52 Stones in the Bucket

So 2014 is approaching and I'm sure we all have our lists of resolutions at the ready to kick in after our hungover New Years day.  One of my passions for those who may not have caught on by now is traveling.  Adventures and backpacking to me are like a drug; I need an even better one every year to give me that high I so often seek.  For the last five years I've been traveling all over the place, from the busy streets of Chicago to the ever changing roads in Western Europe, and have enjoyed every second of it.

The funny thing is that every year I pick a random place(s) to go to and just do it, no questions asked.  I set aside the money that I hope will cover my trip and I just head out by whatever means I have at my disposal.  Budgeting for trips in my case is a double edged sword; not only do I need to save for what will become my annual caper, but also for my "oh shit" moments which tend to happen without fail.  As long as I can cover my trip, that extra backup stash is usually paid for over the following months after arriving back; covering my travels AND what seems to be my odd luck at getting caught in some really unusual spots is just too much to plan for.  The question isn't if something odd will happen, but how much it will cost me.  My clumsiness or "traveler's luck" will never deter me from my annual getaway!

If I've learned one thing from my journeys is that having atleast one goal always helps.  My last trip to St. John's Newfoundland saw the accomplishment of one of my goals: to be at the furthest eastern point of the whole American continent.  I still had fun and soaked it all in, but I went with a very basic objective.  With that in mind, the thought came to me: why don't I make a bucket list of places I want to travel to?

 So here I am, the new year approaching in a matter of hours and I'm already planning my '14 trip... actually my next 52 trips.  I've decided that one thing I want to do this upcoming year is to write about one place or region I want to visit every week in hopes of making my "Backpacking Bucket List" BBL for short ;-)  The one requirement that these upcoming destinations will need, is for me to have a week at the least, to visit them; I don't think anything can be seen or experienced in less than a week, unless you're a robot or some super human who needs no sleep.

So starting Friday the 10th of the new 2014, I'll begin my wish list of locations with the hope that it will inspire others to join in on the world of adventure; if anyone else has any ideas or locations as well, I hope that you'll leave me a comment or suggestion to make it on the bucket list.

Happy 2014 to everyone and much love to you all!

And I Will Walk 5,000 Miles - Finale

Well after the turkey day festivities and a few more pounds gained, I can finally finish my story.

So where was I... Ah yes! It was a dark and... Ok scratch that, let's just start with this...  I looked into the rear view mirror as St. John's slowly disappeared behind me.  I opened my sunroof, blared some music and sped off into the horizon.  Two hours had flown by in a flash and I stumbled across a sunset I couldn't miss out on.  Off this gravel filled inclined exit I sped, somewhere between St. Johns and nowhere.  I pulled onto this road to snap a great picture, when SCREEEEEEECCCCHHHH, BOOM!!!  Trying to dodge a dog, I braked and swerved right into a four foot ditch.  The situation didn't sink in until my engine cut off and I got out of my bruised automobile.  I took one look and panicked!!!  Out in the middle of nowhere, on a street with about seven houses, here I was on the verge of tears.  I'm not one to cry, but so many thoughts went through my head.  Would my car make it home?  Hell, would it even crank?  How was I going to get my car out of this ditch?  So I did whatever any person on their last few frazzled nerves would do... I ran to every house to get help.

After knocking on about four houses, one man was able to call the police, while another family invited me in for coffee.  I was truly amazed at how relaxed everyone was; apparently they have all experienced the wrath of ditches and have walked out seasoned veterans.  The police soon after show up, and after seeing that there was no foul play on my part, THEN calls in the tow truck.  Once the car gets pulled out, another neighbor arrives and has the car towed to his garage; I was lucky enough to find out that a mechanic lives on this isolated road.  A long story short, my car was soon there after bandaged up, headlights taped in place and my bumper promoted to copilot and ready for the road.

This whole situation taught me something: the never ending kindness of strangers.  No one had to help me.  No family had to invite me into their home for coffee.  No tow truck driver had to tow my car out of a ditch for free.  No mechanic had to help me patch up my car and use his phone to call my insurance.  The amount of kindness that was shown to me made me feel so odd; all I had in return to give anyone were my hugs, sincerest gratitude and whatever coins I had in my pocket.  All that was said to me was, "Welcome to Newfoundland."  Welcome to Newfoundland indeed.

I got back on the road but after that incident I took it a little slower, making sure that my one companion was still working well.  I quickly came to realize that I had to avoid night driving because the headlights were pointed downward and I didn't know how she would handle the sheer force of the wind.  I ended up staying the night in a motel near Gros Morne National Park.  The next morning after I woke up and grabbed my gear did the true impact of my car hit me.  There she was, mud and dirt covered, the license plate caked under so many layers of dry earth, with her bumper still stowed in my passenger seat. I felt horrible looking at her, but I gave her a gentle pat on the hood, some words of reassurance and we were off to Gros Morne.  At this point between desolation and home, my car was my only friend.

Gros Morne is a national park in Newfoundland that is a MUST see.  It is by far absolutely gorgeous, with mountains and coastline as far as the eye can see.  It was a shame I could only stay there for half a day; this park needs atleast three days to see it in its entirety.  At one point I hiked to the base of Gros Mountain, but had to turn back because of the fog and time; I wanted to leave with sunlight on my side and boy was I glad I did.  The mountains were so majestic in the background and the land so peaceful, but unfortunately the setting sun was my cue to get going to Port Aux Basques.

As I headed to the port I was listening to one of the few intermittent radio stations talking about a storm and winds as fast as 90mph.  I thought I could beat it all and make it to the port on time.  The ferry was set to leave at 11:45p; I arrived at 6:45p.  By the time I had made it to the dock, the fog and rain were so strong that I could barely see ten feet in front of my car.  Until I saw the port lights, I had spent the previous few hours keeping my anxiety under control.  I already struggle with driving on roads with no visible side terrain, but now I was driving on a road with less than ten feet of visual distance in front of me and I was slowly losing my marbles.  Thankfully I made it to the port, but the ferry captain kept us docked over night due to the storm.  Tuesday at noon we set sail back to the mainland; the ferry was being rocked back and forth like a
toy boat by the intimidating
power of Mother Nature, while most of us got sea sick.  I've never been one to get sick at sea, but this trip did it for me.  I knew that once we hit the mainland, it was downhill from there.

BAM! Went the ferry gate bridge exit, and I drove off to my next focal point: US customs.  I must say customs agents tend to eye road tripping travelers with caution.  Of course, me showing up 1:30am at the US border in a car that looks like it had survived a war zone and myself deaf from the elevation change, I'm sure didn't bode well with the agents either.  "Um yes officer.  Please ignore my shit kicker of a car and all its various pieces in my seat along with my castaway looks.  I swear I'm not a drug smuggler."  Needless to say, after surviving the gauntlet of questions and subtle accusations that I was a drug dealer, I sat by and watched my car get manhandled yet again, on a quest to find some kind of narcotic.  Apparently, one can't be bearded and long haired without raising the ire of authorities.  Well after that most intriguing of moments and with my sanity barely intact, I sped back into my homeland and continued my journey onward.


After a week of being home, my mind is still raising.  I learned many things on my short journey that I would like to share with you.

1)  Driving almost four days straight alone takes a huge toll on a person.  If you're not ready for it, don't do it.  I usually travel alone due to my unconventional ways of adventuring through life, but in this case, it would've served me better to have gone with someone.  Even though some folks may find it hard to believe, traveling on the open road for prolonged periods of time can really impact the human body.  No regrets here though.  And watch out for dogs!

2)  Repeat after me: UnderSTAND.  Got it?  Ok now repeat after me once more: NewfoundLAND.  This was the first lesson I learned from the natives; it was sort of a running joke with many I crossed.  Most people knew I was a tourist just from the way I pronounced the province.  Avoid being designated an out-lander right away by pronouncing the name correctly.  It'll help keep your incognito tourist guise intact for perhaps an extra split second.

3)  Free your mind.  Something that blew me away was the simplicity in which most people live in this town.  It's not about your bank account, how loud your stereo is, your clothing or even how much self importance you give yourself.  Most folks I came to know have been very simple people, from the natives of St. John's to the lovely people who helped me with my car.  Materialism doesn't seem to rank high on their list of priorities.  Perhaps that will change in time, which I hope it doesn't; maybe this city will maintain its integrity and communal values and just continue to thrive. We as Americans can learn so much from Newfoundlanders.

4)  Leave the rose colored glasses at home.  I know that when we all travel we love to see the best and brightest of wherever we go, and that no wrong can be had in this new environment; that is probably not the best way of going about it.  Even St. John's has its problems: number one being drugs and somewhere along there the horrible roads situation.  But you know what?  Everywhere will have issues and imperfections. yet this town has so many great things built into its core.  THAT'S what makes it great!  It's not about the money or appearance that is the ultimate decider in personal self worth, but the spirit of the person and the community as a whole, not the individual.

Do you know that you have a greater chance of being struck by a moose on the road than being shot?  A moose!!!!  When was the last time any of us woke up in our respective cities in the US and NOT hear about some kind of shooting?  Hell, we can't even have Black Friday (for those who are brave enough to go through that) without some kind of violence!  And for what?  The mighty dollar?!? Have we become that materialistic of a society that we stab people over $50 tablets or taze each other for towels?  Just some food for thought.

5)  Absorb it all.   Be like a little kid and absorb everything you can like a sponge.  You don't like the cuisine?  Fine, don't like it, but try it out.  You want to hike some mountaintops?  Do it! No matter whether you like something or not, just experience it.  There's nothing worse in life than to not have tried something when you had the chance.  The world is your oyster on your voyages; treat it like so, and immerse yourself in it.  You won't regret it and will h
ave stories to tell for years to come.

6)  Take your experience and apply it to your living situation.  No matter what you do in life, your financial standing or whatever, I'm convinced that if a voyage has truly impacted you, it'll feed into your spirit.  Perhaps you come back home and realize that there are changes you need to make.  Maybe you don't need that huge flat screen after all to be happy.  Perhaps you'll start conserving energy, make your own garden or even start your own compost bucket.  Whatever thoughts go through your head, it's all a part of growing.  Whether you make any changes to your life or not, you gave yourself the opportunity to see something different, and whether you like it or not, because of that experience something in you inevitably will change.

Ever since I've been back, I've felt that my spirit for adventure and life has grown stronger and hungrier.  Yet I too find myself in a situation that I'm sure many others can relate to: the house, dog and job.  Questions have been swirling through my head since my arrival back in Atlanta.  A lot of "what if's" and "what abouts", but in the end, I know it's for the better.

7)  Finally... remember that it's all an adventure.  Life in itself is an adventure, and so are our travels.  Not only do they come with laughter and smiles, but also with tears, anger and frustration.  Adventures reveal a lot about ourselves, and sometimes they push us to limits that we've never wanted to be pushed to.  I've done a lot of backpacking and have gone to many a city and hostels, but never once did I ever feel so alone and anxious at times as I did on the nearly deserted roads of northeastern Canada.

Again, it's part of the whole package.  I survived my trip, my car was a bit bruised and as a consequence so is my wallet...

But all I can do is smile and be happy that I was fortunate enough to take this adventure, meet the people that blessed me with their spirit and be able to share the story of my journey in hopes that it can impact the life of another as it did mine.

Signing off,

A Simple Wanderer

And I Will Walk 5,000 Miles Part 4

Two days had passed since I had made it to the Rock, and I was just finally getting over the exhaustion I had put myself through to get there.  What excited me even more was that I was finally getting to stay at my original host's home.  As would happen with me and technology, Couchsurfing had recently updated their website, and as a consequence, the email system was faulty and would never send messages.  Of course this could've happened at any other point in the year, but it had to happen on the week of my trip; atleast I found out why my host and I couldn't get in touch.

The laughter and chatter came from the a dimly lit corner of the house; the small living room had about seven people there just chatting away.  Some were roommates of that home, others former/current couchsurfers who had come to visit and have decided to stay awhile and some neighbors.  I introduced myself to everyone as questions raced through my head:  What first impression do I give?  Do I look crazy? How do I break the ice?  Thankfully everyone there was of great spirits and before I knew it, we were talking about a range of topics from traveling, our origins, personal tidbits and so on.  There was something special about this house, a uniqueness that's hard to describe.  I remember chuckling at the moment that I was told I would never leave the house, yet something in the energy of those present resonated with me.

When all was said and done and conversations slowly turned to yawns, I grabbed the blankets and pillows I was given and snored the night away in my new bed for the week.  How can I describe a day in the life of this house.  Firstly, it is very communal living.  Meals are shared if there's extra, food, towels, you name it; communal seems to be the name of the game in this home.  For me, this whole being considerate of others, was a bit new to me; whenever I've had pseudo roommates live with me or better said on my couch, I can count on two fingers the times that everyone was considerate of each other.  It was great to see such a diverse group of people sharing a tight space so comfortably.  Secondly, they seem to be very self sustaining and granola.  They didn't grow everything they ate, but the amount of veggies and spices they did grow amazed me.  I remember telling some of my housemates the train wrecks that were my attempts at gardening in my patio, and these people have a year long garden and greenhouse that they built!  The granola (aka hippie) lifestyle to me also was such a great thing to see.  All were accepted in that house and all were treated well.  I joke around that I'm the hippie of my friends, but these guys blow me out of the water.  Thirdly, everyone seems happy.  I'm not talking about rainbows and flowers shooting out of their butts and smiling like crackheads all the time, but just happy with life.  Everyday there was something going on there or just people hanging out and going off to do something.  I sort of wanted to join in more activities, but at the same time, I came to understand that they were probably just giving me autonomy to do with my time what I pleased; as the week went on, a very happy and healthy balance came of that.

In between days of sunshine and rain, I decided to hike.  Alot.  And the miles I put in added up quickly.  I made it a goal of mine to try and hike every major trail I could find and make time for; unfortunately, St. John's is filled with such natural beauty that it would take me a month just to do that.  So I settled for the next best thing and more in my fashion... I just played it all by ear.  The one place I did intend on going to was Cape Spear.  For those who don't know, Cape Spear is the furthest eastern point on the whole American continent.  In other words, it is the very first spot that the sun greets in our whole land.  There is something humbling about finally making it to that one point; you don't realize how small you are until you're faced with the infinite presence of Mother Nature.  From the top of Cape Spear, I could look into the endless horizon of water and fury.  The ocean from a distance seemed so calm, but the impact of the water hitting the coast could be heard all around.  At that very moment, the point of my trip had been accomplished; the rest of what I would end up doing was just living.

After taking in the beauty of that moment, I decided to hike down a path behind the lighthouse to a spot called North Head.  This trail a gorgeous yet quiet hike to the other end of the coastal cliff, about a 5-6 mile hike roundtrip.  It was as peaceful as it was eery.  The wind started to pick up halfway and my right foot felt like a frozen anchor because I had stepped in a puddle earlier.  I finally made it though and the sight and sounds again, were worth the trek.  I don't know how anyone else has dealt with this, but since my foot was a paperweight, I decided to spend the rest of the night at home in a perpetual frozen state of exhaustion critiquing one of my house mate's gaming strategy; nothing like a good simulation game to promote male bonding.

The next day I was introduced to another Newfoundlander who got to give me a true taste of a calm day in town.  We started off at a local bakery, Rocket, which was uber delicious.  After our meal and chat, a stroll through town allowed me to see the more everyday life outside of the trekking and hiking I had been doing.  Unfortunately for us, it was raining and we sought eventual refuge at the art museum, The Rooms.  From what I could tell, the museum is gorgeous; we tried to finagle our way around not paying and what should've been a scolding by security turned out to be a rather pleasant hour and a half chat ranging from art to life in Newfoundland and beyond.  Unfortunately, the next security guard wasn't so pleasant and we decided to skedaddle instead of wasting more time waiting for the free admission to kick in.

After our brush with art gallery loitering, I was shown a peculiar spot close near the base of Signal Hill, called Cabot Hill.  What made it such an interesting spot is what I was told about it.  Back in the early days of the town's history, rapists were hung from some kind of man made pole or ledge tarred and skinned in view of the whole citizenry below.  Even though it's got some morbid origins, the views at night are incredible!!!  That cynical mindset of mind was probably the cause of my well deserved backlash.  While walking down the wooden steps from the hill, I ended up careening down a few flights.  When I mean slip, I mean feet going airborne, butt landing flat on the edge of a step and arms flailing like a bird.  What did I do in that situation?  The same thing anyone else would do after having their pride and butt hurt like that.  I laughed!!  With that laughter and bruised ass, we ended up grabbing a bite to eat somewhere I had been wanting to go since I first arrived: Tex Mex!!!!  If you can't tell, I have an unhealthy addiction to Tex Mex food, if I'm almost 2,000 miles away from anything remotely warm, only to have some chips and salsa.  Regardless, the laughs continued over our surprisingly good (I'm really picky about my salsa cuisines) dinner followed with a movie at the house. 

The next day I decided to take on Signal Hill part deux.  On one side of the Hill is the monstrous trek that you can see senior citizens zoom right by you on their morning jogs; the other side however is another path that continues across the coast line. So that day I hiked up the roadway to the Hill where the cars go, and started my adventure.  After an hour or so of hiking through the coastline, I made it to a gem called Cuckold's Cove.  It's just an inlet that that if you go down close enough, you can almost get to the ocean shore.  I'm sure there's a way of touching the water, but I wasn't that courageous.  I continued on to a HUGE mountain called White Hills.  What is it with these island folk calling their mountains hills??  I was determined to make it up the whole thing, but the path that I chose eventually pitted me face to face with an almost completely vertical wall of wet rock.  I started to work my way up until I came across a flimsy rope banister held together by what looked like straw thin branches and I doubled back.  When I looked down from where I was at that point, I realized how high I was!  I wanted to climb that mountain, but reality set in, and I could imagine falling off the face of that "hill" and no one hearing me scream.  I was in no Indiana Jones mood, so I decided to head back home; besides, I had a party to attend to.

I was invited to an annual Xmas/political fundraiser party which was a great experience.  I met so many kind people, ate delicious food, learned a bit about this political party, and drank a wee bit much.  I don't know if it was the elevation, my lightweightness  or that I wasn't eating as much, but alcohol would just run right through me.  By the end of this party, I walked in with one friend and left with seven.  Destination: Christian's, a must-go bar to get screeched in.  Getting screeched-in is pretty much a toursity way of becoming an honorary Newfoundlander.  After drinking copious amounts of alcohol, you have to manage to repeat some lines, eat some ham and kiss a frozen codfish.  What's your reward for dealing with a killer headache the next day?  A certificate proving your honorary title of Newfoundlander.  On a side note: your liver will love you in the morning.  After that interesting group event, we meandered to a more subdued bar that had some great live music and where I was christened the "L.A Guy/"  No one knew my name, but for whatever reason, many people thought I was from LA.  Maybe it's the hair?  

Before I know it, I wake up and it's morning.  No certificate.  No gloves.  No beanie.  And no recollection of how I got there.  After stumbling out of bed and making my way to the breakfast table, I was treated to a great organic morning meal that helped with the hammering going on in my head.  I should've gotten the recipe for that meal.  After a 45 minute walk home, I decided that I would take it easy that day and cook my house mates red beans and rice (how stereotypical I know).  After what seemed like a good few hours, I headed to downtown with one of my housemates and did some shopping. 

As the day passed my hangover went away, only to be replaced with board games and my first sampling ever of fish and chips!  Soon to be followed by with more drinking.  Hey now, it's true!  Nothing cures alcohol faster than more alcohol.  I was invited to see a Grammy winning band live with some housemates and another friend I had made.  The night went by surprisingly quick but consisted of great music, company, bar hopping and karaoke.  I saw it as a fitting way to bid farewell to a city that met me as a stranger and had given me so much in return. 

I woke up the next day, my bag was for the most part packed.  I strode across the street for my last shower here, returned to thank my couchsurfing host once again for the experience and generosity, and quietly left.  My pace when I left the house was a little slower than usual; it carried with it a contemplative stride, thoughts racing through my head.  I had just now started to open up to everyone and felt closer to all around me, and I found myself leaving.  It was a bittersweet moment to say the least.  I had one more stop to go, and that was breakfast with another couchsurfing host.  We bonded immediately and I truly enjoyed our meal together.  We chatted about anything and everything while I chugged mug after mug of coffee.  I knew what laid before me and had to stock up on caffeine provisions.  She took me to Fort Amhurst which stands on the opposite edge of the harbor of St. John's; it was pretty much the last place I had to go to before leaving.  I bid her farewell and thanked for the conversation and tour.

I turned on my car which by this time was accustomed to the climatic torture and headed out.  I made it over the bend and waved goodbye to St. John's from my rear view mirror.  I don't know if it was more of a see ya later than a goodbye, but as I slowly made it down the descending highway, the town disappeared into the distance.  I took one sigh, said a silent prayer and continued on.  I knew what awaited me on the way back... then WHAM!!!

And I Will Walk 5,000 Miles Part 3

Ah the hot chocolate tasted good!  I guess after almost a half day of driving anything would taste great, but this cocoa hit the spot.  The hail continued to fall outside like marbles in the sky; for now I was safe indoors this little fast food chain joint, but I couldn't stay there forever.

I always say that everything good or bad that happens to me on my trips are all part of the adventure... and it's true!  If I wanted an easy journey where all I did was hang out in a comfortable hotel while enjoying the pool or spa, I'm sure my voyages would be that much smoother.  However I know that's not what I want; I know my spirit craves more and with it, adventure.  So that's how I looked at my predicament in the restaurant, all part of the greater picture which is my traveling to a far off land.

 With that being said, I took my phone and started opening up every social app I had.  I knew I had no money for a hostel, hell my Visa didn't even work at the time; I had to come up with a plan!  That's when I realized the generosity of the people that would surround me for the next week; I have never been around a place where good fortune rains from the heavens like St. John's.  After about 30 mins or so of searching online, I found a man who was able to give me a place to stay for the night.  Not only was I fortunate enough to get a surface to sleep on, but dinner in the form of a delicious soup was given to me, along with great conversation.  We spoke of many things, but what connected us I believe was the simple spirit of the traveler.  Him like myself, enjoys traveling and we spoke at length about our excursions.  So after traveling what totaled out to be three and a half days over mountains, through valleys, enduring sleet, hail, snow and rain, here I was in a house that wasn't my primary destination, speaking with a fellow backpacker over a bowl of soup.  I knew from that very moment, this trip was going to be interesting.

I awoke the next day and greeted my host and his roommates (an awesome bunch indeed), showered and grabbed my pack and left.  My goal today?  Explore!!!  Toss in finding a new place to stay for the next night, but that's all part of the exploration.  I had parked my car the night before on a major in town called Duckworth Street.  Even though I was told my car would be okay on a Sunday, I was still half expecting it to be gone that morning.  Chalk it up to living in Atlanta for way too long.  Thankfully my chariot was there and I just threw my pack in the seat, grabbed my day pack and headed on my way to see what I could get into.

My hike for that day was Signal Hill and the Battery.  For those who don't know, Signal Hill was a fortification that still stands to this day that was last used by the British in 1762 during the Seven Years War that signaled the loss of St. John's from the French.  If you were to walk up the mountainside (no matter what any Newfoundlander tells you, there's no way that's a hill) you'd notice that the port of St. John's is tucked behind a small opening of land.  From an aerial point of view, it seems that the earth forms an almost embrace around the harbor and the small channel of water one has to pass through is aptly called the Narrows.

Before heading up this "hill" I decided to look at the information billboard that said it was only a .8 km walk, roughly half a mile.  I looked at that and thought, what the hell, and headed up the side.  I can say with complete confidence, that there is no greater shot to your pride than seeing a 70 something year old man jogging right past you up a mountainside.  Here I was slowly making it up the mountain.  Did I say mountain?  Try two!  The higher I went, the thinner the air got.  The views kept me going, snapping one picture after another until it seemed that I had taken hundreds.  By the time I made it up the first mountain, it became apparent to me why so many people trekked up those same steps as I.  You could hear a pin drop a mile away, while the wind would blow its song of peace and tranquility in your ears; the air was just so clean.

By the time I started the last segment of that hike, I was ready to throw myself off the mountain!  After huffing and puffing my way past what seemed to be many an unfazed Newfoundlander (word to the wise: never call them Newfies!) I made it to Sig
nal Hill.  It was gorgeous and well worth the hour and a half it took to hike it up.  Half mile be damned, I later found out that had I decided to drive up to the Hill, it would've been a half mile; God knows how many miles I hiked to walk up the side of it.

After my long but victorious trek, I slowly made my way back down the mountain through a mix of smaller trails and my own hiking improv skills.  By the time I reached the ground, my legs were ready for me to sit.  Let me tell you something about St. John's.  Since it's the oldest British founded city, and to some, the oldest city in the American continent, the roads were never made for cars; they, as most cities in that time, were made for horse carriages.  That detail mixed with the facts the roads change names in a split seconds notice makes for some difficult navigating.  I would never fail to get myself lost everyday, whether it was through driving or walking.  After finally stumbling upon a coffee shop that had wifi, I jumped for joy!  I could get my drink AND start up my search for a place to rest.  This moment at the coffee shop again echoed that kind and generous sentiment I never failed to see in St. John's.  I had ordered a cider knowing that they took credit cards; I tried my Visa just to see knowing that it would fail and promptly took out my Amex.  To my amazement, Amex wasn't accepted and I just apologized to the clerk and hung my head a bit; the whole living off my credit card in a town that barely accepted it had it's moments of defeat, and this was one of them.  The manager looked at me and said, "Don't worry about it; it's on me.  You seem to be having a rough day."  With that he handed me my cider and I went and sat down with a look of bewilderment.  Have I just not been living in a generous city or environment this whole time?  People being kind shouldn't come as a shock, but it did to me; whatever the case it was a breath of complete fresh air.

Twenty minutes past and I was able to find another host for that night.  The couchsurfing app again was turning up no results and so I found another house across town that was willing to take me in.  I noted the distance in the shop (GPS wouldn't work without wifi) and asked for directions.  Two miles wouldn't be a big deal... 30 mins tops was what everyone kept telling me.  Two hours later and a few extra miles, I appeared at this host's home tired and just grateful to have found the house.  Apparently on my mini trek, the roads had changed names a couple of times and there I was again circling the same blocks over again because of it.

Well when I arrived at this maison, the host made me a sandwich and showed me where I could lay my pack, promptly explaining to me the layout of the city and how I could've missed a road that was so easy to find.  With that came a nocturnal driving tour of the city, particularly Signal Hill and Cape Spear.  What amazed me was that unlike in the states where certain monuments or buildings are considered strictly for tourists, in St. John's even citizens go to these same sites.  That also struck me as odd, but when you see the sheer beauty that the landscape and city have to offer, you'd understand why everyone, native or not, would visit these places.

After that tour, I crashed for the night and awoke to an overcast and just ugly day.  It was Rememberance Day, the equivalent of our Veterans Day.  I wanted to see the parade so I dashed into town, found a place to park and sought refuge in a wonderful little eatery called the Hummus Hut.  Because of the rain, the parade itself was still in question; all other towns were canceling theirs. So while I awaited that news, I chatted it up with the hut's owner while writing in my journal.  The parade did happen and was shorter than I had expected, but I ran outside and took whatever pictures my camera could get and ran back inside to warm back up.

Since the rain continued to pour down and I had finally gotten in touch with my original host, I spent the evening with another Newfoundlander who continued the generous tradition of showing me around town.  After enjoying a few hours of their company and knowledge of the city's history, I was dropped off at my car and headed to my host's home (getting lost along the way of course).

I walk into a tall but narrow home filled with laughter and people congregated in what seemed to be the living room.  At that moment one girl turns to me with a smile and says, "You know you're not leaving here now."

I just smiled and let myself in.

And I Will Walk 5,000 Miles Part 2

The wind was blowing a nice chilly breeze and the fog was rising from Port Aux Basques.  I was finally here!!  NEWFOUNDLAND!!! I was pretty senile by this point, only sleeping about four hours on a six hour ferry ride cramped into some pseudo fetal position in the seats.  For whatever reason, those of us without the $142 to spare for a cabin, couldn't sleep on the floor; so relegated to very uncomfortable seats and neck cramps was I.

It was probably the
adrenaline that set in, but when the ferry docked, I ran and started my car; poor thing I don't think was remotely ready for the cold that had settled in her gears.  The true weight of my situation didn't settle in until WHAM!!, the ferry landing ramp was released and we were free to go.  I slowly drove out examining the landscape, as if I had just landed on some foreign planet.  It had mountains, rivers and a narrow highway as far as the eye could see.

Ten minutes into my drive and realizing I had yet another 10-11 hours to go before reaching St. John's, reality set in: I was alone.  When I mean alone, I mean, alone.  No cell service.  No copilot.  Barely any radio stations and miles and miles of terrain.  Excitement then became mixed with some anxiety and fear.  I was on the last leg of my journey to my destination and I was at the point of no return.

Newfoundland, for those who may not know, is an island.... A rather big island at that.  During certain seasons of the year, you can grab I believe two other ferries from different locations on the eastern coastal mainland of Canada that take you closer to St. John's than the route I took; unfortunately for me, the only route open was the six hour boat ride and a whole day of driving.

It took me some time to get over my isolation anxiety.  On everyone of my zany trips, I've always traveled alone and it has never bugged me; the idea of being on an island, that for the most part seems desolate in between towns and cities alone with no company but the thoughts in my head however, hit me like a dump truck at times.  Over the three and half days it took me to get to my destination, I had much time to talk to myself and think... a little too much time honestly.

The road to the Eastern coast of Newfoundland was a drive of ever changing terrain.  Since I was already on the island and had a general idea of when I'd arrive in town, I decided to soak in the environment.  It. Was. Breathtaking.  The land seemed so untouched, so immaculat
e and peaceful.  During most of the trip, I felt like the only living person on the road; as if I was the intruder in this land of natural beauty.  You could roll the windows down to receive a chilly but refreshing welcome from the land while hearing the rivers run through the terrain like a heart pumping blood through the body.

I would frequently get out of my car and I swear the sound of my shoes shifting the gravel beneath my toes sounded to me like a symphony in disarray; it was I who was disturbing the general peace of this island.  I was the explorer who without ill-intent disturbed the natural flow of energy through this environment.  It was amazing how the further east I went, the lighter the sky got.  When I first pulled away from the port. the skyline looked like an epic battle was about to begin between the rain and sun; it continued on this way until I got more into the center of the Rock.

As I got further from the port I discovered a few towns along the way that I had to stop for to get gas and other road trip snacks.  Pertaining to the towns, I didn't know what to expect because Newfoundland seemed so immense and ripe with natural beauty.  For some odd reason, I was expecting them to be smaller.  To be honest, they seemed to be well proportioned.

As I got closer and closer to my destination, the sleet and rain had let up to reveal an absolutely gorgeous sunny view of the land; with the sun shining on me I continued my pursuit.  The low river terrain had given way to what seemed to me as huge mountains.  Higher and higher I drove, my engine whining from the elevation but never showing any sign of stopping, until I reached it: the moon!  Well not really, but the rock formations and rocky off street terrain sure as hell made you feel like you were there.

It was getting close to the early evening, and there I was, sitting on these lunar rocks watching the sun set.  It felt so interesting to watch the sun slowly waves goodbye to me while I sat on rocks that could've belonged to her lunar cousin.  Someone had already beaten me to the punch of sitting closer to the horizon, so I sat back and kept my distance so we could both enjoy this same moment together spiritually.  I was only about an hour or so away from my end game and the temperature was dropping again.  Climate it seemed was as ever fluid as water, at times the cold was tolerable, then it would snow, rain or hail, followed by clear skies.  Adjusting to the ever changing weather was something compared to roulette; you just really didn't know which way the weather would turn when you rounded the bend.

Speaking of bends, I finally made it over the last mountain top and I swear it felt like angels were singing!!  There it was!  St. Johns.... well the suburbs.  I arrived when the sun had already set and I was honestly surprised as to how big the city was.  If you include the burbs and other surrounding neighborhoods, St. John's is pretty sprawled out.  What got me laughing was the fact that I had to stop and get gas off one road only to find a, gasp! Wal-Mart!!!  It's true!  Nowhere is safe from this behemoth, not even an island as far east as Newfoundland.  The fingers of this conglomerate seem to reach everywhere!  I finally loaded up on gas, which if you don't know, is expensive as hell  (Remember that gas is converted into liters in Canada) and headed to downtown.  As my luck had it, it began to hail quite hard.  Here I was, my car straining to stop with the hail interfering with the tires, myself lost in a city with random one ways and few signs to guide me somewhere, and no way to get in touch with my couch surfing host.  After almost sliding right into the back of a small Ford, I decided enough is enough and pulled into a Tim Horton's (think of it as a Dunkin Donuts/Starbucks hybrid) to get a hot chocolate and use their wifi.

For an hour I sat in the store, sipping on my cocoa and waiting out the storm; I opened my couchsurfing app to see if my host had responded and to my surprise.... not one reply.  For a moment I thought that all the driving and sleep deprivation had gotten to me and I was hallucinating this potential train wreck and that some kind of email would magically reappear.  I closed and re-opened the app a few times, and even turned my phone on and off a couple times, but no dice.  I started to panic again inside my head; looking around I felt as if all the customers could hear the screams of frustration going on in my mind.  I had no idea as to why I hadn't heard back from my host, or for that matter, anyone on the site.  I didn't have enough money for staying in a hostel and knew absolutely no one; so I did the one thing I knew what to do: I broke one of my cardinal rules of traveling....

And I Will Walk 5,000 Miles Part 1

Ok, well I know it's 500 miles, but the 5,000 is pretty significant in this situation, so what the hell right?

"You're going where?!?!  What for??? What's up there?  Is your car going to make it??"

These were some of the questions I had thrown at me when I told people about my driving, yes, I said driving, to St. John's Newfoundland.  Why would I want to drive there you may ask?  Easy.  For years now I've wanted to be at the furthest eastern point of the whole American (North, South and Central) continent.  The very first point where the sun greets our land with her warm smile; I'll tell you right now, it was a moment I'll never forget.  The adventure was so surprising and yet insightful, that I feel the need to write about it in parts; God knows I'm long winded, so some breaks I'm sure are welcomed to whoever reads this. 

Before we get to the many happenings of this caper though, many things had to be sorted out before leaving.  Firstly, my car (aka Old Faithful) had to be checked out and cleared for duty.  Anyone who knows me knows that my car hasn't had the best track record when it comes to being out of the shop; I think any one mechanic could make a living off of the money I drop on her.  Regardless, I'll drive her til her wheels fall off; besides, shes made it to the Keys with me and now to St. John's, so we have some history together.  After getting her looked over, an oil change and fuel injector cleaning, she was ready for battle.

Next was the clothing selection.  One word comes to mind when I think of Canada in the early winter period: COLD.  So jeans, thermals, a few t-shirts to break the monotony of my beige outer underwear addition and my trusty leather jacket were thrown into the mix with a hoodie, gloves and beanies.  I always have to have my beanies wherever I go.  Along with my sleeping bag and tent, I managed to fit everything into my hiking bag, including some other essentials.  Even though I was driving and I could've packed a suitcase if I wanted, whenever I travel and go backpacking, I stick to my one packing mantra: take only what I can carry on my back.

So with all my gear ready, my car warmed up, duct tape in the trunk just in case (everything can be fixed with duct tape), and 6 six hours of solid sleep under my belt, I set off on my journey that I thought I was prepared for.

First stop: Richmond, Virginia.  Almost a 600 mile drive, the road to Richmond was beautiful and well timed.  Before I left, I attempted to route my own course on Google Maps; there was some success with that, but more frustrations than I would've liked.  Thankfully my Virginia course worked and I got to see some gorgeous Appalachian mountainside blended in with a mix of highway.   I ended up visiting a great girl friend who I hadn't seen since college; so it had been a long overdue mini reunion.  Her and her roommate were gracious enough to let me sleep on their couch after what could be described as a night of drinking, catching up and a sprinkle of karaoke. 

Alarm goes buzzing off at 7:30a and I jump into the shower only to head back on the road at 8 before I had my car towed.  Next destination: Boston!!!  Now this route was a bit tricky; I wanted to make it there while avoiding all the major cities and their traffic and still get a great view of nature through the various state parks.  All went down without a hitch until I got to the Big Apple.  I rode up the Jersey coast to the Tappan Zee Bridge in an attempt to not get stuck in what I'm sure would've been hell on earth traffic in the city.  I made it there perfectly and then proceeded to get lost on the Palisades Parkway for about an hour.  I probably drove up and down that fairway for a solid hour until I had had enough and just got my GPS to take me straight to Boston.  I'm sorry harbor coastline, until we meet again.  After braving the new york highways, the absolutely gorgeous bridges and hours of random Connecticut traffic (Seriously.  There was no rhyme or reason for the lock ups, they just seemed to happen) I made it to Boston.  The estimated amount of time was supposed to be around 10-11 hours; my little leg of that trip took about 12-13.  I stayed with an old friend of mine and his husband for the night on their couch after a great dinner out and catching up about our lives; it's been about a year or so since we've all last seen each other.

The symphony coming from my phone as the alarm sounded and the noise of folks getting ready for work told me it was time to get back behind the wheel.  So around 7:30a ish, I began my next to last leg of my journey to Newfoundland.  This leg unfortunately had a time restriction; I had to be there at 8:45p to register for the ferry or have to end up waiting for the only other daily ferry departure at 11:45a the next day, which was not in my plan.  The first two nights I tried to arrive at reasonable times so I wouldn't be disturbing my friend's daily lives too much, but this time I was on the clock: a 12 hour drive awaited me.  Boy I had no idea what was in store.

After driving through some beautiful mountain views of Maine, I finally made it to the US/Canadian border: 3:45p I thought I was making great time!  Customs stopped and ask me the usual questions: how long was I staying, purpose of my trip, blah blah blah.  When I told the officer I was driving to St. John's, he I'm sure found it a bit odd, (tack him onto a rather long list of folks) and asked to search my car.  Since I had my car searched two years ago when I came to Canada, this didn't come as a surprise to me; what did however, was the fact that while I was awaiting the prostate check on my four wheeled companion, I found out that I was an hour behind.  Although I had arrived there at 3:45p, it actually was 4:45p on that border stop.  All was well until I met my old nemesis timezone.

Well of course, the officer took his sweet time and I started to pace around the room asking the other officers if I could still make it to the ferry on time; I had about another five hours to go.  Some looked at me skeptically while another told me I could, with a smirk that screamed I was going to get stopped for speeding if I tried.  After the officer came back with my keys, I ran to my car to only find my sleeping bag had been taken out of my pack (it took me forever to pack all that in there by the way) and pretty much gunned it through New Brunswick and then the mountains of Nova Scotia.  My end destination was the Port of North Sydney.  Let me tell you, there is nothing more nerve wrecking than driving through the mountains of a country, hell a landscape that you don't recognize in pitch dark conditions.  In between the sporadic towns I crossed, there were dozens of miles of nothing... no lights, houses or more importantly, gas stations.  So timing and gas consumption kept me on my toes while I was speeding threw the Nova Scotian nocturnal mountains.  By the time I made it (roughly around 10:30p) to the port, I had fought my way through high winds, fog, rain and heavy snowfall and with my sanity barely intact; I was told by the the ticket lady that there was still room for me.  PHEW!!!  After a little over 14 hours of driving and blood shot eyes, having the ticket in my hand was a huge relief!  Only when the ferry started moving did I think to myself, there's no turning back now.

Does God Have A Voicemail?

I don't know if it's been due to the transitioning of seasons from summer to fall, or the fact that I've had alot of down time this summer or what, but I can't seem to get one topic out of my head: God.

Cue the thunder and lightning!  Not G-D, but G-O-D.  You know that spirit, force, entity or whatever you'd like to call it that in some form or shape, we all mostly believe in?  Yea... that God.  I've been noticing alot of my friends have been praying lately, or perhaps for a long time about whatever is bothering them or stuff they want to give thanks to.  I've tried to pick up meditation of some sort, (Buddhist prayers, Sufi meditation beads, nature) but nothing seems to be working yet.  I do find a lot of peace and tranquility in nature; so whenever I feel burdened or bogged down, I try to go wherever I can that I'm just simply surrounded by Mother Nature and her divine beauty. 

I used to pray.  I used to say my rosary like a good Catholic boy.  I used to go to church and look for some kind of sign.  I used to do alot of things, until I suddenly stopped.

When my dad passed away almost five and a half years ago, I was angry.  I shut down.  I couldn't handle it all and watching him disintegrate in a matter of two years was more than I could bare.  I was the optimist from the beginning, downplaying any notion of the severity of it all; perhaps I was just being naive... But hey, I was young and I thought, unstoppable.  After that night, I hated everyone.  My family, myself, God... especially God.  How could He have taken away someone who he himself had given his life to His name?  Hatred, pain, confusion... these were just some of the emotions I felt during those first two years.  Never did I cry, never did I shed a tear after that night.

Two years after his passing I finally blew up; I remember that night clearly for the most part.  I was at a bar with someone who I thought cared about me, getting drunk again, because that's how I dealt with the pain; this person eventually forced me to confront my past and everything I had been going through with my dad those last few years.... And I lost it.  I. Lost. It.  I ended up face down in the middle of a parking lot dirt and tears in my face just screaming.  And I didn't stop.  Other friends came to my rescue from a neighboring bar and this so called friend left me there in tears that he had caused.

I remember screaming about how I was such a bad son, how I could've done more.  The pain, the guilt, the anger just came flowing out of me.  Amidst that group of nurturing friends, a couple took me to their place and let me sleep in their guest room; all the while I was blabbering to myself and screamed myself to sleep or exhaustion, I don't know which.

I don't know why I decided to share this memory.  Those years were not the prettiest in my life and it took a few more after that night to finally put myself straight again; this is probably one of my most intimate memories of recent years that has affected me deeply.   Since then, I've stopped praying.  I've stopped going to church or even really acknowledging the presence of a god.

Yet lately, I find myself now going back to the idea of a God.  I've been putting myself back on track, but still deep down I feel that something is missing in me.  Something that perhaps no job, paycheck, or car can ever replace... some kind of faith in life.  I've noticed a bunch of friends saying that they've been giving thanks and praise to God and that God's good and all these things; yet for the last almost 8 years I've been asking myself the question, "is He?"  Is He good?  Is He watching over us?  Is He the one we turn to for help?  He sure as hell didn't seem to offer us any help when my dad suffered those two long years.  Where was he for my dad?  Or my mom?  Or my whole family for that matter? 

I don't know what to make of it all.  Is there really a God?  I don't know the answer.  I'd like to believe that there is.  For the first time in five years, I'm trying to figure out how to reach out to Him again.  For years I dealt with hating Him so much; now it's time that I need to humble myself and reach out for direction.

I'm a strong believer in that to raise ourselves, we first must break ourselves.  I broke that night and turned my back on so many things in my life; as the years have gone by, mostly everything has been restored except my belief in faith.  Yet it's that lack of faith in my life that I feel is creating an emptiness that I just can't seem to fill; an emptiness I realize, that perhaps now is the right time to vanquish.  I just don't know how.

I guess I start with a simple "Dear God..."

For The Passer By

All this time I've sat in front of you,
Shown you my offerings to this world.
Specks of color here, lines of life there.
All combined to show you a unique story, unlike any other.

It's a story of life, simplicity, error, failings, and successes.
Out in the open for all to see, free admission for the critics and admirers of this world.
The theme has been done, over and again through time,
The colors used before, and rhythm noted from the past.

Unlike the tales of today, this one will only remain as long as the author keeps it present.
It is not digital.  It is not downloadable. 
It is nothing that can be stored on a stick to be easily forgotten,
just as it was so easily stored.

It it a piece of canvas, with colors once vibrant,
Used to tell a tale that with time, the elements and abandonment
Have slowly started to erode the once beautiful imagery it had to offer.
The story that it told, slowly fading from the memory of our instant lifestyle.

Look further though. 
Look into the colors.  The old and flaky palette of this painters work.
The tale may not be so colorful as once was before,
But the message is still there.

Of what can be seen is part of a bigger world that is not only offered on the surface of this canvas.
Flip it over and a message awaits.
Tucked behind the hours and emotions of this art,
Lays a simple note folded behind this junction of thought and progress.

Take a second and read delicately.
Just leave it folded up where you found it.
The message is simple, yet different for all,
While still explaining everything in a few worlds.

Approach it with care and respect,
For just as we all have our own portraits we work on,
Our notes left hidden below the surface of our art,
Is what lasts eternal.

Curtain Call Can Be Unexpected

God I'm simply horrible at keeping a blog; it's official, I just can't seem to write in one consistently.  I guess my biggest obstacle is the fact that I just like to write about what's going on in my life, usually a more serious side to it and I'm sure that's a topic that can just get outrageously boring; sometimes though, writing can be the best medication we have at our disposal.

Talking about medication, I've lost count of the weeks I've been in a sling.  I think it's been about 7 or 8?  It's been a humbling experience to say the least.  As a kid I did countless stupid things that put my body through the meat grinder, but never broke a bone; so in true fashion, having a busted up clavicle as my first broken bone is a way to go down in a flame of glory.

It hasn't really been the broken bone that has been the most frustrating part; trust me, it definitely has been a challenge having to adapt to this style for a minute, but more so the emotional side of it.  The pain that has come with the breakage and surgery definitely hurts, and there have been days that it has hurt more than others, but I guess it's been the loneliness that's been getting to me and the re-working of my future.

I am a man of signs and looking over my past entries I wrote how I wanted to join the Peace Corps in this next year or so; but because of this break and because I don't want to foster out Panda, it's been postponed (not to say other things aren't in the works).  It's been a hard pill to swallow, but again, just because this door has been closed temporarily doesn't mean a window isn't in sight.  The loneliness I've felt has been something else.  It hasn't been because I've had no friends to visit and help me, on the contrary, I've been and continue to be grateful for my friends who call to check on me and stop by and visit or get me out of the house; I guess loneliness wouldn't be the right word, perhaps disillusionment.

I've been disillusioned by some of those I hold the closest to me; that my friends, hurts.  You spend so much time and effort establishing these close connections to people only to not have them near you when you need it the most.  It's been a hard and painful pill to swallow indeed.  I don't mind being railroaded by people I could honestly care less about, but to be done that to you by those nearest and dearest is something that truly opens your eyes.  By having this happen to me, I've felt used... very used.

Yet through this enlightening experience a wonderful thing has happened; I've started to reach out to others and in return other friends have come to my aid.  For those who have been there, my gratitude is eternal.  I'm not the best at reaching out to people or opening up about my issues or problems, (hence the writing) so to have these kind friends helping me has been such a blessing.  Now it is MY responsibility to help maintain each and everyone of these friendships; I ask all these people for forgiveness if I misstep a couple of times, I'm horrible at coming out of my shell.  Yet I plan on trying my hardest to help foster these friendships that have grown from this whole incident.  I just want everyone to know that I'm grateful to all those who have been there and continue to be there through all of this, be it visits, a simple text message or phone call or anything.  I understand that we all lead busy lives and some busier than others, so none of your actions have gone unnoticed.  My gratitude is to you.

Bones repair themselves with time; what really takes effort is to repair the mind and spirit.  When I initially broke my shoulder, two things went through my head: PAIN and shame.  I'm not going to lie to you folks, the pain that surged through my body was intense... thank God for shock and a whole slew of a half dozen or so pain killers right?  But I also felt a bit ashamed of myself.  Not so much for the bone breaking but because I didn't want to be a disappointment to my martial arts class.  Sure we all get injured doing certain activities and we're bound to get hurt, but we get up and keep on moving; I just didn't want to be THAT guy who ended up on the bench for God knows how long.  This injury I took with a grain of salt in the beginning; leave it to me to try and take this matter lightly.  After a few days, reality set in a bit.  I'd be off the mat for a while, and my activities/lifestyle and future choices would be on the back burner for a few weeks.  Well to be honest, I thought it would be a few weeks; imagine my reaction when I found out it was to be about 6 months!!!

I call it shame, but I guess it's more a sense of disappointment within myself that I've been struggling with.  This whole incident has made me question so many things within me: whether I'm cut out for martial arts.  Do I have the correct amount of discipline to apply myself to things in life?  What am I going to do with my immediate future?  How will I be treated at work or with other friends?  Just a few of those to mention.   But after alot of thinking, (I've had way too much time for that) this incident does not make me a broken person.  My spirit may be doubting in some aspects, but deep down, I am a believer in optimism.

All these questions I'm sure are thoughts that go through the mind of a person recovering from some kind of trauma, but at the same time, my eyes try to see the good in it all.  When I recover fully, I hope to be back on the mat with a new view on life; the support and love that has come from my teacher, fellow jujitsu students/friends has shown me that I shouldn't be disappointed in myself.  I will return with a more open heart and mind to them... it'll be tough to re-condition my body and pretty much start fresh, but with time, practice, patience and support from them, I'll be back on the mat in no time.  It'll be a struggle for me, but I'm hoping that it will be something I overcome sooner than later. 

My immediate future has definitely grounded to a halt unfortunately.  Right now, like some of my friends continue to remind me, I need to focus on recovering.  I'll admit, I'm no spring chicken anymore, but I am quite stubborn and still in pretty good health injury aside; to constantly realize that you're physically limited wears on you, but I just have to power through and set my pride aside.  To look at this positively though, life has offered me some insight.  For one, I've had to slow down ALOT!  Yet by slowing down, I've had the opportunity to not only rest, but also explore life and this city in a way that I've never given myself the chance to do.  Sure we can drive to get our haircut somewhere a distance away; but what would happen if one walks said distance?  Within such a short proximity by car, so many adventures can be found on foot.  I've noticed the way we as a society treat those who are disabled, and quite honestly, the treatment I've been given by those on the street has been less than pleasing at times.  I now understand to a small degree what those who are permanently disabled in some fashion have to deal with on a daily basis.  My heart and positive energy go out to you all!

I love the quote, "with great power comes greater responsibility"; for myself though, I'd say "with great stubbornness comes greater humility" works best.  I'm not the best with dealing with injuries; I tend to want to get up and go just as soon as I've fallen, but I know with this one it'll take alot of time.  Everyday that I wake up since my injury I've had to remind myself of that; yet as I've come to realize, not all is bad.  Things haven't gone my way on few levels in these last two months, colors have been shown good and bad, limitations have had to be admitted and pain has been doled out on a daily basis like teriyaki chicken samples at the mall food court; BUT new friendships have begun to blossom along with strengthening old ones, a new point of view on life is slowly emerging and creativity out of necessity has come about among other things.  The hardest physical part will slowly start to pass (can't wait for the 1 lb. physical therapy exercises), the mental and emotional challenge is what is following.  Pain will start to dissipate as the weeks go on, my arm and body will get stronger with every passing day and life will surely get back to normal.

In the end, all I can be is grateful for everything that has come about since my injury; the bad things have only opened up my eyes to everything that surrounds me that is good and welcoming.  It has all been a struggle and I don't doubt that it will continue to be until I'm back to my normal self, I just have to remember to breathe and take things day by day; not the best at it but I'm trying.  

Organization S/q-U<-a-R(e)-D

So the other day I was thinking about where I was RIGHT now.  After some seclusion I took the leap and bought myself a bushel of sharpies (doesn't bushels just sound funny when you say it?) and a forest of giant post-its.  I've slowly turned one of my walls into a cubist canvas full of turqoise and a plethora of sharpie colors combined with my wonderful elementary school handwriting.

You may think that things make sense in your head at times, but it's not until we start to write things down that those many pieces of ideas and thoughts begin to take shape.  Everyday I look at my squares, as they're my attempt at organizing my thirties crisis and just come up with atleast one new thing to add to each list.  I guess it's good to have something like that in your face everyday because it forces you to realize that your raison d’être has yet to be perhaps explained or achieved. 

The squares have opened up my mind to a few things, some a bit outlandish and others that just make sense.  How many times have we woken up thinking, "what else is out there?"  I mean think about it.  We grow up, we go through school, we graduate and get our big kid jobs....  What follows after that?  For some of us, the married life, the white picket fence and a small pack of kids.  It seems like the perfect starter pack to life.  For some that's complete happiness, and who could ever argue with that?  You're blessed with a job, a spouse that loves you, a roof over your head, food on your plate and hopefully a future generation of children that you can spread and teach your great energy to in hopes that they in the future add to the happiness of this world.  Sounds perfect doesn't it?  Yet what about those of us that perhaps that calling doesn't really work or for whatever reason (cough! political.. cough!), just can't be had at this moment?  Life becomes an open road to a whole other world; a world full of paths less trodden.

I've been looking at my rubik's cube mosaic and been trying to make it work in some way.  What if I take A from list C and put it with B from list D?  Now I'll be the first to say, organization has never been my forte; hell, not even my personality is organized.  I've never really been one for organization, because I've always felt that you always end up living in some kind of confined space, limited by your walls of order.  Yet, sometimes, more often than I'm sure we all realize, we've gotta bend some.  So I've decided to swallow my pride and try this foreign concept of "Point A to B."  I won't say it hasn't worked for me; honestly it's given me good structure and a helpful way to lay out all of my thoughts.  Don't tell anyone, but I may try to start to be more organized in the future... just an idea.  ;-)

I've been talking to some friends as of late trying to make sense of my squares (there are quite a few) and try to decipher the puzzle pieces laid out in front of me.  It's been eye opening and just great to think "outside the box" while trying to see the world in another lens.  I've been coming up with a few ideas, none of them exactly conventional, but ideas nonetheless.  They have all evolved around a basic pyramid of requirements; each brick being a necessary piece of this structure and all demanding much sacrifice from me.  No path in the squares is easy by any means thus far, perhaps they'll stay that way or perhaps more conventional ideas will come to me.  Yet one has sort of burrowed a little hole in my mind that just caters to my basic needs as a free spirit.

Like most things right now in my mosaic, it's just a simple idea; a simple seed that I'm trying to figure out whether to water or not.  I'm a person of adventure;  I don't want to be 40 and realize that I could've gone down roads of life that although a bit dustier and gravel filled than most existential highways, could lead to memories, encounters and adventures that could change my life.  That's why I love road trips and hate flying!  Once you get on a plane, you're on an arbitrary path to your destination; no pit stops or meals in a random diner.  No sir!!  You will get to your destination when the aviation gods deem it right; but on the road, freedom and adventure abound and you don't have to worry about annoying passengers and hitting your head against baggage compartments or the rolling death traps known as the flight attendant's carts.  

I have one adventure in mind right now, that I'm trying to work out in my head and again organize (damn it!  There's that word again!) some kind of way to solidify it.  But if this idea sticks, I'm going to need the help of all of my friends to make it work.  Not saying that it's an absolute thing at the moment, but it's gaining speed and just seems to click on many levels, but takes a lot of logistical planning... so yea, I've gotta really touch up on my organizational skills and pronto!  But as the squares start to be created and moved about, I've got a feeling that a painting will start to be created.  Who knows?  Maybe it'll turn out to be the idea I think it may turn into, or perhaps it'll be something different; with the canvas of life, there's no telling how the palette of existence will eventually express itself.

Lego Letters

Letters are like legos, and words are all those Legos put together to form a battleship or a house or may a airplane. If we were to put all of our verbal legos together, what would come of it?  If you could build anything you wanted with your own words, what would you like to build? 

Words are like the bricks to a house that we just never finish building; an eternal aspiration to what we would love our home and life to be.  If I could build something out of my own ramblings, it would be a modest home, definitely full of many windows to have natural sunlight; to have the wind greet me with her breeze in any room would be splendid.  Perhaps on a hillside or in a Mediterranean setting with the rumbling of the ocean in the background would be a definite plus.  I'd love to build something as solid as a house, a place where I could eventually call a home, but for right now, my words need to be shifted to a different construction site. 

Most of my friends have told me I have knack for writing and back when, I used to love to write by far more than I have been these last few years.  So why not turn those verbal, hand-made bricks to something a bit more necessary?  Perhaps into a brick road.  Ever since my last post, I've been thinking so much about possible options in life and stupid doubts I've had in myself.  I've been waking up in the middle of the night lately just with so many ideas in my head and then the ever stupid question, "why have I waited this long?" 

If there's one huge fear in my inner most being, it's to settle.  To settle on a person that's not right for me.  To settle on a job more well suited for someone else or one that's time has past for me.  To settle on a life that's become so monotonous that it's scary.  I don't want to look back at my life at 40 and think, "geez, I've done nothing."  Even worse, to look at life when I'm 50 thinking, "well damn, where did the time go?"  I know that this sounds like a pessimist's dream come true, but I promise you I'm not thinking like that.  Instead, I've started to put a positive spin on things. 

Why waste all of my time in this hamster wheel without trying to MacGyver my way out of it?  One of my most powerful weapons in my personal arsenal of things I've come to learn are my dreams and words, so why not put them to use?  I was recently asked about explaining some kind of adventure I've had traveling on one of my zany adventures, and it got me thinking...  isn't our life just one giant traveling and zany adventure?  I mean, do we ever really know our destination?  Or do we THINK we do?  I guess that can be the stressful part of life but perhaps it's also the most exciting part of it. 

Sure, it can be disheartening to learn that perhaps you've come to realize that you're going in the wrong direction in life, but it's never too late to change that.  There have been times that I've wanted to sell most of my permanent (translated: condo) material possessions and move to a distant city or country and start life off like it was meant to be enjoyed: with simplicity.  My nomadic and realist sides have been at battle lately, and it's been an interesting time; some times depressing, and others exciting.  Right now I think my nomadic spirit is starting to get some good jabs in, but realism is throwing up some good blocks.  Place your bets everyone!

Don't get me wrong, I know that we have to have some kind of destination in our lives, but the word "destination" is just as fluid as the ocean water.  Right now, it seems as if my destination is unknown, but I've discovered a few more paths laid out to me; perhaps they've been there this whole time, and it's been the weeds of my self doubt that have covered them. 

If self doubt has been unwanted foliage, then my words are that mower that I'm using to cut them down and keep them at bay while I lay down new bricks to some kind of exit strategy.  Although masonry is always a good use for language, what I may do is to take my words and manner of writing and use them to mold a possible left field solution out of this interesting pickle I find myself in.

My floorboard is starting to be cleared up and my blocks being organized by shape and color, and now it's time to put these Legos to use... brick by brick, with thought out intention.

Our Most Formidable Selves

I don't know if it's because of this horribly long winter, but the last few months have been eye opening and yet challenging all at once.  The reality of it has been hitting me slowly as of late, but yesterday a close friend told me something that sent shockwaves through my body: my free spirit is starting to wain.  I didn't tell her how much those words truly affected me, but I greatly appreciated it.  It takes a close and true friend to be so lovingly honest as to say something that in the end will make us a better person.  I guess it all boils down to one thing: self doubt.

Self doubt... such a formidable enemy.  What's worse, is that it's an internal enemy.  No guns.  No battle lines.  No rules of engagement.  These last six months or so I've started to make changes for the better in my life; reaching out to more people in tuned with my views of things, working on music, martial arts, volunteer work.  Needless to say, I've started to explore many facets in my life I had never really given myself the opportunity to do.  Yet there's always been this lingering doubt in the back of my mind... this little voice that just whispers in my ear, "you're just not there yet."  It drives me nuts at times.  It's as if I've got this nagging little broken record going on repeat in my ear and some times I just can't seem to stop it from playing.

I know I'm better than this... aren't we all?  I guess it's just recently I've done so much re-evaluating in my life that it's become a bit lonely.  I know that this a transition for the better, that I'm metamorphosing into something better than myself; or atleast I hope I am.  It's times like these where we seem to battle ourselves the most.  The crux of it all is change and stagnation.  In so many aspects of myself I feel like I've changed for the better, but there's still that feeling that I find myself in a hamster wheel, sprinting down some path only to find out it's been the same circle I've been running in for years.

I stepped into my thirties determined to change things in my life.  Leave the old behind, the pain, the the mistakes and start to create new goals to achieve a better life in this new decade.  Start to surround myself with people who will help me grow as a person, start to do things that help society and not harm my body.  To be honest, I'm proud of myself for a lot of things I've done, but as of lately, I still struggle with some issues.  I no longer walk into the room with this air of self confidence; I've been noticing that the last few weeks and I don't know why.  At times I think it's because I don't belong in it anymore or that it's just not for me, but if that were the case, wouldn't I be even more confident knowing that I'm above that?  Same thing can be said about my music or martial arts or anything.  I just tend to be doubting myself.  Whatever happened to the guy that could play his saxophone and not care of the reaction of others?  Or walk into a room and not care what people thought of him?  Or could make plenty of mistakes and not care who noticed? 

These things have been weighing on me and I've been trying to figure out why.  I know I'm not a bad person, granted I've made plenty of mistakes in my life; but I'm no devil nor a saint.  I just have to see that I'm better than this.  Something I've started to do as of late and have faltered some is to make goals.  I've never been one to be so organized, so the idea of having some kind of track laid out for me is a foreign concept; but I've attempted to make goals in my life, and I've set some short ones in motion.  Day to day I guess.

What it all boils down to is that I just don't want to settle.  That to me is what self doubt leads to: settling.  I don't want to let the years pass me by and spend my life chasing this unknown dream while running in some hamster wheel.  I know we all have to work.... if only we didn't, right?  I know we all have bills, obligations, commitments.  But when did all of these things turn into some kind of internal slavery?  We don't have to settle for a job that doesn't make us fulfilled.  We don't have to have obligations that we don't want or commitments we don't want to commit to.  We ARE obligated however, to be honest to ourselves, and we owe it to ourselves and life in general to do just that.

I've started to make new friends, joined new activities and have tried to find those in my life that'll help and not hinder me.  But the change that I need to do is internal; I guess that's what's so lonely at times during these moments in life: you have to have a come to Jesus moment and just think about all the things and people you have in your life and ask yourself: is this really what I need or want?  Change can be difficult and downright scary.  What's worse is that atleast for me, I'm having problems finding which way to continue walking.  After my friend told me about my struggling free spirit, I realized that I don't want to continue walking in circles.  I've made good changes in my life, but perhaps I need to continue to evolve and keep thinking to myself, "you are worth it."  No matter the endeavors I pursue or the choices I make, I've got to continue to grow for the better. 

Apparently, it's not everything else in my life that's slowing down this process of growth, but only myself.  Perhaps to grow, I've got to let go of some things and reach for new ones; I guess the letting go is the scary part.. be it old friends, jobs, etc...  That can be very scary... but I feel that I've taken steps in a positive direction the last few months and deserve to continue doing that. 

I owe it to my free spirit to nurture her once again.  She needs water and I need sunlight.  Together we can grow and give fruit to this world and I can begin to grow once again, the branches that have been floundering in my tree of life.  To those people new and old, who have and continue to affect me in a positive way, I say thank you.  My branches thank you.  Most importantly my roots thank you; for it's my roots that need the most nourishment right now.  It's they that contain the essence of my being and it's they that will begin to turn this weeping willow into a strong majestic oak once again.