Refuge

In 2 1/2 weeks I'm headed out for 12 days. It doesn't seem real, and yet it's coming up fast. I haven't been on a plane in so long. And I haven't been out of the country since 2007. That's crazy. And I can't remember the last time I went to a totally new region. So I have some nerves going on.

Back here and here I mentioned hoping I could at some point scrape together enough pennies for this trip. This exact trip. Luckily, it really only took pennies. For my 30th birthday, I saved up enough airline miles to take my sister and me to Italy. It was amazing. I've been mostly saving my miles since then, knowing that something really special was in store for them. So for my 40th birthday, I have enough miles to plan this crazy trip and to fly first class. The entire ticket is costing me about $45. Can you imagine? Alaska Airlines, I love you and your miles that never expire.

I'm scared. And hopeful. I bought a Kindle, for godsakes, so I'm definitely getting ready. I expect to pack one small bag, and I'll bring a few bathing suits, sunscreen, a couple pairs of shorts and t-shirts, my iPod, and my journal. And my heart. Don't forget my heart.



So it's this: a deserted coastal area a four-hour (mostly paved) drive from the nearest major airport. A little bungalow with a hammock and an outdoor shower on the patio. Yoga classes. Massage. And two-to-three surf lessons a day. Two beers are included with every meal. Lights out at 10:00 so we're ready for the early sessions.

40, I'm not ready for you. I'm scared and I have no idea how I'm going to pull this off.

The last couple of months haven't been like I'd planned they would be -- they've been pretty much the opposite of what I've wanted or needed. I'm not ready to open my heart wide enough to accept everything life has for me right now. I hope Life will understand.

Maybe Costa Rica can show me the way.

Return to Me

I burned a day of PTO today to stay home and finish up a homework assignment that was due a week ago for a class that is already over. Two additional classes have started since (I'm kind of hating school right now) so I needed to get that thing done. I finished it at 9:00 tonight - 27 pages of pure pain - and sent it off without so much as a quick proofread. Not even a glance to make sure all the pages were there. I just didn't have it in me. Sometimes it's like that.

Tonight the house is pretty clean and the laundry is done. The garbage is out and I'm about to start the dishwasher before I head to bed. I changed around the living room furniture on Friday, which I kind of never do because of the blind cat, but he's doing ok and it feels good to have a bit of change. And a couple hours ago I sat down with some Hagen Dazs, let the blind cat fall asleep in my lap, and I watched a movie. I think it was my third movie in the past 12 months. It felt great.

I'm kind of hating my job right now (see a pattern? I need a break) so it just was good to get 3 days away. I like my job but it's too much. It's too much. And two-day weekends where I rarely leave the house and do 14 hours of homework each day just haven't been cutting it. But yesterday I caught up with my mom and sister on the phone, and then took my homework down to the froyo lounge for a little evidence of other lifeforms on earth.

I'm still trying to find my way back to myself. Surfing last week helped a ton. But as a good friend reminded me, you can't just flip a switch. In little ways I'm figuring it out. I'll try to get a run in tomorrow before work and my homework for Wednesday is relatively light. I'm finding a few minutes to answer e-mails to reconnect with my people, and I finally wrote my Grandma last week. I'm not doing it perfectly but I'm taking small steps. It feels good.

At Last

I had watched the surf report all week anticipating the possible but rare, almost mythological, convergence of a nice day in the water and one of my days off. I didn't want to jinx myself, but I called Jules about five days out and left her a message in a low whisper saying if possibly just perhaps kind of maybe it sort of a little bit worked out, I'd love to book some time to surf our freaking heads off that Friday.

I may or may not have spent the next four days with my iPhone 2 inches away from my face waiting for her to call. The day before the proposed sesh, I received a text saying she was going out of town and wouldn't be able to hang out. Wrecked! Desperate - totally fricking desperate - I called the surf shop owner and said that I knew Jules would be out, but was there someone, anyone, maybe another teacher, maybe a guy off the street, who could take me out the following day.

You know how sometimes you want something so badly, you need it so desperately, and it doesn't work out? This wasn't like that at all.


The shop owner told me to meet him at low tide the following day and we'd paddle out together. Seriously? Seriously.


It was junky as hell and hard to get outside. I spent ten minutes in the line up waiting for a wave to try and wondering what good fortune had come my way that I found myself sitting on a surfboard in the ocean in February next to the rad, generous guy who helped get me started.

We were sitting, waiting, wishing for a while - it was just such a crap day; he never would have put a toe in if it weren't for wanting to help me out - and the first good-sized one that came my way, I went for it. It ended poorly (god, I took some hits that day; a couple scary ones, too - it was too big for me out there) and by the time I washed ashore I decided to just stay inside. I could have waited out there with the others, but in 45 minutes or more, among 3 guys, one of them got one wave. (A freaking great one, too.) I decided to stay the hell inside because, and this was my thought: I sit all day. I've got that down. I want to ride.


And ride I did. It was surprising how long it took for me to get steady on my feet. I got up every time, but I took probably 10 waves instantly falling on my butt before I was able to figure it out. That's a lot of time and energy spent falling on my head. Just as I was wondering if I would ever get it back . . . there it is, I recognize that feeling - man, that feels stable and right, heart up, right Jules? Is this really happening? I love this feeling. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Again and again and again.


The others went in after about an hour but I couldn't give it up. The wind was getting stronger but the waves had come down to about 5' and I just couldn't have walked out of the ocean at that point for a million dollars. I said I was going to stay and try to get a couple more. And an hour later when I couldn't push myself up with my arms for one more ride, I took off my leash and walked out of the water about a thousand times more myself than I was when I'd gone in that morning.

I stopped by the store on the way home to thank the owner. What the hell. I still can't believe he did that. He told me that he'd stayed while I surfed solo and snapped pics of me. Can you believe that? Generous. And do you know why? Just for the love of the sport. You know I'm not tearing it up out there or going on to spend a million dollars at his shop. He's been so generous to me just for the love of showing someone else the unspeakable joy of surfing.


Sigh. It's always an adventure to wake up the day after a session to discover what bruises and marks cover my body. I usually can't see them until they have a chance to settle in. My god, I was covered. Always the right side where I hold my board, up and down my torso and under my arm. I also still had sand in my teeth, which is indicative of a special kind of spanking. But it was a really fantastic session - really amazing to be back in the water after too many months land-bound - and hopefully it will tide me over one more month until my vacation.

Shake the Dust

I've listened to this 100 times so far and I'm going to listen to it 100 more.

It's Just Like . . .

On Saturday I visited a local bicycle shop because I've been wanting a way to get a little exercise and fresh air on days I don't run. And also because I live in Portland and don't own a bicycle and that's just not right. I've visited three different shops in the past month, just looking and asking and learning, and on Saturday I decided it was time for the big test drive.


What. The. Hell. I haven't ridden a bike (with the exception of about 15 minutes somewhere in the late 90's) since I was ten. That makes it fifteen years (just kidding - thirty years)!

Sooooo unnatural. Couldn't have been more strange and weird and altogether wtf. I was on a mostly closed-off little side-street, and I rode up and down and did big circles for about fifteen minutes, all the while just wondering: wtf. Was it fun? I don't know. Was it exercise? I have no idea. It was kind of scary and fairly uncomfortable for my ischial tuberosity (hi, butt/sitz bones) and mostly just totally unnatural.

Such a bummer! I know it was only one little test drive, but I'd really been thinking this is going to work out for me, and now I'm pretty sure it's not my thing. I only live a few miles from work, so I was thinking I could ride! my! bike! to! and! from! work! just like a real Portlander. Really? Who am I kidding? I get off work at about midnight. Last night I stumbled out to my car at 12:15 after a long day and thought: Really? On a bike? Right now? Not so much.


It's pretty. And in my head mine was going to be red with a basket to carry my things. But I think I'm going to need to go in another direction for exercise and fresh air.

Fun fact: When I was getting ready for my test drive, I told the guy I'd need a big helmet. (My people have large heads.) He had to go back twice to get a bigger size, and before he left the second time he said, "I hope I can find it. We only have two in the shop that big."

(I'm messing around with my template - sorry if it's distracting. I just kind of want a change but don't really have time to work it out right now. Let me know if the blue background makes it difficult to read.)