Dear wind, can we make a pit stop back home?

He didn’t know what he was doing at the time, or that’s how it sounds to hear him tell it. Actually, I believe it. If my dad gave any credit to the profound power of names and words he probably would have named me Cypress or Pine instead. He would really rather me sprout some roots and nurture a sturdy trunk of responsibility and financial security. He is the father of an only daughter after all. What can you expect?

Rooted and sturdy are not what he got though. He named me LittleCloud instead. Certainly it has an endearing ring to it, and it is appropriately reminiscent of my native roots. These are probably the actual reasons he chose this particular name. (Off the record, I’m not ruling out the possibility of the ‘littlecloud’ as a subconscious manifestation of my dad’s inner closet-hippie…that’s for another day though). Intentions aside, it has been 24 years since I was brought into the world and given a name to grow into, and that name is having its way with me. (I have my suspicions that it has always been my puppet master, but for the sake of brevity I’ll leave the child psychology for another time and place)

Let’s consider the qualities of a cloud for a minute. They are ever-changing, ever-moving, followers of the wind. They are waterlogged, silver-lined, and, according to Wordsworth, lonely. How does that sound dad? No, your daughter will not be building a house a few miles down the road from you and raising little pine-tree babies. Instead, she is going off to explore the world and probably fall in love with it. The whole thing. The world and the wind will shape and change her and she will just happily keep moving and seeing until she inevitably evaporates…or cries to death (too far with the cloud thing?). But you can rest assured that she will be optimistic about the whole experience! Loneliness is the only quality left, and for the sake of maintaining that lovely silver lining, it should probably just be left alone.

So there. That’s it. My dad unwittingly created a world traveler and I love him for it. (My mom does too because she wants to come visit me wherever I go ;)  I am about to embark upon my first really big adventure (hopefully the first of many, many more). I’m moving to South America to learn Spanish and teach English. So far the wind hasn’t steered me wrong.  So thank you dad, for not naming me Pine or Cypress. I’ll have a talk with the wind. I’m sure we can see about getting me back here every once in a while.

My first baseball game...or how I learned to be a kid again

I am 24-years-old, strong-willed, independent, imaginative and responsible, and I’m going to my first baseball game! Yay! You would think it was Christmas morning the way I woke up way too early, fidgety and ready to go. What am I going to wear? With my newfound, childlike excitement I scurried downstairs to ask my parents when we are leaving, only to find that they weren’t even stirring yet. I realized then that it was in fact only 7:30 in the morning, and the game doesn’t even start until 6 this evening. A little disappointed, I tiptoed back upstairs resigned myself to sitting here at the computer screen, thinking about what it means to be a kid again.

Since I moved home, I have had to deal with the fact that I am once again under my parents’ roof and that I am, in their eyes anyway, their little girl still. At first this was frustrating. I had been taking perfectly good care of myself for 4 years since moving to Colorado. I had been buying my own food, cleaning my own kitchen, dressing myself and getting myself safely from point a to point b without anyone giving me any advice on how to go about it, or asking what I’m doing every 5 minutes. Suddenly having to coordinate my life with two adults who, to some degree, do still maintain the status of ‘the boss of me’ was a bit shocking to my sense of independence.

Slowly but surely though, I began to embrace my long lost role of daughter.  I joined my parents for coffee on the porch in the morning and listened to the advice and ideas they had to offer for my future plans. I accepted the fact that my mother will always take advantage of my lower status, and I will inevitably end up getting the mail, cleaning the kitchen, making the beds and bringing her whatever random thing she left in the other room so she doesn’t have to get up off the couch. [If I ever have children they will be my personal slaves] My dad will never run out of “stump talks,” and if he does he will never tire of repeating the old ones again and again to ensure that I am left with every ounce of fatherly wisdom he can possibly impart. Everything is dangerous, hairy-legged boys are all good-for-nothing bums, and situational awareness and personal responsibility can be applied to every facet of your life.

It’s really not that bad though. My pride does wince a little at the fact that they are now paying for pretty much everything. I know, terrible right? But seriously, I have to eventually face the fact that I did fail to fly on my own. I tried to make a life on a service industry salary in a tourist town with a high cost of living. I did fine too. But fine isn’t what I want or what I need. I have a heart for travel and for adventure and new experiences. Living from paycheck to paycheck doesn’t leave much room for changing the world.

Fortunately, I have parents who love me, and who will gladly take me in and help me get back on my feet. Not everyone is so lucky. I get to come home to the house I grew up in. I get to experience feelings and memories I had forgotten existed. A lot of kids are kicked out of the nest and have to figure it out the best they can, and that’s not necessarily bad. The realization though, makes me cherish my time here a little more.

In less than a month I’ll be flying off to try again. With the help of my parents I have made a plan and hopefully this time I’ll be a little more successful. Until then though, I’m going to go to a baseball game. I’m going to ride in the backseat, and ask if we are there yet (I’ll definitely have to pee before we get there), and I’m going to cheer as loud as I can. I’m 24-years-old, and maybe I should be a grown-up, but I’m going to embrace this chance to be a kid again and learn everything I can from it. 

the end...followed by a new beginning

The end began in tears, as most endings do. I didn't know at the time that the tears were the beginning of the end, but then we rarely do. (That rhyme was a complete accident. I'm sorry if it offends you. I'm not changing it.) All I wanted then was my own bed (which I hadn't had since January when I gave mine away because it was hurting my back). Actually, the bed was irrelevant. What I really wanted was my own space. I hadn't had one of those since June 3, the day my roommate and I locked our apartment for the last time and left our keys to the land lord. For the past 2 months I had been couch surfing, backpacking, attending a funeral, and couch surfing some more. Now don't get me wrong, backpacking and couch surfing  are great ways to save money and acquire some good stories (funerals, less so), but when you are trying to figure out what you are actually doing with your life, not having a place to sit down and think, or even sleep, is not super helpful.

*****

I went to work Tuesday morning. No. I woke up too early, went for a run, took a shower, went into town for coffee, then went to work at 10 Tuesday morning. Work was Poppy's, a cute little sandwich shop in Durango, Colorado. I had only been there about 3 weeks, long enough to learn everything, rock at it, be off 3 days in a row, and come back to work more useless than I was when I started. We'll just say I was still getting into the swing of things. Everyone was nice...except for the one girl who really, really wasn't nice at all. It only takes the one. One person being unnecessarily rude can just completely drain you. Well, that and having a line out the door for the better part of 3 hours. That can be a little tiring too. By the time I got off work at 3:30 Tuesday afternoon (I know, not a long shift. Don't judge me) I was pooped. All I wanted was to go home (which I didn't technically have) and take a nap.

Well I went to the next best thing to home, my friend Sarah's house where all of my stuff was living. I was probably about to go out and do something awesome instead of taking a nap...no, it was raining. I was totally going to be lame, but a friend called and he and his roommate wanted to take me to dinner as a thanks for dog-sitting the most wonderful dog in the whole wide world (sorry to all you other dogs, I'm sure you're great). I went. I ate. It was great. It was 6pm and I was was full and sleepy. Now I really, really just wanted to go home (which i still didn't have) and take a nap.

I returned to Sarah's house, where not only was all of my stuff living, but all of our friend John's stuff was there too. Actually, let me just take a moment to explain this house to you. It is tiny. Two people could comfortably live there. Three people were on the lease, two people were couch surfing, and all of us were immensely popular so all of our friends were in and out at any given time. In short, the living room couch was not the ideal place for me to sit and be alone.

"John, if I start crying I promise it isn't anything you said."
"Oh god. Ok. Are you ok?"
"Yes. I'm just very, very tired, and when I get tired I kind of cry unexpectedly."
"Ok."
"Ok."

I cried. I then started laughing because I felt stupid about crying. Then Bryce (who actually lived in the house), John and I sat down for a movie. Well they sat. I curled up in a ball with every intention of passing out as fast as possible. Great success!

When I woke up the next morning, still on the couch, I knew. I had avoided the thought the night before. It would only have made me cry more. But in the light of morning I knew what I had to do. I didn't have a particularly overflowing income, granted I didn't have to pay rent or bills, but if was planning on staying in Durango through winter I would eventually need a roof over my head. My friends are nice, but even lovable little me might get annoying on the couch after about 3 months. Aside from my friends, and of course Durango itself, there was nothing truly keeping me there. I had graduated a year ago, I had a disposable job, I didn't have a lease and most of my stuff was in boxes anyway.

"Mom. I'm coming home."
"What!?"
"I'm coming home. Not right this minute, but I'll be leaving in a few days."

That was Wednesday. I left Friday morning after having quit my job, closed my bank account, packed my life into my little car, and said my teary-eyed goodbyes.

*****

I'm at my parents' house now, in East Texas where I certainly don't belong. I have grown to appreciate it as my source and love it for all its quirks, but my heart still lies in the mountains somewhere. Maybe I'll go back one day. Until then though, I have finally found a direction for my previously floating life. The end of my time in Durango began in tears, but now I am facing a whole new beginning and a fresh, clear-eyed start (until my allergies kick up, then all bets are off). I have a one-way ticket to Guatemala where I am going to build a water well, then work on Spanish for 2 months. After that I'm flying down to Costa Rica to get certified to Teach English as a Foreign Language (TEFL). Hopefully said certification will lead to a job there. As hard as it is to leave the things you love, sometimes you have to in order to grow and to stay alive and to remember why you love to begin with.