Rock Up

“Abiel!!! Welcome home!”

A few months back I fretted about how I was going to make my way up the North Island. I was fraught with self-made pressure to see things I hadn’t seen. Try not to spend money better saved for next destinations, but still get yourself to those places you ought to check off your list.

I’m so damn thankful I stopped letting my mind spout that BS.

I bought a plane ticket from Queenstown to Wellington. I listed the 3 places I wanted to go because they held people I wanted to say goodbye to. I have hitchhiked and bused my way north, reflecting on how much has changed since I last did this.

I did it. I f*cking did it. I am 10 days short of a solid year away from home and 3.5 months shy of seeing that home again.

And yet, as I rocked up to Howard’s Mountain Lodge, my first workplace, and poked my head into reception, I grinned widely. Man. I made this my home.

“Abiel! You’re back! We have a bed for you upstairs or wherever you like. You know how it works. It’s so good to see you. You’re home now.”

Yeah. I am. I woke up to reggae pounding through the room. I baked cookies and wandered streets I loved so well. I watched snow drenched mountains show off their majesty. I knocked on doors hoping for hellos.

Hugs enveloped me. “You’ve changed Little Blue. You don’t talk down to your hands anymore. You are so confident.”

I guess I just know it will work out now. I actually know it.

I baked one more batch of cookies, watched Romeo + Juliet, curled around reflections of who I was before. “I reckon I’ll hitch up to Taupo for a night.” My manager called the sister hostel. “They’ll give you a bed free of charge.”

If you find a new way to say “thank you so so much” please let me know. I think I’ve exhausted my quota.

I’m the experienced one now. I remember watching the people who had been here for almost a year or more. The understanding they had that you can manage anything. I get to reassure other young women that they can hitchhike. I can give them advice on where to go. I can sit in a corner of the common area and feel completely comfortable with all I have done and seen. I can go to hot pools alone and watch the girls who are there be surprised that I’m doing this without anyone. I’ve done it. With all the work and self doubt that came first.

“Aw mean! When did you get in?”

“The guys who picked me up outside Taupo just dropped me off here. They said they didn’t trust Rotorua to leave me anywhere else.”

“Come in! You know where your room is. You picked the perfect time to rock up.”

And she hugged me, fed me, talked to me, welcomed me.

I will make my home as hospitable as you have made yours. I will model my generosity off of yours. I will always remember the home you gave me. I will always be thankful that instead of pushing my way through new places, I cultivated the relationships who shaped me as I worried my way through the beginning of 18.

“Love ya, girl!”

Borax Mines

Four deep, rich eyes filled with curiosity watched me as I answered their questions one by one.

“Is there Borax in America?”

“What kind of cars are in California?”

“Can you send me pictures of the big cities?”

“What sort of music do you listen to?”

“How do you solve a Rubiks cube?”

“Why do you have to leave?”

I’m rarely at a loss for words. And I definitely wasn’t here, but at the same time, it gave me pause.

Why do I have to leave? If I really wanted to, I could have stayed.

And then I remembered, I don’t want to stay.

I’m not good at hiding. Or being quiet. Or subtlety. I hate feeling stuck. I am constantly aiming to expand the places I feel at home so I have more places to return to. I’m addicted to thinking and consequently I always see the possibilities beyond my current place.

With each home my roots grow, and the rest of me shudders with the anticipation of my next move.

Yes there is Borax in America. I’m pretty sure the mines are near where I live.

I think there are more kinds of cars in California than here.

Of course I can send pictures.

Not the kind of music you know well.

You memorize steps and practice.

Because I was not created to simply stay.

.

.

.

And because I’m getting emails from the New Zealand Department of Immigration saying I have to leave…

Of Hot Chocolate Evening Proportions

“What if I’m not the main character?” I think it ought to be more understood that we should be the main characters of our story. I think it should also be understood that we are not the main character in anything else. Your life is a hardly a flash in the span of the universe’s grandeur and time and all of our delusions can be easily removed from the cosmic scale with hardly a ripple.

Scary, isn’t it? All that we are is laughable. For if we don’t at least snicker at the comedic value of living, than we are overwhelmed by its tragedy.

I spent a part of yesterday playing mandolin the park, letting my moment be photographed by passing tourists. I ate dinner with two of the most wonderful people I have ever met. I curled into the warmth of knowing I am loved by forces and people far wiser than me.

And today we hiked and drove. I ran from a bird. I swear to god these Keas are scary.

It was a good day.

Invested in Some Fruit Company

“Run Forrest, run.”

And he ran. For “no particular reason. People just couldn’t understand it.”

I had never seen Forrest Gump before this evening, and like so many before, I found myself falling in love with the careful southern drawl sharing his mama’s wisdom.

He ran and fought and saved lives. He loved and cried and spoke. He worked. Most importantly, he was loved.

“My mama used to say you can tell a lot about a person from his shoes.”

His mama cared for him. Told him he was no different. She loved him just the way he was and was never ashamed of him. He was exposed to travelers and happenstances. He remembered clear lakes and sunrises. He collected a feather and his favorite book was Curious George.

He is a character.

But I’m pretty sure we are too.

Characters waiting to see what shows up in our box of chocolates.

I met two Canadian protagonists today. Matt and Liam have surfed and wandered their way through Australia and New Zealand. Unlike the many backpackers who choose to mosey about, they have chosen this temporary lifestyle for a vastly different reason than most. They are not here to drink. Nor are they here to find themselves. They are here to be themselves.

And that makes a huge difference.

Play guitar and piano. Know goodbyes aren’t necessarily forever. Travel alone. And go home.

But not because you have to

Because you want to.

perhaps I’ll tell your story to a stranger at a bus stop, just to see how long they listen

Sauntering in Love

I have a weird aversion to the phrase “in love” when it comes to a person. I am always in love with so many things. I fall in love with places and moments like there is no tomorrow, because I am aware that there may not be one. I fall head over heels with stories and poems and memories.

And I wholeheartedly love people. I can adore who they are and all that they offer the world without a thought of what that could look like to anyone watching.

However I cannot use the phrase when I am romantically interested in an individual.

Maybe I am the sort of person that could use that phrase genuinely. I instantly know when I want to understand an individual more deeply. I habitually understand that if I wanted to, I could easily see that person as many times as I wish, even if they live across the globe. I’m hopelessly romantic and my words to those I love reflect this. I genuinely live my life as if it is a story going to be told through writing, film, and photography. When you look at the world that way, interesting camera angles and beautiful words just kind of pop up everywhere.

So I suppose I could use the phrase “in love.” Perhaps I have fallen in love many times and I am in the middle of another casual stumble that sent me careening over a cliff edge. Writing this out, I think I’ve figured out my reasoning a bit clearer.

I don’t want my choices undermined.

If I say I have fallen in love with a person, it sounds as though I tripped into something unexpectedly. It sounds as though my world was suddenly turned upside down by the arrival of this perceived to be wonderful person and oh goodness I can’t live without them and how did I live without them before? That is just not the case. With every question I ask, I understand an object of my current affection more deeply. I can smile at the thought of them, tell stories of conversations, and sing along to love songs with a face in mind. But it is not because I fell there. Maybe I jumped or ran or sauntered or swam or got a little lost and kept walking in a general direction, but that still requires purpose.

I am not falling. I am not helpless. And I certainly don’t need whoever I happen to sing for.

But I’ve chosen them for a while.

And I would rather say that to a person’s face than any sonnet of the unexpected rush of hormones that comes with a desire to be held.

An Asher Service Announcement

My Dear Asher, I know you’re in the thralls of puberty and just about anything self-esteem building is far outside your conception at the moment, BUT I’m going to do this anyway.

When people ask about my siblings, it is always a personal source of pride to explain who each of my brothers and sister are and what they accomplish.

You are completely unique, Asher. Wit, imagination, sarcasm, eclecticism, intelligence, and creativity ooze from your laughter and conversation. I am always proud to be your big sister, whether you be constructing new worlds or impersonating odd characters. I miss you.

Being around a lot of people trying to be cool has reinforced in my mind that my entire family is seriously freaking cool. I like to keep a note of quotes from my life/I find/other people’s stories. Below are a few of my favorites from Asher. When I’m sad or homesick, I go read them and I’m laughing aloud by the time I’m finished.

I am thankful to have a brother who can manage that even from halfway round the world.

My mom was explaining what reincarnation was and how people can apply it to their lives if they choose. Asher gave her an incredulous look and said “Reincarnation? Next thing you’re gonna come to me and say ‘I think we should start sacrificing goats.'”

It was a legitimate fear of Asher’s that he would not be taller than me because of how much he teased me for being “short.” Some of the best insults I’ve ever heard came from him about my height. For example, I missed a frisbee throw from him, (I swear it was half a meter above my head), and without skipping a beat he hurls this my way too: “You can’t play frisbee with an ant, much less you.”

One day Asher discovered the endless possibilities of spouting nonsense and pretending it’s deep. Resulting in “You never question the gender of a kangaroo, right?” and “Roses *dramatic pause* because they know how to live.”

I’m pretty used to frank observations of my appearance. But they tend to be most amusing when coming from him. “Abiel you look like a pink Snow White.” After my hair faded from bright blue to light blue, I was greeted with “You don’t look like Gatorade anymore. More like a toxic mushroom. Maybe a radioactive whale.” When it was spiky, I got “If the sky and a hedgehog had a baby, that would be you.”

Sometimes his quips were best served with others involved.

Asher: I eat souls.
Friend: Are you the devil?
Asher: No.
Friend: Devil’s son? Apprentice– Asher: Yes.
Friend: Unpaid intern? You’re the apprentice?
Asher: I’m the princess. I’m the devils princess. I had to apply pretty young

Asher: Once I crash I’ll slow down.
Judah: I have a great new braking system. TREES!

Asher: The moon hates the sun as everyone knows.
Friend: The sun ruins a perfectly good night by making it day.

*Asher walks in with a poster copy of the Declaration of Independence* “Is this the Declaration of Independence?”
“Yes.”
“Oh good. I thought I stole the wrong thing.”

Friend: Do I look like I’m selling drugs out of your house?
Asher: I was wondering where those went.

And then come all his random comments, observations, and commentary on how the world works and what he thinks of it…or just his randomness.

“Head over heels doesn’t make any sense. Your head is literally always over your heels. If anything it should be heels over head”

“The Avengers Civil War is like an intense board game and Black Panther is that one guy that takes it way to seriously”

“I would hate to work at a car wash. Like, if I ever come to you and say ‘I’m working at a carwash’ that’s when I’ve reached my lowest point.”

“Oh I’m so happy!—Hey! Jaywalker! Jaywalker! JayRUNNER!…Oh don’t pretend you’re innocent.”

“Sometimes I’m really happy with society…most of the time I’m not.”

“I don’t fight as much as you. But I like to think I’m better at it.”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong, but I’m saying I’m right”

“I think pi is infinity’s offspring”

“Don’t be ashamed of being ugly. You’ll never be killed and put on a plaque.”

“Milk and juice?! That’s my favorite band!

“I’m uno-dexterous.”

“My daddy only had red hair on Fridays.”

“I know why hearts are considered the emotional part. Because hearts pump blood and when you fall in love, you bleed. And you DIE.”

“I’m not saying you’re gonna die. Torture is also an option.”

“I can laugh and be miserable. It’s called multitasking.”

They don’t always make sense. And I don’t think they are supposed to. He’s just living and observing and talking until we are left wondering how a human could be as creative and witty as this. I look forward to the day we travel together.

Happy Birthday! Welcome to teenhood. It’s awesome.

“Whoa whoa whoa what the hell”

The Felt Room

People have attempted to explain feelings for centuries, probably millennia. Poets can manage. Singers can come closer. But I believe it is the dancers who express it best.

Creeping cautiously into the darkness of a shipping container, I was unsure of what this performance was meant to be. All I knew of it was I had met the man who made the sound.

I’m not sure knowing more could have prepared me for the richness of these three hours.

Legs delicately crossed, I could feel my body responding to the brief moments already spent in the space. My eyes strained to adjust to the lack of lighting and I could hear the shuddering heavy breaths of the women as they shook and pulled their beings across the room. Spectators entered and left. Some only able to experience it for a brief moment, uninterested in seeing or unable to grasp the weight of what was being performed.

I did not know how long I would stay, but I believe it was solidified that I would be present for all of it when a young girl came in with her mother, (she could not have been older than three). She quietly watched the women move, cautiously allowing herself to be in the charged place and gently reaching out to brush a body of the quivering art.

It is an improvised piece. Cues and tasks are given and completed but ultimately the three hours are a creation of feelings and interaction with those brave enough to be in the middle of it.

Colors slowly lit up the room revealing five dancers fully immersed in each moment. Feeling each moment. Dressed in white, their garments hung from their limbs in a casual tattered manner which screamed of deliberation. To explain their movements would be simply incorrect. I cannot say they shoved themselves across the floor without touching on the mindful destructions of personal space bubbles. I will not talk of how they took our hands and invited them to dance without desperately trying to help you understand the erasure of boundaries within the art world.

The air hung heavy with the weight of sweat, discomfort, perfect understanding, deep emotion, and intense temperature. Those of us willing to stay longer than five minutes felt ourselves invited into the piece. We stretched our bodies along the wall, eyes slowly following the dancers, breaking only for those who entered with the intention of being the new center.

The metamorphosis of the pile of white clothing punctuated the passing time. Beginning in one corner, it morphed and grew around the women. It scattered across the room, draped itself over us, hemmed us in, became our pillows, and connected us. The emotional and timeless hours drew to a close as each individual found themselves joining the dancers in their task of turning the pile into a web spanning from wall to wall. Methodically and yet without conscious goals, we passed shirts onto others and lengthened the strands until we ducked and wove in and out of our own piece of art.

One by one, we left.

It was the one space I have been where my mind simply decided this was all there was. It played with the idea that there was nothing beyond the room. Outside that curtain there was nothing. No beings. No ideas or systems. No other way of life. No world.

Just:

The Felt Room.

Welcome to the Whānau

The past few days I have sat wondering if I’m truly a traveling type. I seem to have a hard time with the whole “3 days here, 1 night here, just keep moving” thing. Maybe I’ll get better at it as I move on, but I have a deep need to feel at home. I spent a month in Wellington, three months in National Park, and almost two weeks in Rotorua. Each place I have cultivated friendships and connections and a feeling of home.

I sat and worried myself into a corner, trying to figure out why I can’t bring myself to just take my backpack and stick my thumb out to the next spot.

Today I learned why.

“Abiel would you like to come to my women’s meeting? It’s just a small group of us learning how to rediscover ourselves through this program.”

Of course!

I found myself in a cozy church with a bowl of candies, a pile of magazines, and a large orange piece of paper set out on the table. The semi circle of five ladies each greeted me and settled into the next hour with a curious mixture of obligation and enthusiasm, cutting out clippings representing our identity. (I greatly enjoy things of that nature.)

At the end of the meeting, the things I had said in the middle of it apparently hit home and I got some of the biggest hugs I’d ever received.

From there I went to Anthea’s grandmother’s house.

Upon leaving National Park, I had been given a beautiful NZ jade necklace from my manager and her family. “Have it blessed by a minister and it will never leave you.”

It just so happened that Anthea’s grandmother and aunt were both ministers.

I walked into a home lit by yellow bulbs and papered with photographs of a family stretching further than my Western understanding could grasp.

Five minutes later, my hands were held by the soft weathered palms of two Maori women pouring their belief in God into my necklace and life.

“Would you like a cup of tea? Biscuits? I’ll pick you and Judaea up for church on Sunday. You’re how old?!”

Tears came to my eyes as I pondered the privilege of these moments. Were I simply to move on, drifting only with the wind, the roots I cherish would never land. I could not find myself in situations such as these: cared for by some of the most interesting and beautiful people, willing to love me as I love them.

“You’re whānau (family) now. You’re never getting rid of us,” Judaea chuckled at me when I told her of my evening.

Whānau. I think I’m just fine with that.

Practice Dying

“What is the hardest part of being on the trail with people?”

“They get boring.”

I have been reading The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying. It basically talks about death, life, and meditation. I’ve been thinking a lot about these topics and the futility of ignoring and avoiding death. At literally any moment we could die. I had a person tell a suicidal friend that they didn’t want to continue a close friendship because they didn’t want to become close to someone who could die at any moment.
I swear if I was in America that person would not be having a good day right now.
But that’s not the point of this. The point is death is inevitable, anyone could die at any moment, and everything Western culture perpetuates is a facade trying to help us forget that fact.

As I was talking to a new friend who is in the process of hiking the length of New Zealand, I realized that so many people choose to find themselves in the clutches of futile worry and allow themselves to become uninterested in the world around them.

I don’t quite understand.

Perhaps it is because we feel that if we allow ourselves to find everything fascinating, we reduce our problems to the rather minuscule thing they are. (I understand that there are many people who are dealing with actual very difficult problems. Trying to survive war, starvation, natural disasters, and many other things are not small problems. My readership though is primarily made up of individuals privileged enough to avoid such things.)

Nor am I trying to say that life is easy. It isn’t. It hasn’t been. It never will be. Period. Life is change and change is our chance to practice dying. Therefore, life isn’t easy.

But,

Our world is overwhelmingly full of beautiful things and interesting things to learn. I have had two people ask me if I feel fully alive now that I am in New Zealand. I responded that yes I do feel fully alive, but I did before I came. Before coming to New Zealand I was trying to learn guitar (work in progress-will update next time I actually pick one up to practice). I pointed out every butterfly I saw and complimented people with cool hair. I planned a day trip up to Sequoia National Park on the $15 shuttle with my best friend. I let myself love where I was and made it beautiful, even when I was ready to be in New Zealand.

Now I’m in New Zealand, I’ve taught myself to longboard. I weaseled my way into volunteer firefighter training. I still point out every butterfly I see and I compliment people on their hair.

“Though we travel the world over in search of the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

Travel does not automatically make you interesting. As someone around a LOT of travelers, I can verify this. It is what you pull from your travels. How are you at conversation? Can you listen? Do you need a drink in your hand in order to be comfortable or can you be drawn into the life experience of people ten years older, or younger, than you? What do you love? You think birds are cool? Awesome! What’s your favorite? Please please please get excited about it!

Have you ever watched someone in love with something talk? Not someone, but something. They smile and gesture and laugh as they speak of clouds, Jazz, herbs, fitness, food, baking, life.

Read. Watch butterflies or documentaries. Be bad at something. Color your hair. Look up a YouTube tutorial on hip hop dance and shut the bathroom door as you move. Go for a walk and wander into a random store. Find a moment and watch the sunset.

Be alone.

If you can be alone, without music, without a person, without a device, you will watch the world and even as we find ourselves barreling towards a death we do not understand, we will be living.

“I Choose this Madness”

“You are weird!”

I have never been so happy to hear those words together. An Australian friend had walked out on me splitting wood, after I had brought the group some cookies, asked them to take part in a personal project of mine, and explained my old school to them.

I was seen.

The day before was very difficult. I felt slow as I continued training, I made mistakes, and I went to bed just wanting to be back in California. I slogged through the moments wondering if all the things I believed about myself being an interesting individual worthy of being seen as an equal to everyone was really true.

After all, so much of the world seems to want to shove it down my throat that “You’re young. Wait till real life starts. Too many people think they are above average when in reality they just need to learn to work hard and understand they aren’t being coddled anymore. Life is hard. You’re young. Wait till real life starts.”

Those words played through my head on repeat. I struggled to fight them off, but went to sleep with tears in my eyes.

Tomorrow would be better. I was sure of it.

I woke up knowing that I had to start my day with my full routine. I meditated for ten minutes, practiced a qigong exercise for another ten minutes, and did some body strengthening exercises. I told myself I was going to have an amazing day. My life is beautiful. I am interesting and worthy of being known.

I am not here to take people’s bullsh*t.

And my day was absolutely fantastic.

My work was more efficient and better quality. I met people from Sweden, the Netherlands, Australia, and France. I baked cookies. I attended fire training again and was told to put on a uniform so I could participate in the exercises that weren’t potentially dangerous. I used one of the hoses and learned techniques to deal with the pressure of the water.

I went for a walk alone under the stars and breathed deeply.

“I am mad/but I choose this madness.” – Gloria Anzaldua