Another One – ClubQ

I’ve been exposed to unnecessary violence since my elementary years.
Think of 911.
Think of fights in the middle school hallways.
Think of bomb threats during high school, taking “safety” on the football field.
Think of Planned Parenthood.
Think of Columbine.
Think of Charleston Church.
Think of Uvalde, Texas.
Think of the movie theatre.
Think of Pulse Nightclub in Orlando.
And, the newest to the list, think of Club Q in Colorado Springs.

That last one hits really close to home.

Club Q is 15 minutes from my house.
I’ve frequented there over the years to watch drag shows, eat brunch, celebrate during Pride weekend, and to simply be surrounded by my community.
It’s been a safe haven for people to show up as is, fully themselves. 
Club Q has been open to the LGBTQ+ community for 21 years.
It’s not in the middle of a busy downtown.
It’s not huge with the capacity for thousands of attendees.
It’s little.
It’s 18 and up.
It’s tucked away on the east side of town behind a Walgreens.
It’s seemingly “off the radar” as far as clubs go.
It’s not far fetched to say I could have been there last night.
It’s one of two LGBTQ+ bars in this city.
The first Drag Brunch I attended there was not what I expected.
It was my group (7 people) and one other group around the same size.
Those Drag Queens still showed up, let me tell you.
They had everyone in our groups dancing, participating, drinking mimosas, and laughing our asses off.
It was small. It was intimate. It was safe.
That experience kept me coming back there for years. 

Now, I could go into details about the number of people who were shot at Club Q last night.
I could talk about how quickly the police arrived on the scene.
I could mention how two civilians blocked the shooter from harming even more people.
I could go into details about the shooter’s background and mental health history and state his age, name, and show you a picture.
I could talk about those things.
But I think we all can assume (correctly) what the shooter looks like.
We can all imagine his state of mind and mental health situation.
I think we can all do a Google search for how many people were killed and how many were injured.
I think we are all aware the hurt we feel today goes way deeper than that.

The United States has two very big problems: a mental health crisis, and a gun violence crisis.
The two go very much hand in hand. 
I’ve been sick to my stomach all day and there’s nothing that can change that.
While running an errand earlier, I drove by Club Q.
It’s right down the street.
I will be going about my day when I’m suddenly hit with an overwhelming amount of grief.
I don’t know whether crying or screaming would help more.
Maybe both simultaneously.
I think about Columbine and Uvalde and so many more mass shootings that take place in schools. As a teacher, we have done drills to prepare for a potential threat in my own school building. It still just doesn’t feel real in the sense that we never expect it to happen to us.
Not our school.
Not my church.
Not this movie theater.
Not Club Q.
No one expects they are going to be the one stuck in the classroom, or movie theater, or club, or planned parenthood when a white boy with an AK47 walks in with a terrifying motive.
We never expect it to be us. 
But sadly,
Lately,
Myself and others in the LGBTQ+ community are expecting it to be us.
People who hold high political power, mock, torment, and talk poorly about the LGBTQ+ community. They spread hate to anything diverse, anything different. This has created an opening for people with racist, sexist, transphobic, homophobic, bigoted mindsets, to come out of the woodwork and destroy the safety these minority communities have worked so hard to find and create for themselves.
I have been pissed off. I have been in disbelief. I have been sad for those involved in all of these situations.
I have been exposed to unnecessary violence my whole life, but it wasn’t something that I actively feared.
Until lately. 

I had my head on a swivel during the Pride parade this year.
I had my ears open during the Pride parties downtown.
I was looking for my outs – things to hide behind, places to get away.
I was more intentionally about noticing my surroundings and the people around me.
I have been exposed to unnecessary violence for as long as I can remember but only lately has it started to shake me to my core.
In considering a potential move, I’ve been spending hours researching how “gay friendly” a city or town might be.
I’ve looked into how diverse the population is and their political standing. 
I didn’t do that before moving to Colorado Springs.
And, if I’m being honest, these things affect all different areas, communities, and spaces so the search feels warranted, yet…not extremely beneficial.
Regardless, I’ve researched these things because it’s 2022 and I’m scared holding my female fiancé’s hand can make us a target. 

Thoughts and prayers are not enough.

We are living in fear.
We need prevention.
We need resources for mental health support.
We need gun restriction.
We need political figures to back all the people, not just the people who look and act like them.

There have been more than 600 mass shootings in the US this year alone.

We are doing something wrong.

This is unnecessary violence over, and over, and over again.
This is hate, spread nation wide. 
This is continuous traumas. 
We deserve a safe space to dance.
We deserve a peaceful parade.

Until then, my heart will continue to break for all those directly or indirectly affected by these awful events. 

Please, if you are able, consider donating to a Club Q Mass Shooting fund to help those who are affected by last nights tragedy pay for funeral expenses and medical care. Our small community needs all the help we can get.

https://www.gofundme.com/f/victims-of-club-q-colorado-springs-mass-shooting?utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_content=undefined&utm_medium=copy_link_all&utm_source=customer&utm_term=undefined

The Porch

The Porch

This picture was taken several weeks ago. I was sitting in my car, which was parked in my driveway. I could see my dog’s face pressed against the front window, eager for my return home. I, however, felt no sense of eagerness. In all reality, I was feeling no sense of anything particular that day. A wave of apathy had slowly taken ahold of me as summer break arrived, leaving me with far more free time than I’d typically have throughout the school year. I’ve most always welcomed change. A sort of roll with the punches type of gal, if you will. Teacher friends would joke about “Summer Emily,” sleeping in and staying up late, going to happy hours, taking spontaneous road trips. But the beginning of this summer felt different. It felt like there wasn’t as much to celebrate. Even though a new job was desired, leaving the familiarity created by six years in the same classroom was weighing heavy on my chest. News of friends moving back home, out of state, across the country left my social life with a void. Politicians and government folks were well on their way to taking rights away from half the country and to be quite honest, it all just started feeling like too much. I felt as though I was floating; into the car, down the road, back home, onto the couch. I started neglecting myself and everything else in my life. Horizontal became my desired position and it wasn’t until I arrived home on this particular night that I noticed the state of my front porch. It mirrored my own emotional and mental state: Christmas lights still hung alongside a Christmas wreath even though it was June, spider webs in every corner, leaf piles lining the welcome mat, majority of the lightbulbs on my porch lights (not to be confused with the strand of Christmas lights) burnt out. I was burnt out. Even now, I can’t really say I’m un-burnt out. It’s difficult to fill yourself back up when the world seems to be taking so much and returning so little.

In 2020 a world pandemic shifted everyone’s life. At first, the excitement of an extra long spring break was welcomed. Then fear about scarcity of food, toilet paper, social interaction. Then confusion about going back to work in person, online, and hybrid. When did you quarantine and when were you okay to resume life as “normal?” Wearing masks, not wearing masks. Some people taking this virus seriously, some people claiming it’s “just like the flu.” On top of that, Black Lives Matter protests, police brutality, school shootings…the list goes on. I’m not sure I ever recovered. I’m not sure America will ever recover…

School shootings are at an all time high yet we have government officials allowing easier access to carry (unnecessary) firearms in public. The separation of church and state is next to nothing when there are law-makers claiming prayer belongs in public school classrooms (but only Christian prayers). Oh, and freedom of speech being revoked as laws pass about not talking about anything LGBTQ+ related in public schools either. The court says they don’t have enough power to withhold vaccine or COVID testing mandates, but they do have enough power to prevent anyone with a uterus making medically necessary decisions about their own body when it comes to getting an abortion. There are white evangelicals lining protests with signs saying they will adopt babies when there are over 400,000 children sitting in foster care in this country. People joke about this being a bad episode of the Handmaid’s Tale when this is literally how that shit started. It’s no longer a joke. Is everyone not scared beyond belief? Is everyone not in a constant state of anxiety when thinking about where this is headed? It feels like ten thousand steps backwards. It feels like a 50-year reverse Uno card. It feels like my front porch: worn out and untended to.

It’s been almost three years of this bullshit and these more recent events have skyrocketed the sadness I hold for this country. As 4^th of July rolls in, I can’t help but think the official anniversary of US independence isn’t even a real thing. What’s there to celebrate? Who is independent? Who is free? Instead of planning a barbeque or lining up to see fireworks, I’m researching LGBTQ+ friendly countries I could move to. I’m planning a route to Canada in case shit really starts hitting the fan. Maybe total mass chaos is a must before this backwards ass country turns itself around and becomes FOR the people, rather than against them. It’s exhausting, really. So for now, I continue to float into my car, down the road, back home, under the last two flickering light bulbs on my porch (no, I have not gotten replacements or taken down the Christmas decorations yet), and onto the couch.  Does anyone have the energy for much else?

This Is For The Children.

This is for the children.

The public-school school children, the now-homeschooled children, the lost children, the brilliant children, the struggling children.

This is for the children.

In March, I was sent home from work and told not to return for two weeks. As a teacher, I experience burn out throughout the year. There’s the push from Thanksgiving until Christmas. Then the push from Spring Break to the end of year festivities… just to name a couple. So, in March, the news of an extra-long Spring Break fell happily onto my ears. We didn’t know we weren’t going to return to that school year. And we definitely didn’t realize when we returned in August, everything would still be…off.

I am a fully (mostly) functioning adult. I have reasoning skills, the ability to process information and do research when I don’t fully understand. I have experience being isolated and removed from people at times because those were situations that were desirable. I have dealt with loss, death, stress, and sickness for almost 30 years now. I got this. But…do I? This pandemic has my mental health in the shitter if I’m being completely honest. I go from being elated, to distraught, to calm, to in a frenzy, all within hours, if not minutes. Nothing is consistent, especially my mood. Now, remember I said I’m a fully functioning adult?

What about the children?

What about those children that have support from teachers and friends, but not their family? What went through their mind when Spring Break was longer than it was supposed to be? And when they got news that they weren’t going to return to school until August did their hearts break? I wonder about the mental health of not only the adults going through this pandemic, but the children. I’ve heard people say, “Children are resilient…” or, “Children will learn a new normal more easily than adults.” Those statements might not be un-true, but they also forgo a lot of necessary information and ideas. Yes, children are resilient…when their basic needs are being met. Yes, children learn a new normal (getting used to wearing a mask) and maybe more easily than adults, but what does that “new normal” do to their psyche? What’s the long-term effects on their social-emotional growth and the ability to connect with other humans?

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention surveyed American’s at the end of June. What they found was alarming, but not surprising. Anxiety and depression have increased sharply across age groups, but young people seemed to be hit the hardest. These children were cut off from their peers, their routines, their life and have now been spending more time at home, where they are most likely to have access to lethal weapons. I’ve talked to coworkers who are growingly concerned about their pre-teen, who already had a hard time making and keeping friends, but now is totally isolated in her room, listening to her teacher on a Zoom call while all her peers have their cameras off and their mics muted.

People need people. They need compassion and connection. They need grace and forgiveness, acceptance and understanding.

My friend told me the other day her second graders come back to school from their Winter Break this Monday. And then state testing starts.

I was nearly brought to tears. I’ve had mixed feelings about the public-school system since I started working in it 6 years ago. Don’t get me wrong, public school do amazing things every day and are filled with some of the hardest working people I know. However, the ideology that these students need to perform in a certain percentile by a certain time never sat right with me. I understand the importance of growth. I understand the drive to become a lifelong learner, to question things, to be driven by what you know and even more driven by what you don’t yet know. I get all of that. I also get that we are going through a pandemic and learning/school has never looked like this before. Since March, these children have learned so many new skills – technological skills, academic skills, social skills. They have had their worlds ripped apart, their social lives destroyed, and their concept of safety and consistency turned upside down. Where is our compassion? Where is our understanding? Test anxiety is one of the most common learning challenging within elementary and middle school students in America. And now my friend tells me her second graders need to sit at the computer, with a parent visible, but not helping, and complete a standardized state test. Give me a break.

Give the children a break.

The only thing I’m concerned about my students learning this year is how to be a good human because this last year has shown us there are so many not decent humans filling our country. There are racists, there are money-hungry billionaires, there are crooked cops and crooked systems, there are people that will tear you apart in an Instagram comment, and there is everything in between. We should not be worried about what percentile our children are in when it comes to academics. We should not be scared they will “fall behind.” These children are not falling behind, they are learning to exist in a “new normal.” They are navigating unknown territory and they are struggling. I am struggling. We are all struggling.

4 Year Old, working hard.

Ya know, in May last year I was thinking “Hmm…maybe since all these kids “lost” three months of school, the school systems will take a step back and look at what’s really the most critical learning a child needs to develop during their time at school.” Does a kindergartener really need to write a three sentence paragraph? Does that apply to their world? Does a first grader need to be scolded because he can’t sit still? Or does he just need more movement throughout his day and less time sitting in a desk? Are the standards we created for each grade level really achievable if students are learning virtually? Is the amount of work given really appropriate for those who don’t have access to consistent technology at home, or have two working parents that can’t help them login when they get shut out of a program? A program that is completely new to the teacher, student, and parents alike? I’m so tired of the push for success without the realization that we’ve been doing it wrong for quite some time. We’ve been pushing and pushing for academic success for years and our country’s mental health is plummeting. We are failing our children. We are still in a pandemic. We are still socially isolated. These children are still trying to take ahold of their “new normal.”

This is for the children.

I hear you. I see you. I understand you. I give you grace, compassion, and lenience during this unprecedented time. You got this, kid.

Being Almost 30 and Single: it’s not what you’re thinking…

I’m not the kind of person that worries about time. I’m not rushed to find someone, have a family, “start” my life because…well, I’ve started life by myself. I moved to Colorado from Michigan because I wanted to. Tired of pissing away my money to slumlords who don’t take care of their property, two years ago I found myself in a situation where I was able to buy my own house. Although I have an immense amount of vision for this house, just recently, my vision of the future has gotten a little fuzzy. I’ve considered a career switch, going back to school, buying a van and “bumming” it. I’ve considered dating, not dating, anything in between. I’ve considered not only what life might look like in 5 years, but what it would feel like as well. There’s a sense of pity from others when I tell them I’m not dating anyone and I’m almost 30 years old. Like it’s one of the saddest things that could happen to someone. And sometimes there is sadness. Sometimes I want to come home at the end of the day and share my space. Sometimes I picture throwing off the even numbers at family gatherings or the uncertainty of finding a partner when playing games with friends and my chest sinks. But most of the time, I’m happy with me. I’m proud of my independence and the space I have created for myself. Most of the time, there is not sadness behind it, however, there is more underlying stress as a single person than there is when you’re in a (healthy) partnership.

Let me explain.

Emotionally, I’m always “on.” Maybe I’m tired, but I still need groceries, so to the store I go…Maybe it’s a family members birthday, or a holiday, and my budget alone is tight, but to the store I go because they deserve a present…Or maybe I just want to sit down, but there’s laundry, and dust bunnies in corners, and a dog to be walked, and cat litter to be scooped, and dishes in the sink. All those things fall on me. And maybe some of you are thinking, “I have to do all those things and I have a significant other.” To which I’ll say, “Yes, but maybe you should reconsider the work load you take on while your partner sits idle. After all, it is supposed to be a partnership.” During all of these situations, I’m the only one who can get things done. If I don’t do them…they won’t get done. As simple as that. Working five days a week at a full-time job (a job that is emotionally taxing in itself) doesn’t leave much time to do “life” things. But yet, after work I’m going to the dog park, washing the dishes, feeding the cats, vacuuming, finishing laundry. It’s exhausting. And as a single person, I have no one to take the load off my own shoulders once and a while. All the chores, all the bills, all the mail to be sorted through. All of that is my responsibility. All of that only gets done if I do it, no matter how exhausting my week might have been.

Now financially, I get paid once a month. Just once. At the end of the month. One time. This means there is four, sometimes almost five weeks between paychecks. Now, I do have money management skills and I’m not the biggest spender in the world, however, when shit hits the fan the second week of the month, I have no back up. When Stanley (my dog) rips his toenail off and needs surgery the first week of the month, that puts a damper on my being able to pay for other things for the next three weeks. That comes out of my own grocery budget, gas money, or savings account. I have no second paycheck from a partner. I have no duel income. My friend recently told me she doesn’t have a credit card, she has “A Scott.” Well, I have no Scott, and I rely on my credit card in order to live the life I desire. The cost of living in Colorado is pretty damn high, and some could argue that a cheaper city, or even state, might be beneficial for a person like me. What I think would be beneficial is for companies to pay their employees a more livable wage. Especially those working full days, five days a week. Or maybe America can start respecting teachers enough to know that they spend their own money more often than not in order to meet the needs of their classroom. And those people teaching our next generation how to act and learn? Maybe that person deserves a little more credit/money. It’s ridiculous that a single income is barely enough, if enough at all, to afford to live. I’m talking basic needs: rent, food, bills. Now, I could go on a rant about how the financial state of the U.S. is completely fucked but rather, let’s talk about how the financial state of single people is even more fucked. Being a single woman living alone, I fear some of the not-so-great people in this world, so I purchased a security system. A security system that costs me $60/month in order to keep active. A security system that I might not feel the need for if I lived with another person. This is one example of the added expenses that are often overlooked by people who have a spouse because they can split the cost. An yes, I could move to a cheaper state, however, remember the emotional stress of single-hood? Driving alongside mountains every day on the way to work alleviates some of my stress. Camping all year round brings me an immense amount of joy. The space I have created in my house comforts my soul. Having to be able to choose between groceries and putting gas in my car, however, does not bring me joy. And if I had a partner, maybe they could buy the groceries and I could fill my gas tank with no worries. Or maybe they could make dinner while I vacuum. You see what I’m getting at here? Just like the emotional aspect, the financial necessities cannot be turned off. I’m always “on” whether my bank account can handle it or not.

Us single people are tired.

This post is not about me being sad I’m single. I love spending time with me, getting to know me. This post is not me crying about my age, wondering if I’ll ever have that special someone. No. This post is not about that. This post is about the mental/emotional and financial state of single people these days, regardless of age. This post is about doing it all, all by myself. This post is about how this country (maybe even this world) is built for The Couple. The American Dream? That requires a spouse and 2.5 kids. Open Instagram or Facebook? Scroll through marriage proposals, pregnancy announcements, sappy partner posts. Go to a restaurant? “Are you waiting for someone to join you?” (insert eye roll here…) Applying for a job? Check if you’re single or married.

My single-ness is constantly shown to me, whether it be intentional or not. This post is to say that I am okay with my single-ness, but almost daily, I’m made aware that many other people are not okay with it. If you are someone that pities the single person, try buying them dinner, or sitting on their couch as they clean, or inviting them to go out with you (without your significant other). I guarantee those things will mean more to them and have a more positive impact on them and their single-ness than you telling them, “I’m sure you’ll find the right person soon…” Because the honest truth is, maybe we’re not looking for that person. We’re looking for the life we want and along the way, maybe someone will join us. In the meantime, we’ll pinch pennies and keep working to keep our life together. Alone.

Keep on teachin’ on(line or in person)

In July I received an email from my school district. I opened the email at 9 o’clock at night. In that lengthy email I saw two words: in-person. Now, my jaw actually fell open. Not only did the realization that I will be surrounding myself with 32 students everyday during a pandemic start to set in, but also the realization that my work email should be read during work hours only. That night, there wasn’t much sleeping happening. I tossed, I turned. I got angry, confused. I questioned how it was possible to safely re-open a school. I stressed over the fact that I had to miss the first three pre-service days so I could be at my brother’s wedding. I stressed that I was going to a wedding in another state. I tossed, I turned.

It all seemed so unreal.

Flashback to March and excitement rushed through me about a week extension added to Spring Break. Spring Break is burn out time teachers and students alike. I was happy to be at home, painting, crafting, spending time with my pup. The extra time doing me things during the school year was welcomed with open arms. This time allowed for several house projects to be completed, but it also allowed for a more-than-normal amount of screen time for me. There are negatives and positives to that last part. For example, I discovered a paint by number game on my phone that I’ve played every day since. Whether that’s a positive or a negative, you decide, but this screen time also helped me learn, unlearn, question, relearn, and learn some more about what was happening in our world. Shit, did you know there was like, a LOT going on? COVID-19 hit the US full force throwing educators (and everyone else ever) for a total loop. Online learning? With 3-year-olds? I’m not going to lie, it was a little like when you see the drunk girl helping the even more drunk girl in the bar bathroom. No one really knows what’s going on but you’re both sort of figuring it out together and at the end of the day you feel somewhat successful but also utterly confused in the whole situation. As time in this virtual learning world moved forward, I grew fond of the flexibility, but also anxious about the lack of routine. I loved connecting with some families and students through video chats, but nothing can replace that face-to-face interaction. Overall, I didn’t mind online learning, but I was viewing it as temporary. This whole pandemic would just…pass. Right?

Fast forward to July and people are still dying, nothing seems to be under control, restaurants are restricted, National Parks were closed, anyone who could work from home was doing it, other people were losing their jobs and houses, Black Lives Matter protests continued all across the world, the US has a liar for a leader, some people have stayed inside for months, you have to wear masks at the grocery store, and I was receiving an email telling me to go throw myself into a classroom. Or, at least that’s how I interpreted it at 9pm while lying in bed attempting to sleep.

Fast forward to September and I will say, my school has been pretty great with protecting against COVID. There’s portable hand washing stations, arrows on the hallway floor to eliminate crowding (I’ve also found it is way easier to teach children to walk in a line…when they have a line [or arrows] to walk on), and an action plan for if there is a positive case in the building. I have not yet been scared for my physical health. We wear masks, we wash our hands, we eat outside or alone in our rooms. We are being cautious. I have, however, been wondering about everyone’s mental health. In a conversation with my Assistant Principal this week, we both expressed we were “Spring-Break-tired” and it is only September. It’s hard to explain the reasoning other than saying there is just So. Much. More…Stuff. There’s more stuff to plan, more stuff to wash, more stuff to put away, more stuff to learn, more stuff to worry about, more stuff to consider, more stuff to tell parents, more possible online learning tools just in case, more…stuff. There’s meetings. There’s information overloads. There’s a brand new curriculum. There’s new procedures. There’s trying to figure out how to tell a child to keep their distance when all you want to do is squeeze them and tell them you’re so happy to see them. It’s taking a child’s temperature at the door instead of giving them a hug or high five. It’s wanting children to be safe, but also wanting them to successfully cooperate with their peers. Educators do it all for the children. But now we have to do it all for the children as well as follow new strict health department guidelines, new district procedures, and without as much contact with our coworkers- our support system has been converted to virtual meetings. Being an educator is freaking hard. Laughing at lunch with coworkers takes the edge off. Meeting as a group to discuss plans keeps me organized and excited about new ideas.

I’ve come to realize I am a social being. Years ago I would have told you I prefer my own company to anyone else’s. That statement isn’t necessarily wrong, but it doesn’t encompass my deep need for human relations. Sometimes it’s nice to have someone else pull you out of your thoughts for a bit. It’s nice to be able to connect with people who are in the same metaphorical teacher boat with you. It’s nice to hear that other people, even your Assistant Principal, are exhausted, too. Although we have stayed safe and healthy physically, our mental health has taken a hit.

In July, I was confused and angry at the in-person decision. Now, in September, I’m completely backing it. The impact educators have when they are in front of students is non-replaceable. The exhaustion is temporarily forgotten when a student makes you laugh or demonstrates a new learned skill. The restrictions of COVID are temporarily un-important when you build relationships within your classroom. By no means am I discrediting those teaching online or in hybrid models. Believe me, navigating an online learning model full time would have me questioning my career. I can tweak my classroom to fit COVID guidelines. I can’t just automatically learn an online learning resource and seamlessly teach my students and their parents how to access it to it’s full potential. Both options take more work than normal. Both options add stress to our daily routine. With all these added…things…I’m at least grateful I get to experience my students in person. That’s why myself, and other educators, do what we do.

If you know an educator, give them a little bit of extra love and grace. We’re navigating a new kind of classroom. And if you are an educator, this is me seeing you, acknowledging you, praising your dedication, and encouraging you to just take that Sunday afternoon nap. You deserve it!

A Little Peachy

I write this post knowing my privilege seeps out of my every pour while I do so 🙂

Let me start here: I am beyond blessed with the parents who raised me. From the day I was born, I was shown the best example of what it means to love. My parents showered my brother and I with support, appreciation, and encouragement. They spent years of their lives, trying to make our lives the best they could. They showed up. They clapped at band concerts, cheered at sports games, and made sure we got to every game, appointment, and show. They didn’t just show up, either. They participated. They were involved and engaged in everything my brother and I did. While they were loving my brother and I, they were also loving each other. To this day, I have not heard my mom or dad yell at one another. Now, that’s not to say they don’t argue or get annoyed or frustrated, but even in those high stress moments they always did one thing…communicate. My mom is one of the most articulate people I have ever met. She can turn a shit situation into a “not such a big deal” moment naturally. She meets anger with kindness, rudeness with a smile, frustration with understanding. My mom has always had a way to express not only what the other person did, but how it had made her feel and why it made her feel that way. She starts out any mild complaint about my dad with “I love your father…” showing me that it is okay to be agitated by your significant other, but it’s never okay to express that in a way that makes them feel unloved. My dad isn’t as talkative, but his love is clear just the same. In a recent meltdown on the phone with my mom, she mentioned getting one of those pillows with the arms so I could be propped up (post-op problems with drainage…) and before we even hung up the phone my dad had ordered an arm-pillow to be delivered to my house within two days. My parents are givers. They give tangible things like pillows, but they also give words of encourage, support, and appreciation. I am incredibly grateful for these things.

At almost 30 years old, my parents flew to Colorado to assist in my recovery after getting a tonsillectomy. I was thankful for this, but it didn’t surprise me. It didn’t surprise me because that’s what my parents do. They show up. They help. They support. My ex, on the other hand, could not wrap her head around it. “You’re almost 30 and your parents are coming for your surgery?” Her confusion confused me. Of course they’re coming! Who else would bring me ice, apple juice, popsicles, soup, and scrambled eggs as I laid on the couch? Who else would set a timer to take my pain meds or grab every bowl in the house when my stomach couldn’t handle it? My parents did so selflessly. My ex’s confusion made me feel bad. She has never known that kind of love. The unconditional, we-will-fly-in-the-middle-of-a-pandemic-to-help-make-your-recovery-as-easy-as-possible kind of love (she also has never shown that type of love but that’s for a different time and place…)

As I try to conquer the weird world of internet dating (how else does a single school teacher meet someone?) I’m finding more and more people who have never known that sort of love and wouldn’t be able to give that type of love because it’s not what they grew up knowing. They were not raised on high fives and hugs. They didn’t grow up communicating freely and openly. They haven’t been shown an example of frustration that didn’t escalate to yelling, throwing, name calling, and tears. They’ve never had family dinner or family vacations that didn’t end in an arrest or someone storming out. I feel bad for those who only know toxicity and tension. That’s their normal. Now, I’m not saying that I always communicate clearly and kindly, but I’ve been given those examples my whole life and I strive to live up to those standards. When my nice world collides with someone else’s not-so-nice world, it’s often hard to work out. We don’t have the same lens. Could I be better at giving grace? Absolutely. Should I put up with shit because someone else’s trauma created these pathways in their brain? Maybe. But what about if it negatively affects my mental health, therefore perpetuating this cycle of trauma and abuse? No.

I am privileged to compare myself to a peach. I am a peach because I’m soft, a little fuzzy, sweet, but I bruise easily. All my life, my parents have created the perfect environment for a little peach like me to thrive. They cradled me softly and cushioned any potential blows. For that, I am grateful. It’s also because of that, that I feel I’m a tad pickier than the average gal when it comes to finding a life partner. It’s hard for me to forgive the arguments that turn to name-calling, the micro-aggressions people show when they’re frustrated, and the slamming of doors. Those things hit me harshly as I haven’t been exposed to that before. That’s not how we grew up doing things. I’ve been told I have “high standards” for the person I date and I’ve been told I’m selfish on multiple occasions. Those things used to bother me until I started to re-frame the way I thought about them.

I hold my partner to the same standards my family has held. Communicate kindly. Love unconditionally. Show up and support. Hold others accountable for their actions. Hold yourself accountable for your actions. To me, those are not high standards, but simply expectations for how, not only my partner, but everyone should act. Now, I’m not saying that I always act perfectly or that I never get worked up. I do. Over many years of internet dating I have had several opportunities to remind myself to stay calm, pause until I can see things rationally, and to keep my quick tongue in my mouth until my anger fades. One of my exes actually told me it was annoying that I didn’t argue with her. I wouldn’t fight, therefore I didn’t care. Fighting was what she saw as loving. Obviously, there were same basic differences there so it didn’t work out…but it is becoming alarmingly clear to me that the world is full of trauma and all these traumas, whether people see them as that or not, affect how one behaves when involved with someone else.

I have found most people see my self-worth as selfishness. Coming from a family who encouraged me to be myself and explore the world around me, I have been able to develop a high sense of self-worth. I’m not always overly confident, but I know I’m worth more than thrown phone books and holding grudges. I have been praised for figuring out who I am and following my own direction. It is not selfish to expect someone to not throw out nasty names in an argument. It is not selfish to know when I need some time alone to sort my head before dissecting a situation or having a conversation. It is not selfish to say I don’t like the way I’m being treated. I am my own advocate. A few of my exes didn’t like that. Again, I don’t expect to never fight or to never disagree. Tough conversations are necessary to merge two lives into this cohabitating relationship but those tough conversations can be held without making your partner feel unheard, invalidated, and unwanted.

So for now, I thank my parents for the love they have shown me and I hope someone else out there has parents who have done the same. I’m just a little peach, waiting for my plum.

Long Time Coming

It’s been a long time since I’ve updated this blog. I originally started it for posting poetry. Then I realized it would provide great communication to numerous people at once while I was traveling abroad. I kept it up after traveling because my Grandpa told me on several occasions how much he loved reading it and that warmed me from the inside out. This kind of rough, sweat pant wearing, cigarette smoking man logged into his computer and sought out my words…and then was tender enough to tell me how much he enjoyed it. I find it’s the unexpected things that have the most impact in my life. Those moments where I have to pause. Those moments where a lesson has been obviously learned. Or the moments that make me notice something little with such precision. It’s during those times where my head is flipped upside down in the best way possible that I’m growing.

I’m growing.

There’s a global pandemic and (what feels like) the start of a civil war among the “United” States. During this time, I’ve tried to recognize my privilege and notice how much learning I have to do. Growing up in Farmington Hills, MI blessed me with the opportunity to be surrounded by diversity. I can remember all my closest groups of friends since elementary school. As the years changed, the friends changed, but what remained the same was the diversity within the groups. Now, I am very aware that my parents (Hey, Mom and Dad!) provided my brother and I with a lovely childhood, freckled with family vacations and dinners together. I am very aware that some of my friends did not have those opportunities. As I’m getting older I’m realizing more and more reasons why those friends, boyfriends, or girlfriends didn’t have the same opportunities as me. It runs a lot deeper than differences between family dynamics.

I’m learning

I’m very thankful for the niceties in my life and I appreciate every person that has contributed to that through and through. Whether it be my family, teachers, friends, or people who have come and gone just as quickly throughout my life, I’ve been provided with many great examples. Having a “cushy” life while also being engulfed in all different cultures while growing up, I do feel as though my knowledge has some gaps. I was truly ignorant to the amount of tragedy one can have in their life because I was surrounded by mostly wonderful things and people. I was unaware that every single day could be a struggle for someone, or that someone would fear for their life while walking home.

Thinking back to high school, I can recall several situations where I was called into the office and asked questions about a friend, or friends of mine. Occasionally, it wasn’t just the administration, or the counselor, it was a police officer, or two police officers. For some background, throughout the majority of my high school experience I hung out with predominantly African American boys. I even dated a couple. This is when I learned the phrase “Guilty by Association.” Although my friends were completely harmless, incredibly goofy teenagers, I was pulled into the office to explain why I didn’t report that they keyed a car when I was with them. My friend in question didn’t even own a car or house keys and he was not even wearing a backpack. At the time, I was annoyed because I hate not being believed. It was so frustrating to sit and look these two police officers in the eyes and exclaim they for sure have something wrong. I was shaking when I went back to class. Looking back, I cannot help but wonder if they really thought my friends were guilty. Or if they just thought my friends looked the guiltiest. I’m flabbergasted at trying to imagine feeling that frustration I felt on those several occasions, but feeling them on the daily. People of color are too often put into situations that are completely unnecessary, and sadly, deadly. Nothing ended up coming from the keyed-car situation, but that was just one of several. Some, more or less severe. I can’t help but see the irony in mentioning my Grandpa at the beginning of this post because it was my Grandpa who I felt I needed to hide by prom date from. I knew his “old school” beliefs. It was just…who he was. It didn’t seem worth the conversation.

I’m realizing.

It’s very much so worth the conversation. Not being a confrontational person, it’s hard for me to really be bold with passion. But I’m realizing that brushing off someone when their beliefs literally stem from the deep rooted racism and inequalities this country seems to take pride in, is a nasty side effect of my privilege. I’m a teacher. I don’t claim to know nearly enough to teach the depths of these racial and police brutality issues that our country is displaying time and time again, but I do know I will teach the best I can to the people who need to hear it the most. It’s worth the words. I will flood my classroom with diverse stories, toys, and themes. I will put a huge focus on not being “color-blind” but on recognizing that there is so much beauty in the differences we have. My grandpa passed away several years ago but I hope, somehow, he is able to read this. And from his reclining chair, I hope he is still impressed by my writing even if we might have had opposing views on some of these issues. And by “might” I mean “definitely.” My Grandpa was an amazing man with some problematic ideologies. I would hope he could (at least somewhat) agree with me that all lives simply cannot matter until all black lives matter. If he doesn’t agree with me quite yet, I hope he keeps listening…

I’m (starting to be) involved.

An unexpected moment that I recently had was ending up standing in a protest in Downtown Colorado Springs after getting my oil changed. I drove through the crowd on my way to drop my car off and after picking it up, with the encouragement from a friend, I parked a couple blocks away. I mostly observed. I watched the news reporters, kept an eye on some drones floating around, read signs, watched people express their passion, their anger, their sadness, and their desperation for acknowledgement of the inequalities in our systems and the actions that should be taken to start treating people of color as…humans. We stood. We chanted. We marched. Across the street, a smirking man in a tank top waved an American flag with an AK strapped to his back. I questioned. Why? What was his purpose? I’m still working out what I learned from him…We walked. He ran. The crowd ended up in front of the police station. American Glag Guy was still smirking, standing on the lawn of the precinct. Now, I was in my car, removed from the masses at this point, just watching on from a safe distance. I had seen videos of these peaceful protests going wrong and at this point in my life am too timid to be on the “front line.” I did end up eventually parking close enough to hear the exact words of the protesters as they stood face to face with line of police officers in riot gear as lights from a SWAT lit them up from behind.

It started out simple, “We are your brothers. We are your friends. We are your neighbors. We are your family.” And it moved to “I don’t see no riot here. Why are you in riot gear?” I’m a huge fan of a good, simple rhyme, and that one did it for me. I teared up a bit, but also kind of laughed. It was an uncomfortable, laugh of disbelief. The protests are specifically protesting the unnecessary use of force police officers use, mostly towards black and brown people, and here they are…meeting the people begging to literally stop being killed…in full riot gear. It’s almost as if the officers were missing the point, right? Eventually, “Take a knee and we will leave,” a last desperate plead for acknowledgement. I found myself begging out loud for the officers to just…kneel. Just kneel down so everyone cheers, hugs, celebrates. Now, I’m not sure what exactly would have happened if all those officers actually did put their gear down and take a knee, but I guarantee it probably would have ended differently than tear-gas and rubber bullets being shot into the crowd, which is what happened as I drove away. I stand by peaceful protesting. That night, the police initiated the violence, and in my privilege, I was able to drive away. There are so many men, women, children, transmen and transwomen who don’t get the chance to drive away from a routine traffic stop, they don’t get the chance to walk away with a hoodie on, they don’t get the chance to sleep in their own bed unharmed. It’s hard for me to think of more words besides, “That is simply so wrong.” It’s absolutely maddening that it’s so hard to prove that to some people, especially people who seem to hold such power in the united states.

I’m growing.

I’m fearful that with being white, I will be involved in the “wrong” way, or I will say something that should stand corrected. If that’s the case, please call me out.

Again, I am learning and I am realizing I have a long way to go.

Redwoods National Park

REDWOODS
Crater Lake National Park is a great day trip. I don’t think I would necessarily feel the need to camp there again, but it was worth the trip. With an early morning under my belt, down I went to find me some really big trees. Like, the biggest trees. I started at the Hiouchi Visitor’s Center where a nice ranger talked to me and another couple about some good day hikes, places to camp, and routes to take due to road closures. I paid close attention to that last part seeing as I haven’t been having the best luck with that on this trip…
To dive right in, I parked my car at the Hiouchi River Trailhead and started hiking. The trees gradually got bigger and bigger. I came to one tree that was completely hollow, and thought it was a dead end, so I turned left and went down to the river. The river’s bed was totally full of rocks. Practicing finding my center, I balanced some rocks and got a pretty impressive rock stack waist high before wandering back onto the trail. It turns out, that hollow tree was in fact a tunnel to more of the trail. Perfect. Through the tree I go. The trees towered over me. Moss was still sticking to branches, dead trees, rocks, and the ground. The Hiouchi River Trail follows along the Hiouchi River (also Smith River) which is a beautiful clear blue with a teal tint. You can see every rock, every fish, every ripple across the water. There were people swimming, dogs splashing, families kayaking. After walking along for a little over two miles I couldn’t take it anymore. The envy rushed over me and I needed to be in that water, too. I hightailed it back to my car, put on my swimsuit and tried to find this little parking lot across the river I saw while hiking with beach access. I found it, but you had to pay 8 dollars and I knew I wasn’t going to get 8 dollars worth of swimming in. I turned the car around and went back to the trailhead. I hiked in about ¼ of a mile before finding a turn out that went to the river. Crossing over rocks and sticks, I found a nice little sandy corner. It was there I dipped myself into one of the cleanest rivers I have ever seen (later, I would find out it is the 4^th cleanest river in the nation). The water was cold, but totally doable. I bobbed around for a bit before laying on my towel and taking a nap while drying off.

Waking up in a beach-sleep haze, and stumbling back to the car, I tried to decide what to do next. There was a trail the man at the visitor’s center had mentioned that was a little farther south from where I was which was perfect because I needed to make my way south eventually anyway. The trail was along the coast and through thick bushes and trees. It was a loop about 1.5 miles long and I made it around in 20 minutes. There was this eerie feeling while walking through those bushes and trees that I was not alone. Knowing that mountain lions and bears are frequently spotted on that trail, I did not want to get caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was the one time up until that point that I had been frightened on this trip so far.

Now, after 26 years of life, I’d like to say I think I know my body pretty well and my body was telling me, “I’M HUNGRY FEED ME NOW.” I had some snacks but they weren’t holding me over, I was driving down 101 next to all these national forests and parks and I could not find anywhere with food. Finally, I arrived in a small town named Klamath. They had a hotel, a trailer park, a two pump gas station, and a bar and grill. The bar and grill was small. There were four other costumers there, two of which were locals and two of which were traveling from Florida. The bartender had a harsh sounding voice but was very kind and asked me what I wanted. Food. I really just wanted food. But I ordered a vodka soda and asked about food later. There was another counter on the other side of the bar and grill that made the food. You had to pay for them separately. I am not kidding you when I say I ate one of the best burgers I have ever eaten at that little tiny bar and grill in that little tiny town of Klamath. Hot diggity it was tasty. Juicy, cheesy, full of onions and pickles and cheese and lettuce and some special sauce they called fry sauce. I chowed down, paid for my food, then my drink, and went on my way. I drove through the Avenue of the Giants, but at that point, it was already getting dark and I was spooked right out. The Redwoods tower over you. They leave this feeling of something looming, something alive just above you and all around you. They radiate all sorts of energy. Some of them were wider around than my car from bumper to front. They were seriously stunning, seriously insane, and seriously scary at night. That brings me to the second time I was scared on this trip. I was the only one on this road through the Avenue of the Giants. My headlights barely cut through the darkness. I could not see a single star in the sky because the sky was completely blocked by trees. At one point in time I pulled over to a potential sleep spot but got so nervous thinking about going pee next to my car in the dark that I just kept driving. That night I ended up sleeping in my car in front of a motel that was under construction in some little town that literally had houses and a motel. That’s it. It was another good nights sleep, with an almost potty accident in the morning due to lack of bathroom availability. But don’t worry, my pants stayed dry and I found a place to relieve myself.

Crater Lake National Park

I will add pictures into these posts later. Or just post them in an album on Facebook. But for now, words will have to do.

CRATER LAKE
On Sunday, the 16^th I entered the North Entrance of Crater Lake National Park. Once you enter, you have to drive several miles through a desert before reaching the rim of Crater Lake. I knew of two camp grounds around the lake, both on the southeast side of the park, one more primitive (and half the price) than the other, so I decided to go there. I started driving around East Rim Drive which eventually meets West Rim Drive to make a complete loop around the lake. I must have missed some signs along the way (shocker) because I ended up at yet another dead end and had to turn around. Apparently there was a big snow storm a week prior to my arrival and it closed that part of the Rim Drive. “No worries,” I thought, “I can just drive all the way back around the West Rim and meet the East Rim drive on the other end. That way I can reach the camp ground.” WRONG. I drove the whole West Rim, entered the East Rim, and after several miles was met with, you guessed it, another dead end. Laughable, really. With a few puffs of my breath I drove back down to the West Rim and found the other camp ground with plenty of open sites for the night. I set up camp and ended out to hike around this magnificent blue world where water meets mountains and mountains meet sky the same color as the water.

I got to Garfield Trail, stoked to be out of the car and walking around with some spectacular views. Lalala, there I was huffing and puffing my way up this mountain when GUESS WHAT HAPPENED. The trail was closed due to snowdrifts and I would not be able to get to the top of the mountain that overlooks the whole lake. Seriously? Reluctantly, I turned around and found a nice little outlook and sat down to write and take some pictures. In front of me was a nice guy taking a selfie in front of the lake. In striking up a conversation, I learned he was from Ohio and was traveling around alone much like I was. After talking for a bit he said, “Okay, so I know this is corny but will you take a picture of me staring at this lake? You know we’re all instagram junkies…” I happily snapped a few shots and we traded roles, him becoming the photography. It gave me a good laugh (and a good picture or two) and he went on his way.

Shortly after, I made my way back to the trailhead, and into a gift shop down the street. I grabbed some grub and a postcard and sat outside in the sunshine before retreating to a lodge to try and find some wifi for a bit. The wifi was 4 dollars for an hour and it was hit or miss as to whether or not you actually got an hours worth of work done. There were several times I had to log back in, shut the web browser, refresh, don’t refresh, pay again, sit, sit, sit, get excited at the prospect of a page loading only to get an error again. So after being thoroughly fed up with technology I tossed my hands in the air and went back to my campsite in the woods. It was one of the biggest campsites I’ve stayed at on this trip. It had plenty of room for a tent, my car, and my hammock. A nice ranger told me he sleeps in his hammock all the time, which I was hesitant to do because, ya know, bears and stuff. But he reassured me and I was determined to swing soundly into the night while hanging in my hammock. My tent was packed up along with everything else because I knew I’d have an early morning.

When morning came I was SO thankful I had already packed everything but my hammock. I woke up freezing cold (totally should have worn socks) around 4am. I attempted to resituate. No luck. I gave up and through my hammock in my car, turned the heat on high and headed to the nearest bathroom. The prior day in the lodge I heard a lady talking to a guest about a sunrise viewing at 5am in front of the lodge. I knew the lodge was close to another less popular pull off because I drove all of Rim Drive the previous day, so I went to the pull off and waited. The sun was slowly starting to glow behind the mountains across the lake. I changed my clothes, brushed my teeth and washed my face and waited patiently. The clouds above Crater Lake grew pink and orange and the water started to shimmer a little bit more. The water was thick looking, almost like it was starting to freeze. Much like me in my hammock. Just as I thought I had seen all of the sunrise I needed to see, this bright grapefruit colored ball of light slightly showed over the mountain. Faster than I could believe, that glowing grapefruit sun showed it’s whole figure and lit up the sky. It was bright and colorful but easy on the eyes, not bright and harsh like mid-day sun. Everything was calm. Everything was colorful. Everything was all right. And with that, I said my goodbyes to Crater Lake National Park.

Seattle Departure

I am alive and well!

After sight seeing, good food, and some laughs, family vacation in Seattle came to an end and I hopped back in my car on Thursday, the 13^th. I had a vague idea of where I wanted to go, but not quite sure where to go once I got there.

OLYMPIC NATIONAL PARK
Several hours driving west, then north, then west again, I found myself at the visitor’s center of Olympic National Park in Washington. Highway 101 goes all the way around the park, with different entrances jetting into mountain ridges, rainforests, and rivers. I’m getting used to using maps and not relying on GPS and I’ve done pretty well so far (with a few turn arounds thrown in there of course). One of my whoopsies came after too much excitement entering the park. I thought I was taking a route that would lead me to a nice campsite, but instead, 40 minutes later, I found myself at a dead end on Hurricane Ridge. Although I was a little put off because I was trying to beat everyone else to a first come first serve campsite, the view was amazing and it eased my frustration. Hurricane Ridge is a panoramic mountain range that is in the upper part of the park. It was b-e-a-utiful. After smelling crisp mountain air, taking a picture or two, and using the restroom (my mom taught me I should go whenever one is available), I was back in my car, heading back to exactly where I started.

There was a thick fog that covered the tip tops of trees. The wind carried the fog across the road in front of me as I drove towards my desired campsite, which by the way, was full once I got there. Having several hours until sunset, and realizing I wanted to end up in the Hoh Rainforest the next day, I started driving west on 101 once again. Not long down the road I found Klahowya Campsite and there was room for more! The site was right next to the Sol Duc River so the sound of rushing water over rocks soothed me as I put up my tent next to a fallen tree covered in moss. After camp was set up, a short little walk by the river complete, and dinner was eaten, I read my book and went to bed. The next morning I woke up early, made some tea, and packed my things. Before heading to the Hoh, I backtracked towards the Sol Duc Campground for hike around the Sol Duc Falls. I’m not going to lie, all the signs about bears and mountain lions and hiking alone freaked me out bit, so with the advice from another lone traveler, I grabbed a hiking stick and headed on my way. The falls were splashing under a walkway, falling off a small rock ledge, and then cascading into a river below. There was so much mist in the air; a huge rainbow circled the bridge going across the falls. It was an amazing way to start the day. Back at my car I had a quick snack and started driving once again.

Thankfully, the early rise was worth it because I was able to snag a killer camping spot in the Hoh Rainforest Campground. Spikemoss draperies hang from big leaf maple trees in the Hoh Valley. It doesn’t harm the trees, but it does weight up to 4 times as much as the tree’s on foliage! How crazy is that? Once my camp was set up for my second night in Olympic, I jumped on the Hoh River Trail and started walking. The trees got a little bigger and bigger as I walked farther into the forest. Everything was covered in mossy green and the Hoh River snaked along next to the trail. I followed a group of backpackers for some time, listening to their stories about past backpacking trips, helpful tips for traveling, and even the volunteer work they do in their home town, but then a waterfall appeared on the left of us and I had to break away. I scampered up as high as the ferns and rocks would let me. Slightly misted by the falls, I sat for a while and cooled down while writing in my journal. I was on the Hoh River Trail for a little over 4 hours and made it back to the trailhead before the visitor’s center closed so I could send some postcards. Having had a full day in this lush rainforest, I was committed to one more day in Olympic. Before going to bed, I mapped out a route because just that morning I drove in the wrong direction away from the falls for 20 minutes before realizing it. National Parks really need more signage, y’all. With a route planned, I curled up in my tent and fell asleep.

OREGON
I woke up knowing I had a full day planned in another part of the park, but feeling like I needed something different. After packing up my things, I quite literally just started driving. Leaving Olympic National park, Highway 101 took me to the coast. A friend recommended Cape Meares State Park with a nice little hike right before the entrance so I was now on a mission to find it. And I did! The park overlooking the ocean with some rocky masses jetting out of the sea off the shore. I met a couple who came from Montreal and France. They spoke broken English, but enough for me to understand they flew into Seattle and are hitching their way to Humboldt County for a job. Lets just say they are…gardeners…I chatted with them for a little while, but then the realization the sun had started going down and I still didn’t have a campsite for the night set in and I went on my way after saying safe travels and goodbye. All of the campsites along the coast were at max capacity. Even thinking back on it, it sounds stressful but there was something in me that just did. not. care. I kept my foot on the gas pedal and kept driving. The West Coast pulled me in so hard my mind went tide pool. I pulled off the road and sat on the edge of this drastic crusty sand cliff that overlooked the beach. The sand had footprints going every which way across it. I could tell there was only a few hours until sunset but I could not pull myself away from that beach without sticking my feet in it first. My shoes and socks were on all day! I was driving all day! It felt wrong not to touch it. Not long down the road was a beach access pull off and it led to a short rocky path that twisted through trees, ending at little river that flowed into the ocean over shallow rocks and old drift wood. I hobbled my way across the water and landed next to a little wooden shelter that had been built by someone with a lot more motivation that me, but for that I’m thankful.

While sitting on that beach, something happened to me. I was completely overcome with this sensation of knowing that I long for tall trees and rocky mountains. I crave big landscape that makes me feel small but I was rooted in sandy Michigan beaches. That beach is exactly where I needed to be. It cleansed me and scared me and made me feel all the feels. The air was thickened by salty water crashing onto shore and the paper in my journal felt damp while writing. And here I was, sitting on a beach in Newport, Oregon all emotional but all smiles, watching the first sunset I had seen since Seattle thinking, “If my car wasn’t parked in a no over night parking zone, I would stay here all night in this little wooden half shelter on this beach in this sand.” But, reality was I couldn’t park where I was for more than another couple hours, and the sun had sunk beneath the horizon so it was starting to get dark. Hesitantly, I got back in my car and drove until I found a rest stop to sleep for a while before heading to Crater Lake, Oregon the following day. It was the best nights sleep I’ve gotten on this trip so far. So to that I say, “Thank you, Oregon Coast.”

Here’s some random things I’ve noticed and learned so far:

1. People pump your gas for you. You don’t even have to get out of your car. Now, this doesn’t happen everywhere, but along most tiny gas stations on the 101, it does.
2. There are signs that say, “End of 45 Speed Limit” but they don’t tell you what the actual speed limit is. Eventually, I realized if nothing was marked, just go 65 and all is well.
3. Postcards are not only fun to pick out and send, but they also have really fun little facts on them.
4. Olympic National park is 1,442 square miles. Yellowstone is a whopping 3,471 square miles!
5. The beaches on the coast of Oregon are clean, crisp, and magical.
6. More people hitch hike across the US regularly than I ever would have imagined. It seems wild to not really have a say in your route and the arrival at your final destination. I’ll stick to my car, thank you (and you’re welcome mom and dad).
7. Good music makes the world of a difference when you’re in a car for 8 hours.