Emily had never been. She wanted to see a couple of spots, make contact with the Pacific Ocean, and escape the strange clenched-teeth anxiety that grips the Twin Cities in the heart of a harsh winter.
We both worked a lot over the holidays. It was a good end to the year, filled with cheer and warmth and prosperity. It was our first Christmas together, the first in our new home. But Minnesota winter is no joke and we got a little more than we bargained for. It was a good idea to vacate the land of the Vikings for a few days in January, if for nothing else in order to refuel ourselves with vitamin D and the mobility of warmth.
It is strange how our journey in this life seems to work. I am confused by people who don't feel any rhyme or reason to this universe. For me, my life is basically a long-running serial. Each episode has lessons and arcs and challenges. The only times I feel scattered or anxious is when I don't quite get the point of an episode yet. I do like surprise endings though.
For this trip, the episode centered around the ongoing drama of the political landscape of our country, and also the celebration of progress with Em and I. We are continuing to branch out, experience new things, and test the limits we previously had been set for ourselves. For me, I am realizing that my effort to deprioritize money and systems of control in my own mind is having positive results. We had all the means we needed for an awesome week in California and Oregon.
We landed in San Fransisco, welcomed by fog and palm trees and the smell of the ocean. It is a strange place these days. Of course, there are many interesting stories and sights to see in the hill-scattered California town. We crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, explored the coastline, and watched giant, dangerous waves illustrate our complete lack of control over the world around us. We ate bread bowls on Fisherman's Wharf with the ominous silhouette of Alcatraz looming in the distance.
The strangest berg is the Haight Ashbury neighborhood. All of San Francisco feels as if it has the shadow of the drug and hippie revolution of the 1960s still blocking any further progress. Something significant happened in this place, and the effects can still be felt. But to what end? The acid wave happened 50 years ago, why still all the focus on it?
The shops capitalize on the counterculture movement. Most of the people who were there, and still are there, have made their mark and settled into a quiet existence in the hills. But there are still people testing the effects of reality through consciousness expansion and drug use, with varying effectiveness. For every Dead Head themed business or impressive local zine filled with counter-culture rhetoric, there is a young person nodding on a park bench. It has been a long time since I've seen such apathetic acceptance of dangerous drug use. We literally passed three people sprawled in the gutter. The thought occurred to me that these folks, for the moment, were enjoying their existence far more than I, but would soon be enjoying it far less. My own experience with extremes has given me an appreciation for the balance I now maintain.
After that, our journey took us to the cool, hip avenues of Portland. For me, it was a reconnection with a past I have had to put aside for the past few years. I saw old friends and thought old thoughts, and I realized that there was a lot of good in my life before I had to abandon it to save my soul. I still have friends, and the past is a beacon of experience to be used as a map for future endeavor. Seeing people I used to play music with, create art with, party with, live life with helped me to let go of some of the guilt and shame I've held onto when painful memory strikes. It was therapeutic to reconnect with fellow travelers and realize they are still moving toward the same end as I, even if I cannot see them- even if our decisions led us on different paths.
Emily and I celebrated our one-year anniversary together in a grand style. We were as far away as we could possibly be from the location of our first meeting without leaving the country. We met and kissed on the National Mall, in front of Trump as he gave his inaugural address. The next day, I joined the women's march in DC. Now, a year later, we protested in Portland, to much of the same tune, only now with a clear villain at the head of the movement of misogyny and cruelty and elite, classist, racist power mongering made more clear. I wonder when the pot will boil over. Sure, everyone knows how awful things have become, but when will we actually DO something about it? Probably not until it feels like it is too late. We are all still comfortable. We still have food to eat and clothes to wear, we still have jobs to do, even if the pay is unequal, the hours long, and the nights filled with silent fear.
There is hope, however. I see much of this as a manifestation of my own internal struggle against the challenges of my own mind. As I write this, there is a snow storm happening outside. I am trapped in my apartment, but I also have everything I need and I am not so eager to flail out into the abyss as I once was. I have everything I need here. Emily is still my happiness, the current administration still representative of my struggle against control, St. Paul still my restrictive home, and Westin and Joni the smiling memories of where I have been.
We are free, and everything we do every day is our own choice. It is a great, beautiful world we live in, my friends. Don't ever forget that it is worth it. We may not understand everything, and we are in control of very little, but we are a part of it, and that makes me feel safe.
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