I Think We're All the Same

"We need enormous pockets, pockets big enough for our families and our friends, and even the people who aren't on our lists, people we've never met but still want to protect. We need pockets for boroughs and for cities, a pocket that could hold the universe." -Jonathan Safran Foer

I have had these past couple weeks to make it back home before my next move.  Egmont, British Columbia to Brutus, Michigan.  Some 3,000 miles and change.  A solo road trip has been idolized in this country among certain groups of people.  We’ve seen movies, read books, heard stories, many revolving around this concept of a road trip: it’s not where you’re going but how you get there.  What is it about that idea that’s so riveting?  How does a steering wheel and the “open road” inspire epiphanies and insight?  I’ve been on many road trips east and west with handfuls of different people and I can honestly say that I’ve experienced some epic, memorable journeys.  However, for this road trip back home, I was leaving another known (i.e. my community in B.C.) for an unknown (i.e. eventually getting on a plane to Nicaragua).  I was in my car, exhausted and alone.  Essentially, I just wanted to get through it. 

on I-84 east in northeast oregon

However, as I kept moving east, I encountered people with intention.  People who wanted to invest in me, whether it be for a couple days or for five minutes.  It was a strange feeling.  When I reached my first stop in Bend, my friend and her sister immediately took me out exploring for the evening, and again in the morning.  When I reached Spokane the next day, another close friend of mine welcomed me into her home with so much care and excitement.  We sat on her couch for hours, investing in each other and sharing stories.  My solo journey continued through Idaho and Montana the next day.  Even though I knew I’d be camping by myself that evening, I managed to feel intentionally cared for that day.  I stopped for a couple minutes to see a friend of mine who just started school in Missoula; a reminder that even in the seemingly “middle of nowhere,” there are people who love you. 

The person who struck me the most, however, was a young girl I encountered in the town of Butte, Montana.  I stopped at a Safeway for a few postcards, and while I was deciding whether I wanted the kitschy image of eagles and bubble letters or the more simplified “MONTANA” on the front, a young employee came up to me.  “You should pick this one,” she told me as she picked up a card with a pair of cowboy boots and a lasso gently resting on a fence post.  “I am designing the t-shirt for my senior class and I am thinking about doing something like this.”  “Oh, cool,” I replied, still uncertain why she came up to me and was pouring herself out so easily.  “Yeah, I like the way the boots and lasso look together, and it would look awesome on a t-shirt.  Maybe if I didn’t have to work so much here I could spend more time on it.”  On and on, she continued, with more stories that would seem meaningless to any passerby.  She was thirsting for connection.  I was a complete stranger with days of traveling under my belt, yet she decided to open up to me.  I was taken a back for certain, however, I learned a lot from her in those five minutes.  We are all looking for connection.  We reach out to family, friends, and sometimes complete strangers so that we may be heard.

We all want to be known.  Just look at today’s communication devices- facebook, twitter, blogs- everyone updating some sort of status, hoping someone will show interest.  I am obviously partaking in that ritual by telling my stories here.  We thirst for community, acceptance, love, wherever we go.  I was able to realize that on my solo journey home.  I spent time with friends out west, encountered strangers in Montana, and had joyful reunions with close friends of mine that I hadn’t seen in over a year.  Each day of the total 14 I experienced radiant community outside of my car and acute solitude within its’ doors.  With that in mind, I make my next transition to yet another community.  I feel as though I am constantly moving, but slow enough that I can take in every experience with intention and care.

my little honda in the middle of monata

lani and i experiencing the minnesota state fair.