how to make your birthday special, and it's the only holiday you get (no anniversary, Valentine's Day, Mother's Day, etc.). I had wondered in leaving CA a week early if I might be fated to spend my birthday alone. My four closest female friends in Colorado were already booked with other plans on my birthday evening. But thankfully, Bryan, wasn't. After two rather dismal birthdays in a row, this year my birthday was epic, and I couldn't be more grateful.
But as my friend Bryan pointed out, we shouldn't wait for our birthdays to embrace the goodness that life has to offer. Our time on this planet ought to be filled with friends and adventures that awaken our spirits. Perhaps it ought to feel like our birthday, where we celebrate life with others over a meal or adventuresome fun, at least once a week rather than once in 12 months.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Sunday, April 5, 2015
The Journey III
Today is Easter.
I was born on Easter, which made things a tad tricky for my father, who was serving as a pastor at the time of my arrival into this world. He scrambled, making phone call after phone call, until he found another man to cover the services for him at our church.
I didn't make things easy for my mother either. I was a fat newborn - 10 pounds, 4 ounces. After too many painful and unsuccessful hours of labor, a C-section was called by the doctor. And at 2:54 pm, on March 26, 1978, I entered Owosso, Michigan.
But since the Easter holiday hops around the calendar, rarely is my birthday on Easter Sunday. This is a far better set up to be born into than what Christmas babies face. I can't imagine having to compete with Jesus for attention every single birthday of my life. And isn't just Dec 25; Jesus' incarnation dominates nearly the entire month.
This year I celebrated my birthday well before the Easter holiday. Although I initially intended to stay in California through my birthday, life threw a few clues at me strongly suggesting I head back to Michigan a tad sooner. So I did, not quite knowing where and with whom I'd be spending my birthday until I arrived at my friend Bryan's and he welcomed me to stay a few days.
Secretly I had hoped this would be the case, but I had wanted to get a read on his living situation and girlfriend situation before finalizing plans prior to my arrival at his place. As it turned out he lived with three gals, so I didn't have to worry about sharing the space with any shady men; however, he did give me a heads up that two of his roommates were lesbians, so... Also, I had the chance to meet his girlfriend right when I arrived. I got the sense she wasn't the jealous type, so I figured it would be okay to hang with Bryan without creating drama between them.
After a day of recuperating from my 10-hour drive from Vegas, I woke up on my birthday pleased to discover I felt okay. No heavy fatigue. No headache. And since I felt decent enough, my birthday wish to go snowboarding came to fruition. Bryan's roommate hooked me up with a half off lift ticket, that my parents then gifted me. So Bryan and I spent the day on the slopes at Keystone. It was my first time ever to ride in Colorado and it was awesome.
Later that evening we grabbed Italian at Greco's Pastaria in downtown Frisco then ventured down the street to "The Moose Jaw" for open mic night. Earlier in the day Bryan had attempted to convince me to perform that night and to perhaps even do a duet with him, but I'm so out of practice that I passed on his encouragement to perform in front of strangers. So instead, just he played a set, and I sat chatting with a guy from Chicago as he did.
I was born on Easter, which made things a tad tricky for my father, who was serving as a pastor at the time of my arrival into this world. He scrambled, making phone call after phone call, until he found another man to cover the services for him at our church.
I didn't make things easy for my mother either. I was a fat newborn - 10 pounds, 4 ounces. After too many painful and unsuccessful hours of labor, a C-section was called by the doctor. And at 2:54 pm, on March 26, 1978, I entered Owosso, Michigan.
But since the Easter holiday hops around the calendar, rarely is my birthday on Easter Sunday. This is a far better set up to be born into than what Christmas babies face. I can't imagine having to compete with Jesus for attention every single birthday of my life. And isn't just Dec 25; Jesus' incarnation dominates nearly the entire month.
This year I celebrated my birthday well before the Easter holiday. Although I initially intended to stay in California through my birthday, life threw a few clues at me strongly suggesting I head back to Michigan a tad sooner. So I did, not quite knowing where and with whom I'd be spending my birthday until I arrived at my friend Bryan's and he welcomed me to stay a few days.
Secretly I had hoped this would be the case, but I had wanted to get a read on his living situation and girlfriend situation before finalizing plans prior to my arrival at his place. As it turned out he lived with three gals, so I didn't have to worry about sharing the space with any shady men; however, he did give me a heads up that two of his roommates were lesbians, so... Also, I had the chance to meet his girlfriend right when I arrived. I got the sense she wasn't the jealous type, so I figured it would be okay to hang with Bryan without creating drama between them.
After a day of recuperating from my 10-hour drive from Vegas, I woke up on my birthday pleased to discover I felt okay. No heavy fatigue. No headache. And since I felt decent enough, my birthday wish to go snowboarding came to fruition. Bryan's roommate hooked me up with a half off lift ticket, that my parents then gifted me. So Bryan and I spent the day on the slopes at Keystone. It was my first time ever to ride in Colorado and it was awesome.
Tuesday, March 31, 2015
The Journey Part II
Wednesday morning, a week ago, I woke up from my makeshift bed in the living room, wanting to be a polite guest, but feeling so terrible that I just wanted to roll over and go back to bed.
I was nauseous, and nervous that I might vomit any moment. My head screamed inside, pounding with pain from a migraine. It was as if a ten beers had been siphoned from a keg into my bloodstream the night before. But it wasn't alcohol that was causing me to feel ill. I knew full well, the ten hours I had driven the previous day were to blame for the way I felt.
My friend offered me a bite to eat. I passed, explaining I didn't feel the greatest. So my friend offered me a guitar to strum instead, and he started jamming on a mandolin. While I strummed, I deliberated, considering whether or not it was too late for me to take a pill and keep it down. I finally decided it was worth a go. I swallowed it down with some water, then admitted to my friend I felt like hell, and needed to crash a bit longer on his couch.
A couple of hours later I woke up again. Thankfully, by then, my sumatripton pill had worked its magic. After a bowl of cereal my friend suggested we "get lost" and do some exploring that afternoon. To be perfectly honest, the idea of exploring sounded terrifying. Yes, my headache pain was gone, but I still felt like a zombie. The heavy cloud of fatigue engulfing me, reminded me that I ought to take it easy.
But I'm a sucker for not knowing how to decline a friend's enthusiasm. So I reluctantly readied myself for the adventure, dreading the idea of more time in a car, and fearing the winding mountain roads might spiral me into motion sickness. I hoped the exploring wouldn't involve too much outdoor activity, but really, I had no idea what I was getting into when I got in his car, other than the possibility of Mexican food.
As we drove north on Highway 9, my friend pointed out the Blue River, where he had guided rafting trips the previous summer. We also spotted two bald eagles, which underwhelmed me in their appearance. I was more hoping we'd see a moose, but no such luck.
After 45 minutes on the road (which proved to be less winding than anticipated, and more glorious in scenery) we arrived at a small town called Kremmling, and pulled into Los Amigos Mexican Restaurant for a late lunch - so late that we were the only two patrons in the restaurant.
To my relief, after lunch we simply returned home to my friend's place. There were no side trip hiking excursions or other, that I knew my body would hate me for if I attempted when I already wasn't feeling well. And I had hopes, that I would wake up the following day well enough to go snowboarding in the Colorado mountains. I didn't want to waste away energy that could be applied the following day - on my birthday.
Later that evening we rallied with some others at Red Mountain Grill in Dillon, CO. There I found myself sitting between a professional poker player and a lesbian, which made for fascinating? conversation.
I was nauseous, and nervous that I might vomit any moment. My head screamed inside, pounding with pain from a migraine. It was as if a ten beers had been siphoned from a keg into my bloodstream the night before. But it wasn't alcohol that was causing me to feel ill. I knew full well, the ten hours I had driven the previous day were to blame for the way I felt.
My friend offered me a bite to eat. I passed, explaining I didn't feel the greatest. So my friend offered me a guitar to strum instead, and he started jamming on a mandolin. While I strummed, I deliberated, considering whether or not it was too late for me to take a pill and keep it down. I finally decided it was worth a go. I swallowed it down with some water, then admitted to my friend I felt like hell, and needed to crash a bit longer on his couch.
A couple of hours later I woke up again. Thankfully, by then, my sumatripton pill had worked its magic. After a bowl of cereal my friend suggested we "get lost" and do some exploring that afternoon. To be perfectly honest, the idea of exploring sounded terrifying. Yes, my headache pain was gone, but I still felt like a zombie. The heavy cloud of fatigue engulfing me, reminded me that I ought to take it easy.
But I'm a sucker for not knowing how to decline a friend's enthusiasm. So I reluctantly readied myself for the adventure, dreading the idea of more time in a car, and fearing the winding mountain roads might spiral me into motion sickness. I hoped the exploring wouldn't involve too much outdoor activity, but really, I had no idea what I was getting into when I got in his car, other than the possibility of Mexican food.
As we drove north on Highway 9, my friend pointed out the Blue River, where he had guided rafting trips the previous summer. We also spotted two bald eagles, which underwhelmed me in their appearance. I was more hoping we'd see a moose, but no such luck.
After 45 minutes on the road (which proved to be less winding than anticipated, and more glorious in scenery) we arrived at a small town called Kremmling, and pulled into Los Amigos Mexican Restaurant for a late lunch - so late that we were the only two patrons in the restaurant.
To my relief, after lunch we simply returned home to my friend's place. There were no side trip hiking excursions or other, that I knew my body would hate me for if I attempted when I already wasn't feeling well. And I had hopes, that I would wake up the following day well enough to go snowboarding in the Colorado mountains. I didn't want to waste away energy that could be applied the following day - on my birthday.
Later that evening we rallied with some others at Red Mountain Grill in Dillon, CO. There I found myself sitting between a professional poker player and a lesbian, which made for fascinating? conversation.
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
The Journey
Yesterday morning I woke up in Vegas.
I rolled out of my couch bed and headed into the kitchen where I helped myself to some coffee. As I took my first sips of caffeine, I noticed a postcard clipped to the side of the refrigerator. "Your Story Matters," the 4 x 6 card insisted. I was somewhat surprised to see this particular postcard amidst the other memorabilia displayed on my friend's refrigerator. I wasn't the one who had sent it to her, but I knew of its origin, and have the exact same card sitting on the base of the ledge of my mirror back in Michigan.
The postcards were distributed at the #Storyline conference I attended in Chicago this past October. We were encouraged to fill them out and send them to a few of our friends to encourage them in their life journey. Confession: I never got around to filling my cards out...
But over a Vegas dinner date? meeting with a successful business man the night prior, I was reminded, my story - my written words - matter. This man who had read my book posed the question, "How many people need to hear your story?" Then preceded to answer his own question. "Countless," he insisted.
He believes that countless people need to hear my story and to read the book I've written. Although this man isn't romantically interested in me, for whatever reason, this man is interested in seeing me succeed as a writer and speaker. He believes I have a knack for writing, and he isn't just saying that to be nice, or to flatter me for ulterior reasons. Already he has offered me invaluable "pro bono" consulting, and even agreed to meet with another man on my behalf to help me along in my journey.
Yesterday I drove east on the 70 though Nevada, Arizona, Utah, before crossing over into Colorado.
With my health being off the drive kicked my butt, but thankfully I didn't feel the impact of the drive until this morning. (That's the part of #CFS that's called post-exertional malaise, which is why I can often do an activity and feel fine in the moment, and don't feel shotty until afterwards. And sometimes, I don't feel shotty at all, which makes everything I do a gamble.) Today I woke up to a migraine and the words, "Huh, I've never seen snow on a surfboard before."
Thankfully, I'm staying put for a few days, to recuperate from the first half my journey and to celebrate my birthday with the friend who taught me how to surf 13 years ago.
I rolled out of my couch bed and headed into the kitchen where I helped myself to some coffee. As I took my first sips of caffeine, I noticed a postcard clipped to the side of the refrigerator. "Your Story Matters," the 4 x 6 card insisted. I was somewhat surprised to see this particular postcard amidst the other memorabilia displayed on my friend's refrigerator. I wasn't the one who had sent it to her, but I knew of its origin, and have the exact same card sitting on the base of the ledge of my mirror back in Michigan.
The postcards were distributed at the #Storyline conference I attended in Chicago this past October. We were encouraged to fill them out and send them to a few of our friends to encourage them in their life journey. Confession: I never got around to filling my cards out...
But over a Vegas dinner date? meeting with a successful business man the night prior, I was reminded, my story - my written words - matter. This man who had read my book posed the question, "How many people need to hear your story?" Then preceded to answer his own question. "Countless," he insisted.
He believes that countless people need to hear my story and to read the book I've written. Although this man isn't romantically interested in me, for whatever reason, this man is interested in seeing me succeed as a writer and speaker. He believes I have a knack for writing, and he isn't just saying that to be nice, or to flatter me for ulterior reasons. Already he has offered me invaluable "pro bono" consulting, and even agreed to meet with another man on my behalf to help me along in my journey.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Miracle Manor II
I arrived in the desert well before my check in time, so I took the time to explore the downtown. Although I had been to Palm Springs on several occasions, I never knew its downtown existed. My mission to find a yoga class to crash, led me to a delightful street of shops and restaurants.
As I moseyed about an art gallery, I considered the paintings and how "the one" I liked at age twenty-two would have enjoyed being in my shoes. I noted which paintings I think would have been his favorite, and deliberated as to whether or not they were my favorite too.
A few blocks down I was delighted to see a shop with the same name, both first and last, of the man I dated most recently. I snapped a couple of photos, and went inside just because it had his name written all over it. It was a men's clothing shop, and although he and I had parted ways months ago, there I was, thinking of him as I meandered about the store with no intention to make any purchases.
Further down the strip, I stopped in at an architecture and design museum to browse its gift store. The only reason I was in the desert was because of my architect friend from New York. He was the one who had arranged for me to stay a couple of nights at this retreat center he had helped design and build in the 90s. The only reason I stepped foot into the museum was because his area of expertise was now of interest to me.
On my return walk to my car, I noticed a park sign that spelled out the last name of my mentor friend. Again, I took a photo, just because it reminded me of her. By that point I realized that I wasn't walking alone. No, there wasn't anyone physically standing beside me. But the influence and fingerprints of those who have walked with me previously have stayed with me.
And so has Africa. In locating the Yoga studio, where I decided to return for 7 PM candlelight yoga
To be finished...
As I moseyed about an art gallery, I considered the paintings and how "the one" I liked at age twenty-two would have enjoyed being in my shoes. I noted which paintings I think would have been his favorite, and deliberated as to whether or not they were my favorite too.
A few blocks down I was delighted to see a shop with the same name, both first and last, of the man I dated most recently. I snapped a couple of photos, and went inside just because it had his name written all over it. It was a men's clothing shop, and although he and I had parted ways months ago, there I was, thinking of him as I meandered about the store with no intention to make any purchases.
Further down the strip, I stopped in at an architecture and design museum to browse its gift store. The only reason I was in the desert was because of my architect friend from New York. He was the one who had arranged for me to stay a couple of nights at this retreat center he had helped design and build in the 90s. The only reason I stepped foot into the museum was because his area of expertise was now of interest to me.
On my return walk to my car, I noticed a park sign that spelled out the last name of my mentor friend. Again, I took a photo, just because it reminded me of her. By that point I realized that I wasn't walking alone. No, there wasn't anyone physically standing beside me. But the influence and fingerprints of those who have walked with me previously have stayed with me.
And so has Africa. In locating the Yoga studio, where I decided to return for 7 PM candlelight yoga
To be finished...
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Miracle Manor
Yesterday I left the ocean and headed inland for a night before arriving in the desert this afternoon. Some time ago my NYC architect friend designed portions of a retreat center in Desert Hot Springs. After catching up over the phone last week, my architect friend insisted and arranged for me to stay a couple of nights at this retreat center. So here I am, at Miracle Manor. And, I'm still in need of a miracle.
Before I parted way with the Pacific, I sent an SOS out to God on the sand. "Heal Me, Please" are the words I penned with a stick that I found on my "final" beach walk yesterday morning.
During my time in Newport Beach I underwent treatment that I had hoped might restore my body and brain back to what it was before I was infected with malaria. The treatment center offered valuable information that will help me navigate next steps regarding my health; however, they couldn't offer me a cure for the CFS/Systemic Exertion Intolerance Disease that I face.
After spending Monday morning with my mentor friend Kim, and she sharing with me how well the same treatment was working for her husband, Monday afternoon I received the news that my body didn't respond to the treatment. Rather than recommending a month-long course of continued treatment, Dr. Alex informed me there's something going on with my body that is causing me to be resistant to this treatment. Typically it helps people to at least some degree, but not the slightest with me. He suggested a few reason why this might be... and I'll continue to explore those reasons when I return to Michigan.
Before I parted way with the Pacific, I sent an SOS out to God on the sand. "Heal Me, Please" are the words I penned with a stick that I found on my "final" beach walk yesterday morning.
After spending Monday morning with my mentor friend Kim, and she sharing with me how well the same treatment was working for her husband, Monday afternoon I received the news that my body didn't respond to the treatment. Rather than recommending a month-long course of continued treatment, Dr. Alex informed me there's something going on with my body that is causing me to be resistant to this treatment. Typically it helps people to at least some degree, but not the slightest with me. He suggested a few reason why this might be... and I'll continue to explore those reasons when I return to Michigan.
Tuesday, March 10, 2015
Day 2: Brain Break Through
Yesterday I said my good byes at noon.
By 5 PM, I was at my new "home" in Newport Beach, which is only my home until next Tuesday morning. That's when I'll once again load up my Corolla and venture to my next sleep spot. Which, as I write, I have no idea where that will be. I may, perhaps, say my good byes to California next Tuesday morning. Or I may scramble over the next few days to find a few places to stay so that I can remain out this way through my birthday weekend. We will see.
My old "home" wasn't even my home, but for some reason it was tougher than I thought it would be to turn in my keys to the stomping grounds where I've laid my head on an air mattress since arriving in California on January 10th.
I've never been a fan of good byes. (In Works... to be finished...)
I've never been a fan of good byes. (In Works... to be finished...)
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