The Adventure - Part 2

I actually slept heavily last night, alternating between one dream and the other, not quite sure if I was still home or on a train speeding past small towns in Kansas. What confirmed it was the first spoken thing by the person next to me: "It is hard getting a good night's sleep on a train, isn't it?" I knew he was having trouble sleeping. He fidgeted and changed positions multiple times before I dropped off at 9:30 or so. He was also awake a while before I woke up. "About half an hour ago it was snowing outside."

Now it's an endless vista of snowy fields, playgrounds for horses and birds. Thousands of leafless trees frame the picture, sometimes block the view, but not a single picture or set of words could fully capture the hundred new definitions of "beautiful" that I've seen so far. I sit here and bask in the sun coming through teh observation car, awaiting the metropolis coming in five hours, Chicago.

(12:12pm - Pulling out of the Mendota, Illinois depot with two more stops until the windy city!)

(1:28pm - Chicago Union Station at last and yes, snow everywhere! )

Wednesday, December 19th
2:07pm
The last leg

I am definitely feeling the effects of being on the train for four days. My butt is numb, I'm exhausted and in need of a shower, and I'm really anxious to get home with some real food in me.

The Chicago to DC trip was evenful, after having wandered through the cold, rushed streets of downtown Chicago. I stood in front of the Sears Tower, touched snow piled up against one of the bridges, and I thought everything was going to be easy and peaceful from that moment on. I returned to the station to find familiar faces waiting for the train to DC. I thought, "You get to keep a lot of the same friends? This is so awesome." We were checked in and began our mad dash to the train, dragging heavy carry-on luggage behind us. Excitement was building. I got to the door and I should have asked to sit with Danny, the Chicagoan college student I met in line. Instead, what came out was "Can I have a seat with an outlet?" He said "Yes" and assigned me seat number 35.

[Warning: the description becomes graphic at this point. It may not be suitable for people with weak heart or stomach conditions.]

Instead of an outlet, I had to sit in the shadow of a man and a half, the largest and stinkiest resemblance of a human I had seen on the trip thus far. I noticed him chowing down on a bunch of bread sticks from Pizza Hut in line, but didn't even have a moment of dread that I'd have to sit next to him. He smelled like a fiery hot soup of dead fish and sweaty socks, an unfortunate circumstance of not bathing for days and maybe an infection or seepage somewhere. I have been close to people who smelled like they shit on themselves. This was worse. I stood, staring at the seat number, and then had a gag reflex I had to walk off, my eyes tearing as I approached the back of the car. In fact, I only had to sit next to him when I showed the conductor my ticket. I focused on mouth breathing for the two minutes, and then spent 95% of my time on that leg in the lounge/observation deck with Danny, who absolutely made up for my bad luck with the toxic fat man. Even better, he stunk up the whole car he was in, and I never had to deal with it for long. I slept in the observation deck next to the largest windows on the train, and was accompanied by a good number of people within radius of the guy.

Upon arriving in DC, I lost Danny, but immediately put my bags in storage and set out to discover the city. I walked all the way out to the Vietnam Memorial Wall and spent an hour there after having passed the museums, the Capitol building, and the Jefferson Memorial. I spoke with a Vietnam Vet in an area close to the wall, and then slowly and reverently, I walked up the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, let myself appreciate the moment and sat down on teh steps looking out across the reflecting pool. Yeah, even as I write this, it's still amazing to me that I was there. I helped take a few photos of people, and then I walked back to the station.

I found a handful of my fellow travelers there and we stuck close together, relieved and happy that this was our last leg. Although this last part has been a little chaotic - this was the fastest and bumpiest ride thus far - time seemed to slow when my friends left the train:

James, the engineer in Jacksonville, FL
Don, who never flies and always travels by train, in Orlando, FL (A lot of people got off in Orlando)
Jay, one of our loudest snorers and definitely our loudest cell phone talker, in Fort Lauderdale, FL

And here I am, with four hours left until I see my family and that shower I so desperately need. As I look out my window at a bright moon at daytime peeking through two clouds, I'm really thankful that I made this trip and saw what I saw. Yes, I have to do it again in two weeks, but this has already changed me.

The Adventure to End 2007 Begins

Riding quiet rails under the blanket of darkness, I am removed from the sleepy cityscape, industrial park after superstore skating by us without even a whisper. This is what it's like as you ride east from Los Angeles. The seats are wide and warm, the windows large and clean, and slow or fast, the train hops and leans in a relaxing rhythm that insulates you, rocks you deeper into your seat. It's not claustrophobic like a plane; You're encouraged to move around and explore, and the bad inflight movie is replaced by the view. It's not a cruise ship - not so far, at least - there are no activities or entertainment. This trip has only begun, and I haven't been out of this seat yet.

Sunday, December 16th, 8:20am
In Gallup

I just had breakfast with three strangers, talking about our destinations both in life and location. The long, flat plain outside had snow scattered throughout, and now, I'm at home enough to begin seeing all this in perspective. Fairly soon, thanks to an absence of outlets, my iPod will sleep and the only soundtrack I'll have until I arrive at Chicago will be the marriage of wheel to track.

The view, of course, continues to be a feast for my eyes. I'm soaking in every detail, not even really pausing to take pictures because the beauty rests in the fact that the landscape is constantly moving, changing shape and height, unfamiliar patterns suddenly appearing in front of a very wide horizon. And what am I doing at this point in my life, other than enjoying the scenery? (I'm staring at mountains, by the way, mesas rising above snowy fields.) Honestly, I'm thinking about a goodbye I just had, about sixteen years in the making. It's a story I can't reveal too many details about, of course, but not wanting to be accused of being boring about it, I'll dance a little. Better yet, I'll make this a slow dance so it'll count.

I have loved many times in this life, but I have only been in love once. It was both perfect and completely imperfect at the same time, kind of like a flawed but unique diamond whose flaw lends the mystery and name to it. My heart was captured in a bubble of youth and left broken inside it when we went our separate ways, and the rest of me slowly fell apart over many forgotten seasons until there was nothing left. All that remained was a small simple puzzle of a heart in an airtight bubble. Hope that she would return faded after years, and then true hope that I would return faded after. The story becomes somewhat familiar at this point. I discovered theatre and began breathing again, obsessing over this new language of creativity. I couldn't stop; I wrote plays, songs, poetry, played with photography and art.

(We're motoring alongside Route 66 through a town I can only describe as the one from the movie Cars.)

There has been one constant throughout the theater years. The bubble stayed intact. It didn't matter what I did or who I was with, the heart in the bubble stayed broken and I knew I couldn't be loved. She tried and couldn't maintain. Others made an effort but were conflicted. Everyone else affirmed my short-sighted belief, but then again, I DO live in Los Angeles, and the entire population seems to be a mismatched collection of odds and ends. Try as hard as I have, I have not been able to romanticize the city as much as my solitary experience in it.

Very recently, the girl appeared in the shape of a voice, a faceless spring flowing with familiar feelings and affection. It was the sound that I had been missing for 16 years, the almost unrecognizable beat of my young, intact heart. Over a few months and scattered conversations flavored with some longing and regret, she managed to mend the heart and pop the bubble with a gentle goodbye. Are our paths altered by the fact that we made contact? Does anything in our lives get redefined?

(Riding towards the New Mexico/Colorado border, and there is a beautiful, vast nothingness out my window. Yellow plains, meet blue sky.)

Nothing changes. We are who we are now. What I wanted to remind her of is that she's precious, unique, loved, and up to now, the magical love of my life. She made me feel just as special, but even more so, she encouraged me to be open to deserve it from someone new. Yes, I can be loved. Yes, I can hold her in my heart as my soulmate. I just don't think that we're given only one. She held me throughout my young adulthood. I can, now at 40, hold my 24 year old heart in the brand new search for my happily ever after. That's where this trip begins; I am full, finally complete and ready to start over. I'm in a place to see new worlds, meet new people, and I'm fueled by the knowledge that someone out there loves me. She began this transformation of me with a kiss beneath a starry sky, and finished it with the news that she's moving away and wants to see me happy.

Someone out there loves me. How awesome is that? Now, where is my next love?

Past Present

Sitting in the museum of Natural History, catching up with an old friend....

C: Not here for sightseeing, I'm guessing.

S: What gave me away?

C: The huge camera on your hip. The fact that you're looking at the architecture of the place maybe more than the exhibits.

S: Maybe I just needed to get out of the house.

C: And this is it? T-Rex versus Triceratops? Huh. It looks like a battle for survival, but really, I think the King was just pissed off he was smarter than everyone else.

S: And hungry.

C: That, too.

S: Don't forget the fact that this big brain had little tiny arms.

C: Some things have never evolved with men...ooh, is that the Hall of North American animals?



S: Sure, umm...okay. Hall it is. So...wait up, is there anything wrong with changing my scenery?

C: Of course not. Look at that mountain diorama with the goats!

Annoying Father: Bobby, look on the other side, raccoons!

The boy glances, but shrugs it off.

S: That was interesting. He was pointing to the beavers. Yeah, I hate it when beavers go through my trash.

C: You know what that just looked like?

S: What, the...guy?

C: No, you. You recognized it. Someone trying to evoke an emotional response with careless words. Is that pretty much it?

S: Well yeah, I recognized what he was doing. So?

C: Hmm. I'm just saying...it looked like it was familiar to you, like you've seen it recently.

S: What are you getting at?

C: Back up to the big window over there. The moose. I want to take your picture.

S: Careful, it's a new camera. So what are you saying about me recognizing...what, someone being careless with their words?

C: Move to your left and turn to your right a little. I want it to look like you don't know there's a huge moose behind you. Who was talking out their butt recently?

S: People do it every day. I see it in the things people write about thsmselves, the things they say. I hear their expectations of others and where their letdowns come from. Then I see what they do, and it's a total contradiction. It's crazy.

C: Ever think you're putting attention in the wrong places?

S: Christy, what options do I have? I am where I am. I'm not working on anything all-consuming, so wherever I stand, I'm wide open. The simplest exchanges are meaningful and when I'm out, especially with a camera or notebook in my hand, I go exactly where my heart dictates.

C: Come with me. I can't have a serious conversation with a moose looking over your shoulder. So...if you're still so open and always have something creative with you, why aren't you doing something?

S: I don't know. Blog entries don't count, do they?

C: Nope, not by themselves. Ooh - let's go to the room with the stones and gems.

S: I don't...I don't know about the creative stuff. I usually just wait for insipration...or an opportunity. Remember the two year span that led up to the musical? I was blogging, writing poetry, multiple plays....

C: All because of a girl.

S: No...no, no. Not just because of her. It was the girl and the outlet. I had the theater company back then and a bunch of collaborators.

C: Ohhhh look at all this gold. That's amazing. I'd probably pick up one of these rocks and not know the difference. (pause) So that's your plan? Wait it out?

S: I really don't know what to do. This stupid strike kind of sets a precedence, doesn't it?

C: That's right...I was going to ask you about your disillusionment with the entertainment industry.

S: What did you want to know? I haven't even written about this.

C: As soon as you were laid off, you were excited about the chance to jump in. Now, after you did you research and interviewed some people, the writers strike actually killed your love for it before you even got in the door?

S: No, that's not it. How can I explain this to you? Look, over here...look at this opal.



C: Beautiful.

S: But look at the rock next to it. It's unrefined, right? There's an opal stuck in the huge rock, and you could leave it alone as whatever nature designated it to be, or you could work on it and shape it to what you think it should be.

C: Okay, I'm with you so far.

S: Before you even chisel it out of the rock, you have to have that idea of where it's going to end up. You have to balance dissatisfaction and optimism, constantly correcting whatever it currently is all the way through the process. Grinding, buffing, chiseling, all the time knowing how beautiful the finished product already is, hidden somewhere inside this lump of rock.

C: The 7 Habits guide to Jewelry?

S: That's where I am in the process of looking for the next job. Dissatisfied and optimistic. The difference is, I don't know if there's a gem in this one. I look at these underpaid people walking the line, and I wonder how the industry appreciates talent, whether it's marketable or not.

C: Or relevant. You're worried about that, aren't you?

S: Yeah, well....the transition at this point is a little hard. I'm right in the middle of it. Let's get out of here. Upstairs or downstairs? Uhh, dead birds or American history?

C: History, always. So...okay, here's one thing I don't get. How is it possible that so many things completely shut down right after the layoff?

S: That's part of that same relevance mystery. Who knows how all this stuff happens? People change quickly...or, actually...wait - this is my theory: Sometimes people are forced to play roles because of the circumstances and the environment, but that's not an accurate reflection of who they are. Maybe it's more along the lines of who they want to be, because otherwise they would have changed their...situation, right?

C: I don't know...it's hard to just let go of responsibility to the life around you. You can't just...well, look at you. You had a job you didn't like for years, but you justified it because it afforded a lifestyle that you wanted. If the job wasn't an accurate picture of who you are, you would have gotten a better one a long time ago, wouldn't you? They forced your hand in the end.

S: Yeah, I guess so.

C: And another thing - you have to be completlely honest with yourself...I mean, you can't fool me, obviously, unless you're really trying to write me into a story. I don't think that's what this is about. The real truth is that if you wanted to stay in touch with a lot of the people you used to be in contact with, you would have made the first move.

S: There are some people I can't contact first.

C: You are defining the "can't" in that thought, my friend.

S: Huh. Good point.

C: This is a weird place for a skull. Who is this? La Brea Woman...about 8 million years old. Ha - take that, creationists.



S: She was tiny.

C: Do you think she died alone? It isn't a display of La Brea family. It's just...well, it's just her head. Her tiny head.

S: No, of course not. That would be just...sad.

C: Why do you sometimes believe you will? (pause) No answer?

S: Let's...not get ahead of ourselves, okay? The spanish haven't even conquered California yet.

C: "The deepest, the only theme of human history, compared to which all others are of subordinate importance, is the conflict of skepticism with faith." Goethe said that.

S: You're so lucky you only exist in text. I'd love to hear how you pronounce Goethe.

C: I can look it up on Wikipedia as easily as you can, mein freund.

S: For the win. Come on, let's worry about the future when we get there.

C: Uhh, you do that. I'll be busy savoring the irony of that statement.