My heart is full. On the sidewalk outside the airport I say goodbye to a boy I just spent the last two days in deep with, deep in mossy woods of intimacy and connection, mist, hedgerows, what is buried underground.
“Are you ready?” He asks.
“Yes.” I say, and turn, walk between the double doors without looking back, then cry huge tears all over my customs declaration. YOW is a rat maze of barricades and checks, and I catch myself hoping there might be a treat at the end. A little corn, maybe. An offering of a seed. The path doubled back on itself, landing me back inside the hug I just walked out of. There is a bag stuck inside the baggage conveyor at the Vancouver airport, and the line spirals around like a too-cold-snake going nowhere, and then customs keeps me for too much longer in a little room with a closed door and I miss my flight, name being called all over the airport, and am put on a different plane 2 hours later which is also late because thunderstorms are rolling across Colorado. I sing songs to avoid the feeling of waiting, choosing instead to stay with my heart, which is spread wide as bird’s wings. There are sparrows in the Denver airport perching on the signs for gates 85-17, drinking from the water fountains. I stop to admire how they have made themselves at home, and wonder if they are in here by choice or by accident. Maybe they are casualties of the maze and chose to make the best of their situation. I’ve been here before , flying from the other end of the country, and they’ve added more announcements; now the moving conveyor belts tell you “You. Are. Nearing. The. End. Of. The. Moving. Walkway.” Though by the time the thing is done speaking your feet are already off and on their own.
“I feel like my car and I need some time apart in order to preserve our relationship.” I told Kirsten in the interview I did for Mountain FM. In truth, I found a cheap flight to Texas. Then to Reno, then back to Vancouver. So many things have happened. Organizing a fundraiser, Indiegogo campaign and getting a trip off the ground have blown my mind. Throw in a few press interviews, getting an acceptance to speak as part of TED X Black Rock City at Burning Man
Festival (whoo!) and the end of a school year… The result? I cooked myself a multi-stew pot of a life that was a little too large to continue to fit in a car. I felt like the little old lady who lived in a shoe who had so many children her shoe-house split at the seams. Except that instead of children, I had a laser printer, guitar, fundraiser posters, dirty laundry and silent auction prizes flying out of the windows. I gave up trying to keep the piles off of the seats. Every item needed required moving 7 more things. I grew as patient as a stone… but about as efficient as one as well.
Luckily, upon enough exclamations of “MY LIFE IS COMPLETELY DISFUNCTIONAL RIGHT NOW” a friend let me house-sit at her place from June 15th on and I could spread kettle corn, crowdfunding perks, suitcases, paper cutters, river stones, and armloads of wildflowers all over her living room floor. Having a front door was amazing. Having a shower curtain was amazing. Being able to drop a pair of pants on the floor and leave them there was amazing. The fridge was amazing. Really? I just put the almond milk in there and it’s still good 5 days later? Wow. Having a stove again kind of intimidated me, and I kept eating containers of humous and piles of veggies and walnuts in a bowl until I got brave and remembered how to make lentil soup. Turmeric. Fresh garlic. Sage. Sun-dried tomatoes.
And then, I left. Packed half of my belongings in my no-plates car, gave her black hood a pat, said goodbye to horse, friends, rivers, mountains, gave one last kiss to the boy at the airport and was away, or at least trucking it through the rat maze one slow-snake motion electro shock at a time. The sky is dark outside the windows of the plane as I write this. I do not know who will be in Austin waiting for me at midnight when I land, no do I know what will happen next. Even the ranch we will drive to will be a stranger until dawn. Like the Denver airport sparrows, I will sip water, perch, fly, trust that my wings will carry me to the next destination.