Plans.

On October 31st, I wrote a post about how I had just put my 2 weeks notice in at the new age food store where I work, had been getting my heart strings all tangled up with crushes and what not, but was ultimately getting prepared to physically leave the "Land of Entrapment" and head on off to Korea...

What day is it?

Oh, yeah. It is almost Christmas and look at where I am...you can't really look, can you? Well, I'll tell you.

I'M STILL IN NEW MEXICO. STILL IN SANTA FE. Still NOT in Korea!

Yikes. Oh, and on top of that my heart has gotten ninja-hijacked.

None of this was my plan!

True to 8 years old

New Mexico has always had a way of making me feel like an 8 year old, or at worst, like a teen again. I thought that this time I came back that I would be above the teenage act - holding true to the new and improved self that I had cultivated during my time away. Then, I have a set back. It makes me wonder...do we really ever free ourselves from our past? Will I always be a bitter and angry teen dealing with family drama, broken hearts, and snippy, negative behavior. I thought I was better than this. It just leaves me embarrassed and wondering - what kind of person am I really? Who am I trying to become?

Thanksgiving: time is on my side.

Last Thanksgiving, instead of lounging around all day with family and cooking, I was participating in a makeshift holiday experience with a bunch of expat teachers in Thailand. We listened to some old school hip-hop, ate food that was considered luxurious in the land of pad thai, and reminisced about family traditions and customs that we were missing as we celebrated the holiday on the other side of the world. It was a very American holiday celebration, though we included Brits, Aussies, and Europeans alike, in our festivities...hey, any reason to bring people together, right? The funny thing is that Thais don't really understand Thanksgiving and though I tried my best to make it sound like a meaningful holiday, I made it sound more like - I don't give a fuck about Thanksgiving. That is a link to a post I wrote last year, where I attempted to tell the story of Thanksgiving like I did for my Thai students. I really tried, but I was teaching a class at the time that was focusing on European colonization of the Americas, so my students didn't quite understand how Europeans had really been all that thankful...my students had a lot of questions.

There seems to be a lot of pressure around holidays, but this year, I cooked my favorite foods with my sister, watched numerous episodes of Walking Dead (enough to prepare me for any zombie apocalypse), did some old lady activities like crocheting, and enjoyed the food coma of a day, as it was exactly the way I wanted it to be.

This year, I'm thankful for time. I'm thankful that I'm in America, though longer than I ever planned to be - since I should probably be in Korea right now, and that I've had the chance to be with family. With this borrowed time, I've even had the chance to add to my family in this place and that makes me thankful every day. I guess what I feel grateful for is the fact that this world does move quickly and since my lifestyle is so  transitory, at the present, I feel like I'm in a cracked out version of the real world. My relationships feel even less permanent than this impermanent world has already made them, my life feels sped up, and unpredictable, so that when I do spend time with those I love, I sometimes feel the pressure of time sitting on my shoulder.

Having holidays, like Thanksgiving, might be bullshit in nature, but the idea of having one day where everyone in the country is on the same page, is something that I can get behind. I like the idea of all of us taking the time to prioritize being with friends and family, because in this crazy and mixed up world, time isn't always on our side. We have to seize the opportunities while they are available to us, go down the rabbit hole in new relationships, and be open to love, because we can't always count on time to stick around. Turkeys and cranberry sauce aside, this year, I remembered that though families can be big or small, and traditions/customs applied and refitted to meet different settings and locations, the stuff that matters is taking a moment to be thankful for the time we have with those who we have the chance to share it with. It was just one year ago that I was missing this place and wanting to be around New Mexico for the holidays, eating green chili mashed potatoes, and thinking about those that I love. Now, I'm here, and well, here's to the holidays.

One Raven, One Life

I've never had a near death experience. I've never been a part of a true, honest to god, that was me starring death in the face kind of situation. I have been in really precarious (etch a sketch) scenarios living in places, like Thailand, where health and safety precautions are "really up to you". Relying on motorbikes as my main mode of transportation there, climbing, and living life at a million miles an hour, I've been faced with a lot of "ooo that probably wasn't the safest..." sort of feelings, but nothing that stopped me dead in my tracks. I can say, fortunately, that despite the madness of this life, this world has graciously taken care of me. However, yesterday was different. Yesterday, I saw death. I saw the end of the road, felt the sliding, and accepted that I was about to go over the edge. It was my first near death experience, but like I said, this world has graciously taken care of me.

The flurry of snowflakes descended on the city. I was hanging out at my friend's house making hot apple cider with pineapple and fresh ginger mixed in when we notices a few flakes fluttering outside of the kitchen window.

"We're going outside!"

We rushed out the door and into the front yard where snow flakes circled around us. I shrieked like a child! "Snow! Holy cow! This is what I was dreaming of! Snow for the first time in 2 years! Snoooow!"

It was awesome - cold and perfect. Finally, "Forever Fall 2012" had decided to give way to winter and I was thrilled. Looking up towards the mountains, we saw clouds settling over the the ski hill and it was decided - change of plans for the day, we have to go there!

After grabbing seasonal coffee specials, we started driving up the mountain where, very quickly, we found ourselves in a winter wonderland. Icy trees - almost dusted or lightly frosted with snow had replaced the golden Aspens that had decorated the mountains just one month before. The Sange de Cristos had undergone a total transformation and it was magical. We continued slowly up the twisty mountain pass, looking out across the deep snow packed ravines that plunge from the road, taking in the beauty of it all. It got colder as we gained in elevation and though the snow seemed to cake the pavement, we were steadily making our way to the top of the ridge. Then, the car slid out. Sideways we slipped down the road, for a good couple of seconds, when the tires caught, whipping the vehicle to its other side to slide for another few feet. It seemed like slow motion, but we finally straightened up to continue down the road. We were quiet. For a minute we just sat there digesting what had just happened. Then, we laughed because we had both gotten a little bit nervous even though, while we were sliding, we had acted composed - like this was an everyday occurrence  Nervous giggling breaking up the awkward silence, we joked back and forth, but since we were almost up the mountain, we continued, though we cruised a little more cautiously. My friend tended to the situation by saying, "Don't worry, I'm not going to kill us or anything."

"I know you're not," I responded and I believed it. I trust him when he's driving and any nervousness that I was holding on to simmered down as I settled into my seat and thought about the snow globe that we seemed to have been caught in.

We started talking about how we act in situations regarding impending physical danger. I maintained that calmness is my deal, because in the most stressful situations I have found myself in, usually climbing, I know that I have to stay balanced and focused instead of panicking - in order to, well, survive. So now, when I am stressed, I don't really feel any nervousness until after something has occurred. Like with the car sliding - I didn't feel stressed about it at all until after the car was under control and we had continued a ways down the road. Then, it retrospect, I thought, "Wow, that was kind of intense."

We were plodding along, one switch back at a time, when we made it to the overlook, about a half a mile from the top. "We'll stop here on the way down," my friend assured me, and we made our way around the final curves in the road, before we reached the pinnacle of our journey and felt as though we had been transported to another world. The ski basin, snowy and wonderful, looked like an untouched winter wonderland. I was elated that we had made it and the scariness of the slip and slide event was pushed to the back of my mind. I was happy to be in the mountains, in the snow, and caught up in such an incredible adventure. In front of the ski lodge, the road bends in a large loop before descending back down the mountain and I was impressed as the car handled the track with grace. My mind went to the overlook, where I was eager to stop, take in the view, and feel the triumph of being on top of the world. With confidence in our ability regained, we headed to the first turn of our decent.

Well, it seemed like we should have been turning. We didn't. We were headed straight for the edge. The tires, without proper traction on the road, weren't gripping asphalt, but were gliding across the top of the packed snow. I looked at my friend. I looked at the edge. The end of the pavement was covered in freshly fallen snow, that wasn't packed down, and I thought, "It's okay, the chunky snow will stop the car from sliding." We were headed straight for it on our side. Closer. Closer. Finally, the tires caught, but instead of stopping, we spun. Doing a 180 degree turn, we headed backwards off the edge of the ravine. My mind was clear. I was thinking, "Here we go," when inches from the edge, the car miraculously came to a halt. "Oh, thank God," I repeated to myself silently. My friend restarted the stalled engine, but after giving it some gas, it was clear that we were stuck.

I didn't hesitate to jump from the car saying, "You drive; I'll push us out." If there's one thing that growing up in the mountains has prepared me for, it's pushing cars out of the snow. So, I went to work, putting all of my weight into the back of the car and though the wheels were spinning and my feet were sliding, within a minute or so, we had made some progress and the car was maneuvered from the edge of the road. I plopped back into the car, happy with the fact that we weren't stuck, could continue on our way, and proud of myself for getting us back on track, without once considering the grave danger we had skirted.

Then, it began to sink in. My friend started to recount the event. We had been inches from the edge of the road. That meant that we were inches from the edge of the ravine. Without a guardrail, that would have meant we would have gone over. Backwards. Backwards off of the road. Backwards off of the road and into the ravine. Holy shit. We worked it out together. Holy cow - that's what we were on the brink of! A ravine!

Shaken from this taste of reality, we pulled over at the overlook and just looked at each other, thankful that, though inches from a different outcome, we were alright. Backwards. Backwards off of the road. Backwards and not stopping. We just 180-ed so quickly...why hadn't the snow caught us faster? Holy shit.

Just then, as if recounting the severity of the situation together hadn't blown our minds enough, we saw something that would be the cherry on top. Mid-sentence, my friend seemed to freeze up. His eyes were locked dead ahead. I followed his stare to the railing of the overlook, where perched before us, in a flurry of snowflakes and streaming sunlight, sat a raven. A raven! I, too, fell silent. I could hear our breathing fall in sync as we remained motionless and starring. It felt like forever, but was more like the span of a minute that we sat in the car watching this bird. Finally, as if just waiting to catch our attention, the raven spread his wings and soared off, gracefully flying over the world.

Considered an omen of death, we shuddered at the symbolism in correlation with our experience. Just sitting there. A raven. Watching it all. Nearby the whole time. Waiting. Suddenly, every moment felt raw and precious, so much so, that we felt overwhelmed by the desire to abandon the warmth of the car, and go to the overlook's edge. We had to experience the view. Snow crunching beneath our steps, we reached the railing and the world seemed to open up before us. It was majestic. Storm clouds blanketed Santa Fe, but the sun illuminated the entire valley and left the snow flakes glistening. We looked out through the flurries dancing with the icy wind, mesmerized by the drama and emotion of the Southwest, silently trying to take it all in.

Later that evening, we were still trying to process the magnitude of the event. The spinning, the raven...that raven, holy cow. It still felt momentous even over dinner, safely miles away from the knife-edge road that snakes up the Sangre de Cristo mountain range. It makes me realize that even though we rarely have reminders, death is always present, always lingering, always waiting. But, for now, it's not my time and the world has graciously taken care of me. Still, it may have been one life used.

Penasco Fiasco

Halloween is one of my favorite events of the year, and therefore I love to make the holiday a whole week affair. Lucky for me, this year Halloween landed in the middle of the week, resulting in everyone being on the same page as I - all for a week of Halloween tomfoolery. Masquerades were being organized, Party City was an overrun nut house, and people all around me began recounting stories that began with statements like, "Well, then Pocahontas and a slutty woodland creature started talking about having a threesome with dude in a Sailor outfit..." or "There was a Mickey Mouse Jedi wielding a light saber and pushing party favors next to the giant grapes and Crayola crayon." (While based on actual events, names and characters have been changed to protect the reputations of the individuals involved. Hah! Oh, Halloween...) Unfortunately, I had been working a lot and hadn't been able to capitalize on G-rated...okay maybe PG-rated Halloween fun, until the Penasco Fiasco.

It just so happened that I was out the Saturday before All Hallows Eve, getting a drink with my friend, Noah. We were posted up at a local bar and grill, enjoying the shenanigans of our friend and bartender, Julian, who was preparing himself for Halloween activities. He was explaining to us the science of the makeshift Halloween costume as he had had a friend deliver him a couple of simple items to throw together a "soccer player" costume for a party that night. I put "soccer player" in quotations here, because, like I said, it was makeshift, but the makeshift-ness made it even more hilarious. With stapled short-shorts, a jersey, and sweatband, the costume would be finished off with a pair of running shoes. Unfortunately, Julian did not have such shoes available. His black, dressy, work shoes weren't quite something a "soccer player" might wear, so Julian became engaged in a conversation with a regular customer at the bar, an elderly man who had kindly offered Julian his shoes for the night. Julian was to follow the gentleman out into the parking lot to the man's car, where the man would give Julian the running shoes. Kind of awkward and a little sketchy, but the shoes were collected. It seemed hilarious that Julian was literally taking the shoes off the man's feet, but that's the spirit of Halloween right...? Charity and...oh wait...wrong holiday.

Noah and I were leaving the bar in search of our own Halloween activities, when I received a text message from a friend: "We're going to Penasco. Brace yourself..."

I was down, though I had no idea what Penasco was, where it was, or why I might need to brace myself, but in the more accurate spirit of Halloween, I was ready for whatever.

When I called my friend to inquire further about the night, he said there was an electro dance party happening at a place called Penasco Theater. Electro dance party?? Yeah, I was really down.

But, Noah...oh, Noah. Noah is my favorite old person and he went home. Haha. Again, I love you Noah, but you are old and electro dance parties are not the for those who don't find their hearts beating to bass. Fair enough.

So, I rolled to my friend's house and found him preparing himself for...well...a rave. I had heard electro dance party and I was ready for adventure, but I did not have my rage-wear...which of course is a fanny pack*, glitter of some sort, a crazy costume for sureeee....Halloween or not. No matter, we readied ourselves, as it was about 11 at night, to go chasing down this party. Then, it came to my attention that we had about an hour drive into middle-of-nowhere New Mexico in order to find this Penasco place.

Well, adventure, here we come. We piled into the car, half a closet of potential articles of clothing included, speeding north of Santa Fe with hand written directions and hearts set on dancing.

Now, growing up we never ventured into the valley. We never went searching for other people's parties, because, for the most part, we were afraid of what kind of people we might find. I'm serious. We were so close minded as high school students - but we were the product of the environment; we were told rumors by parents of dangers off of Los Alamos mesa and amongst our peers we propagated these stories which maintained our xenophobic mindsets based on stereotype masquerades, thus, we kept to ourselves. Since that time, most of northern New Mexico has remained as no man's land in my mind and I sure as shit would never have dreamed of searching for some electro dance party situated ambiguously in between Espanola and Taos. Yeah, no man's land.

(This is the good thing about partners in crime...they encourage you into unfamiliar territory - out of comfort zones and towards...well, you just don't know always, do you?)

We careened around mountain corners and pushed further into the depths of the state. I tried to log all of the road signs in my memory as we passed, so that I could remember where on earth I was. It was beautiful - the moon, almost full, lit up the night and revealed the landscape to me and I felt happy just to be driving. I had no expectations as to what we would find, so the drive itself became adventure enough for me. Then, we got to a fork in the road and it seemed like we were at the end of the directions. Where was the party? Shouldn't we hear music? Where are cars, people, movement of any kind? Let me paint a picture - it seemed like we were in an abandoned town. We were on a single road, one end lead back the direction we had come from, and on the other end of the "town", the pavement ran out and we were on what appeared to be a forest road. We drove back and forth on the road and went through the directions over and over again. Then, just because we were running out of options and common sense, we decided to just see where the forest road ended up...so we began romping on down the road...for fun...

Things began to get treacherous, so our new plan became: head back into the town/village/situation and the next car we see - follow it! Points for plans?

We circled back to the could be ghost town and I eyed the broken windows of abandoned buildings lining the road. Everything seemed a little eery. I was thinking that we were without hope of finding this party, when finally, we saw a car! It turned. We turned. It drove on. We followed. Mimicking its course away from the town we realized that we had been a couple of steps ahead of ourselves. This was the path! Heck yes, heck yes! And with no time to lose, the clock was glowing with the time - 1:30, speed racing commenced and I felt a new found anticipation. Electro party - here we come!

Just before 2 in the morning we pulled into another town development. We were finally in the place we were looking for - Penasco. Scanning the surroundings for a theater, suddenly, right in front of us was an old looking building that had the ingredients for a party: 1. space 2. music 3. people. We parked, we organized ourselves, we grabbed our belongings and launched from the car towards the warmth of the building and a party that we hoped was still in effect. As we approached I was looking for indicators of what awaited us. A woman dressed in what appeared to be an elaborate 17th century dress made out of paper and plastic items crossed the threshold before us. "What are we walking into?" I puzzled. I couldn't help thinking that I had absolutely no idea what I was getting myself into. No idea at all.

Entering the building, feeling completely out of my element, I experienced sensory overload. It was a fiasco! Holy cow! I was having my mind blown as I grappled with what was happening around me - glowing lights pulsed around us and people in all sorts of interesting costumes grouped together in the entrance. Leotards, wigs, go-go dancers, body jewels - elaborate costumes swirled through, tea was brewing and a fireplace warmed the sitting area, but a dance party raged on merely 30 feet away. Elevated on the stage, DJs were spinning and would be until daylight, so we really had only one option: dive right in.

Dive we did. Positioned at the front of the crowd, dancing became our mission. Finger lights were turned on and we attempted to compensate for our lack of elaborate costumes with just an elaborate presence. Imagine tracks like Booka Shade - Night Falls with some bass-y stuff too, it was our element and we were at the mercy of the night.

The second thing that we did to make ourselves appreciated by the people there was to start making name tags for folks. We thought it was pretty hilarious and we tried to be imaginative. I saw the go-go dancer again and made her a tag that read: Ms. Go-go Got it. She was down. Though I was a weaker link in the name creation game compared to "Ica-rus", shockingly some people weren't stoked. Haha, like the leotard girl would not embrace the name: Mighty Tighty. It was a failing in some ways, but we got some enjoyment out of it, as did the man donning the red headed wig who became "Mrs. Robinson". I don't remember the rest...

It was chaos and we were feeling over the top. As if caught in a time warp, we danced until we were exhausted and, well, it was almost 6 a.m., so it was time to keep on keeping on. We returned to the car to begin the trek back to Santa Fe, trying to remember our way through the back roads that criss-cross the desert. It didn't help that the whole world seemed fuzzy and surreal; even the moon was odd on this side of things, glowing bright yellow and clinging to the sky as the night slipped away. Barely outrunning the glow on the horizon, we seemed to float over the rolling hills, that climb steadily towards the mountains, before dropping into Santa Fe valley. We coasted and I gazed out of the window at the sunrise spreading across the world, curled up under my poofy winter jacket, still feeling the vibrations of the party, bass in my heart, and a wave of contentedness after an epic adventure and an epic night.


*I wrote a blog post about the majesty of the fanny pack.

I've Got a Crush

I've got a crush. I've got a crush that makes me feel like I'm 8 years old all over again, but, then, like I'm 16, and, then, like I have no sense of time. I have a crush that makes me want to be nocturnal, because I don't think that there are enough hours in the day. I've got a crush that makes me feel crazy like the full moon, reckless like a child, spontaneous and fearless, all rolled in to one. I say, "I've got a crush," but honestly, this crush has got me.

The feeling of finding someone or something that makes you feel a whirlwind of emotions, is pretty much the coolest thing in the world. One of my favorite foreign movies is "Jeux d'enfants", meaning "games for children", though in English it is titled "Love Me If You Dare". Now, though the English movie sounds corny and chick-flick-esque, it is actually a fucked up French film that leaves you a little mystified by prankster kids and their decision to live a roller coaster life based on constantly daring each other to do random tricks and who end up together being encased in drying cement. (There is really a lot more to this movie, but that is the no-credit-given summary.) Hah! Yes, and in the movie, one of the kids has a funny line about friendship where he says, "Friends are like eyeglasses. They make you look smart, but get scratched and then bore you. Luckily, sometimes, you get super cool glasses. Me... I've got Sophie."

I like this, because though he is squinting through his 3D glasses as a 10 year old kid, I think he is spot on. It makes me think about how the people we surround ourselves with really make us see the world through different lenses. And, sometimes we are fortunate enough to spend time with those who make us feel like this life is magical and alien, awesome and exciting beyond comparison, and like we are only just seeing it for the first time.

In the movie, years down the road of life, after thinking that what he had with Sophie was over, the main character-guy is being chased by cops, due to their trickster antics, and goes off on one the most excellent rants where he says, "Sophie was back in the game! Pure, raw, explosive pleasure! Better than drugs, better than smack! Better than a dope-coke-crack-fix-shit-shoot-sniff-ganja-marijuana-blotter-acid-ecstasy! Better than sex, head, 69, orgies, masturbation, tantrism, Kama Sutra or Thai doggy-style! Better than banana milkshakes! Better than George Lucas's trilogy, the muppets and 2001! Better than Emma Peel, Marilyn, Lara Croft and Cindy Crawford's beauty mark! Better than the B-side to Abbey Road, Jimmy Hendrix and the first man on the moon! Space Mountain, Santa Claus, Bill Gates' fortune, the Dalai Lama, Lazarus raised from the dead! Schwarzenegger's testosterone shots, Pam Anderson's lips! Woodstock, raves... Better than Sade, Rimbaud, Morrison and Castaneda! Better than freedom, better than life!"

It's pretty epic and awesome, and, like I said, it's definitely a really different kind of movie, but the French always make the most wacky movies, in my opinion. However, maybe it's more of a accurate representation of this world - twisted and distorted, outlandish and unpredictable, chaotic and imaginative - than what Hollywood churns out. For in the same post that I gush about crushes and identify with the tumultuous relationship story of two, pretty much demented, French children, I also have to say that I put my two weeks notice in yesterday, which means, that while it is easy to forget the whole world when you are with someone you care about, the road is waiting. The road, a twisted and unpredictable track for me, riddled with its emotion and adventure, calls me away from the land of enchantment, away from little kid emotions and antics, and away from, haven't quite felt this way in a while...

Tell Me What's Important

It's hard listening to someone complain about their life, over and over again. It makes me think about Dane Cook's comedy skit where he says, in a prissy woman's voice, something along the lines of, "I can't just break up with him, Karen, it's not that easy - my CDs are in his car. I can't just walk away without my CDs."

My mother is like Dane Cook's character, but when it comes to all things that equate to her happiness. She worries about things she can not fix, she comes up with barriers to her own happiness, she plays the victim card every chance she gets, but when we get into a serious conversation about her making some important life choices she responds with the likes of, if she "hadn't sacrificed her life for us, she wouldn't be in the place she is in now." Or, if her life hadn't been destroyed by this and that, she might be able to live the life she always wanted.

We say, "Okay, Mom, so now what?"
 
She says, "I can't just move - it would be too hard on Zelly."

Zelly is our golden retriever...

We look at her and say, "Okay, Mom, that's an excuse."

The thing is, it sucks to pat someone on the back during a repetitive pity party. You want to just shake them awake and yell, "If you aren't happy, change it! If you need something different, do something different. If you don't like where you are, go!"

However, if there is something that I've learned from growing up in my family, it's that you can't change anyone, no matter how hard you want to. Instead, you must learn to accept them for who they are.

I'm doing my best to accept my mother for who she is. I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that she sees the world a whole lot differently than I do. I figure, if I went through a divorce, I would be sitting in a developing country on a beach, figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I'd go all Eat, Pray, Love on my life and go learn a language in another place, go backpack into the mountains, or chill in a rad location I'd always wanted to move to. My mom...hasn't quite got there.

I'm reading a lot of Carlos Castaneda right now, and one thing he makes me think about is that we all have our fears, but we have to face our fears. It is scary when life is ripped up from under us. It is terrifying when the world is shaken up, discombobulated and unlike what we've always known, but I believe that it is infinitely more haunting to imagine a world where you never seized that uncertainty and took advantage of your opportunities to live a different life.

I said to my mom, "You are in a unique situation where you can work on creating better relationships with those around you. Whether that is with your friends, your family, your daughters, what have you, you have the opportunity to focus on cultivating better relationships with others, as well as with yourself."

But, the pity party plays on. And, I worry about her. I worry about her priorities, about her goals, about how she sees herself, and about what she dreams of creating for herself. I just don't get it. I hope, for her sake, that she takes a second to look around - at what she has and either accept it, or harness the courage to move on from it.

She laughs when we talk about Carlos Castaneda, because she hears talk about Peyote, spirit animals, and existential questions, and she brushes them past with the wave of her hand, because, to her, they are simply not important.

She tells me about her living situation, her job, her baggage, the story of no resolution, and I brush them past, because, I too, believe that the things she is hung up on are not important.

I wonder, when will we see eye to eye?

Discovering The Land of Enchantment

This week, I have been increasingly stoked on Santa Fe, New Mexico. I think it is an amazing place to live and I straight up want to yell it from on top of a mountain.

Preaching about Santa Fe has become one of my regular activities, though, I have to say that when I was growing up in northern New Mexico, I couldn't wait to get the fuck out. I literally had no appreciation for the place and I felt like instead of being "The Land of Enchantment", New Mexico was more like "The Land on Entrapment."

I mean, I was an angst-y 17 year old and on top of that, I looked around me and saw those who lived here as just being the unfortunate ones who couldn't catch a break or didn't get out of the state while they still could. Yup, that's a lot of ill feeling towards a place. However, when the state only had one area code for the entire place - yes, I kid you not, the whole state had one area code until I was 18 years old - 505, it was easy to feel a little bit claustrophobic. It was if everyone was in each other's business and I thought this place had nothing to offer me. So, I ran from the 505 as soon as I was free from my parents overprotective clutches and I took off...never to return again! Ever!

Until I came back for real a couple of months ago. But, surprisingly, I didn't find the state that I had forsaken all of those years before. In fact, living in Santa Fe is a much different experience than I have ever known, because I keep meeting people who...want to be here. And, on top of that, I keep meeting young people, and rad young people at that, who have chosen, on their own, to move HERE from OTHER states! Hah! Mind blowing, right?

There is a sense of excitement and passionate energy swirling through the air of Santa Fe. Since I work at a liberal little place with a pretty high turn over rate, I get to meet people all of the time who are just moving to Santa Fe now and are psyched on it. They gush to me about the captivating landscape, the sunshine, the art scene, the outdoor activities, and the laid back lifestyle that they are setting into. Oh, and the kindness of the people here! One guy, who I work with, was telling me how he just moved here from the east coast and was also working in a deli there, but he said that the customers there were nothing like those here, where most everyone is friendly and nice to interact with. As he continued about his feelings regarding Santa Fe, I realized that it was the narrative that I am hearing from people all over the place. People are moving to Santa Fe with romantic notions and getting enchanted by the new age medicine, art, and community aspect that this city provides.

It's funny when you return to a place, or have the opportunity to look at it through a different lens. I even told my dad the other day, as we hiked through the golden aspens that decorate the Sangre de Cristo mountains on one of those "Indian summer" kind of days (sunny and summery though it is almost November), that I could be completely happy if I stayed in Santa Fe. I told him about the interesting and amazing people I keep meeting here, the opportunities I have to partake in outdoor activities in this incredible weather, and the chance to explore a place that I once knew so well, like I'm a tourist, makes me feel like I'm falling in love with the place for the first time.

I think New Mexico is not the kind of place that is traditionally beautiful, like a Hawaiian sunset, but it is beautiful just the same. If you take the time to notice the expansive blue sky juxtaposed with a landscape riddled with drama and emotion, if you get to spend time talking to people who have a strong sense of history and a pride for their culture, and if you let the excitement and energy of those around you entice you with their art and magic, this place will reveal itself to you, and when it does, you will see the beauty.

He's part donut, part jalapeño, a quarter cupcake and all-around awesome

On September 25, 2012, the Santa Fe Reporter published an article on one person who I

am personally obsessed with. I love his entire outlook on life and I just think he is all around

awesome. Plus, we need more people in this world who are like this. With so many stories all of the

time about people doing bad things to each other and not being loving and what no, I literally think

this guy is an inspiration. I mean how many people do you know who have enthusiasm like this -

holy smokes, he's a personal hero of mine. And, you best believe that next time I drive past him on my

way to work, I'm going to be honking and throwing peace signs. Word. Hah! This literally makes me

happy just to read.

Character Driven

He's part donut, part jalapeño, a quarter cupcake and all-around awesome

Enrique Limón

Three times a week, Micah Ortega becomes a donut.
“I’m ready, man!” he exclaims in a deafening, raspy, Randy “Macho Man” Savage baritone as he enters Whoo’s Donuts on a recent Wednesday.
“I need to kinda get the mojo going—you know, turn up the engine,” he says, making a revving motion with his hands.
Ortega says he gets his mojo from “L-O-V-E, baby,” and after donning a glittery, Michael Jackson-style glove, he begins his transformation.

Today, he’s wearing black pants, a red athletic shirt, gold-framed glasses, Mardi Gras beads and a striped top hat. For good measure, he throws in a Party City-purchased pimp cane with a sparkly handle.

“The more glitter you have on, the more people are like, ‘Whoa! What’s going on over there? Is that an alien?’” he says, bursting into a maniacal cackle. In the bakery’s production area, he approaches a giant felt donut costume.
“This is an intimate moment right here,” he says, making sense out of a pair of suspenders that hold the front and back parts of the costume together, then gently putting it on.
“Then, I make sure I’m OK,” he says, staring at his reflection in an industrial refrigerator with a glazed look in his eyes.
The look complete, he picks up his “secret weapon”—a wooden sign he fashioned himself—and gets in the zone.

Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning for the past three months, this has been Ortega’s routine: After checking in with the staff at Whoo’s, the 36-year-old former pre-med student dons a life-sized donut costume and stands curbside, hyping the fritter emporium.

It’s not easy, but Ortega has the dedication—and zaniness—to make it work.
“Regular people think I’m homeless, and homeless people think I’m crazy,” he says.
“I’ve had people throw money [at me] and say, ‘Hey man, here ya go.’ Who cares? It’s beautiful. I get drunk people coming, and they’ll play the instruments with me. It’s like a big party, actually,” he laughs. “It’s supposed to be, you know?”

Although being the only giant fritter in the city might seem isolating, Ortega isn’t alone today: His father, Jim Ortega, is unloading some tricks of his own from the pair’s Mitsubishi Montero. After being estranged for most of Micah’s adult life, they now work in tandem.
“I just moved here a year ago, man. Just to be with Dad,” the human donut says. “I wanted to reinvent myself. I wanted to do something different, you know, and this is working out for both of us.”
The elder Ortega takes a shiny Bach Mercedes trumpet out of its case, props himself next to the entrance to Whoo’s parking lot and starts playing “Stormy Weather” like a pastry Pied Piper.
“It takes it to a higher level, and people sure do enjoy it,” he says between notes.
He gazes at his son’s quirky getup.
“He was always an entertainer,” Ortega Sr. says of his son, “trying to make people laugh [and] be comfortable with themselves, consoling them when they have a problem, even though he’s not certified.”
“I’m a certified something, though!” Donut Man says, having visited the neighboring Body Up Nutrition for his “lifeline,” a black and green tea with a shot of energy.
But for Ortega, the costumed performance is more than just entertainment—it’s a bona fide business model. His one-man marketing business, Second Glance Promotions, has become so popular that Ortega has run out of hours in the work week, and he’s on the hunt for like-minded hires.
“I’m looking for some more freaks…freaks like me,” he says as he walks to the corner of Cerrillos Road and St. Francis Drive—or, as he likes to call it, “the intersection of the universe.”
“Yeah, baby!” he shouts at oncoming traffic. Initially, he gets no response; it’s still early, and people seem like they’re in a hurry to get to work. “The buses are awesome; they honk all the time,” he says—but even the bus drivers don’t seem to notice him.
“She was probably blinded by the light or is having a crappy day,” he says of one impervious driver. “You get old people here; you get cholos—everybody loves donuts; people are just a little sleepy today.”
Determined, he starts beatboxing to the music in his head. “The main thing is to connect with the audience,” he says, the maniacal laugh making a thunderous encore.
The third time’s a charm: The operator behind the wheel of the whisking Rail Runner gives him an approving nod.
“What up, Santa?” he roars. “What up, beautiful? Call me,” he tells a lass in a VW Beetle, his aforementioned mojo newly vindicated.
He’s breakdancing and engaging passersby with undeniable gusto; the energizing tea is clearly living up to its claims—he’ll see Justin Timberlake’s SNL Omeletteville character and raise it an Accu-Check blood glucose monitoring system. As Ortega performs, the melodious sound of his father’s trumpet floats across the busy street.

Ortega’s business model is decidedly lo-fi: It depends almost exclusively on the craziness of his costumes and his own, personal charisma. But Whoo’s co-owner Jeff Keenan says there’s no question that it works.

“It’s definitely worth doing,” Keenan says, calling Ortega’s thrice-weekly shift “the hardest-working two hours you’ll ever see anyone do.”
Ortega can attest to that. It’s 50 degrees outside, and his face is dripping with sweat. He started his shift 15 minutes ago and has another hour and 45 minutes to go.
“I used to work out, until I got this job,” he says. “[Now,] I’m doing cardio almost like, freaking six hours a day. I mean, this is crazy...this is like Tae Bo, or something.” Ever the entrepreneur, he jokes, “I’m thinking about getting a workout video going.”
Though some might assume otherwise, he says his job cuts the financial mustard. “I probably do above minimum wage,” he says, adding that he charges clients anywhere from $15 to $20 per hour, depending on how many days the gig will be and “what they want to rock.”
Keenan says the reward his business reaps is three-fold. After witnessing Ortega’s mojo-infused performance, some customers will come in right away. Others will mentally landmark the location and come back later. Still others, who haven’t seen the semi-legendary character firsthand but have heard rumors of his existence around the office water cooler, will tactfully wander in, too.
“It’s pretty amazing the impact it has on the business,” Keenan says.
Whoo’s can probably use the extra bump: It’s within walking distance of a 24-hour Dunkin Donuts, a McDonald’s and a green mermaid-emblazoned sign heralding the opening of a new, drive-thru Starbucks.
Ortega, however, is unfazed.
“Dude, the stakes are higher for them,” he says. “Because I’m here, they should be scared—because people love this stuff, man.”

Several piercing, woo-hoo! battle cries later, Ortega has finished his shift at Whoo’s and is headed to the next gig: promoting discounted haircuts at Salon de Bella on Rodeo Road. He loads the donut costume into his SUV and pulls out the next prop.
“These are six-foot-tall scissors, bro,” he explains. To err on the side of caution, he carries anything and everything he might need inside his car. “Sometimes I’ll have four gigs, and I have to change in the truck,” he says.
Other cartoonish objects in the “party mobile” include a giant electronic cigarette that emits real smoke, which he uses to promote The Vapor Store.
He pitched that client so well that his dad broke his pack a day habit and is now keen on e-puffers. “I’m down to about six or seven cigarettes a day,” Ortega’s dad says. “It’s working!”
His lungs given a rest, Ortega Sr. says he’ll belt out “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” on the horn while his son is at that gig. “It’s a joint effort,” he adds, a packet of Virginia Slims 120s peeking from his shirt pocket.
It’s this father-son combo that has turned the once strained pair into symbiotic accomplices and sets them apart from run-of-the-mill sign carriers hawking no activation fees or a plushie beaver trying to move used cars.
When asked how he responds when his buddies inquire about his son’s professional life, Ortega Sr. says, “I say he promotes businesses.”
“We make fun of that, you know,” he continues, when asked what happens when friends press for details. “Our neighbor has a son [who] plays football for the Chicago Bears, and he’s on the line, and he’s 6’5”. ‘And what does your son do?’ he’ll ask. Well. ‘He’s a donut, and sometimes he’s a little cupcake,’” he chuckles. “I’m proud of him, though. I’m very proud of him.”

Twisted Scissor: Ortega channeling his inner Dee Snider.

Along with the supersized shears, his son’s costume for the hair salon also includes metallic pants and a Dee Snider-approved wig.

“I’m spent, dude,” Ortega says. “I’m trying to get my second wind, man. This wig is going to help out.”
“Wait a minute, weren’t you a donut earlier?” a regular, in for his fade, says when he sees Ortega. The staff giggles.
“He’s a blessing,” salon head honcho Valerie Garcia says, adding that Ortega has been “the best form of advertising” she’s ever contracted.
Ortega conceives and embellishes each of the costumes he uses at his various gigs. In effect, they’re a reflection of his own creativity. When coming up with the salon costume, he says, “I was just like, ‘What will people stop and go ‘wow’ about?’ You’ve got hair, you got scissors…you don’t have to be a brain surgeon to know there’s a salon somewhere in the vicinity,” he laughs, holding onto a jug of V8 Fusion juice, his fuel of choice for the 11:30 am-1:30 pm shift.



Standing at the corner of Rodeo Road and Zia Drive, he’s ready for business, each honk from passing cars feeding his “ultra rock star” persona.
“It’s not all glamour, baby. It’s hard being a rock star,” he says, adjusting his Technicolor ’fro. “People aren’t ready for this man,” he hollers. “They’re like, ‘What the heck!’”
An elderly lady witnessing the shenanigans firmly presses the walk sign button, her eyes expressing a mix of awe and horror.
“Some people just like to be silly, I guess,” she says, fiercely clasping her purse as she finally crosses the road.
Ortega carries on.

His job, Ortega says, cuts the financial mustard.

Like every superhero before him, he has an interesting back story. His parents divorced when he was four. After his little sister was born with spina bifida—a congenital disease that can result in neural problems and sometimes paralysis—a young, musically and artistically inclined Ortega knew he was put in this world to make a change.


“I wanted to find a cure for paralysis. I wanted to help her—that was my dream,” he says.
He enrolled in a pre-med program at Oral Roberts University in Tulsa, Okla. One year from graduating, “life happened,” and he dropped out—but Ortega sees the positive even in that.
“What I really found out, after that world crashed down, [was that] maybe I can use that gift—which is songwriting and helping people—maybe I can use that to eventually help fund research to help my sister; use my gift to help in some way, rather than just finding a cure straight-up,” he says.
Still, his mother was recently unemployed, and Ortega took a string of odd jobs that barely made ends meet. Eventually, he landed a gig as the ringman at a “cowboy auction” in Tulsa, displaying everything from diamond rings to cattle à la Vanna White. It was there that he discovered his knack for marketing, devising a way to raise the bar for himself and his coworkers.
“They were just wearing plaid, and I was like, ‘Dude, we’re selling Baccarat crystal—we need to be upping it.’ So I wore a tux and white gloves,” he recalls.
That choice would lay down the groundwork for the rest of his life.
“They just let me go crazy, for some reason, during the auction,” he recalls. “I was able to read the crowd; they fed me. I was able to read them to see if what I was doing was making them happy—[and] so it kind of evolved from there.” Ortega found that not only was he good at promoting, but also that he truly enjoyed it.
“That was the beginning of me doing what I love,” he says. “I loved Thursday nights, man. They unleashed it; they said, ‘You can go crazy’—and I mean, I pointed at people, I yelled, I yipped and I wore a cowboy outfit, an Easter bunny outfit...”
But six months into his move to the Southwest, the former rabbit again had trouble landing a job.
His options running out, he stepped in to apply as a waiter at Joe’s Diner.
“I said a prayer that day,” he recalls. “I said, ‘God, please let me do a job that I can be me at, help people while doing it and make money.’”
They weren’t hiring. But before hitting the pavement, he noticed a waving cowboy leading people into the joint. “I was drawn to him. I said, ‘That dude’s cool, man.’”
Ortega approached the wrangler and started talking about his background. “He owned his own promotion company. Little did I know that I was pitching myself to him,” he says.
He landed a three-hour-a-week stint and, after the buckaroo relocated to Arizona, the gig was all his. Word of mouth quickly spread.
“People want to see the fantastic,” he explains. “They’re tired of the normal.” It’s all part of his plan for world—or at least Santa Fe—domination.
“I would love to have 25-100 entertainers, mimes, jugglers—dude, whoever! Just crazy freaks outside on every corner rocking it hard for everybody,” he says.

On another day, Ortega stands outside Wow Dawgs wearing a “hip-hop hot dog” costume, talking about that the City Different is ready for the marketing gremlins that, with his guidance, would sprout from his foam-covered back.

“I think that they want it, man,” the accidental performing artist says. “There are a lot of people that want to unleash that inner craziness inside them, here in Santa Fe—it would be like Indian Market, 365 days a week.”
Ever the pitchman, he shares his company’s slogan: “Second Glance will give your business a second chance.”
“There’d be a yeti on the corner over here, scissors over here,” he muses. “It would be like heaven on Earth. Or like Disneyworld on Earth.”
His 40-plus-hour workweek about to wrap up, he’s now dressed as a red pepper for Jalapeños, a Mexican restaurant and food truck.
He accessorizes the outfit with a pair of gray rattlesnake boots and a yellow raincoat for an effect he likens to “the Batman of the desert.”
He’s twirling a pair of maracas like nunchucks. Moments later, a hippie-looking dude, waiting for the light to turn, hops out of his car and joins Ortega by playing the bongos.
Wrapping up a rousing rendition of “Tequila,” the elder Ortega is confident that his son is destined for stardom.
“He’s already an icon, but he’s going to be an icon-con, like King Kong,” he says.
“You know, Brad Pitt was a chicken before he got into stardom. That kind of encourages me when I feel depressed,” Ortega Jr. says.
“Troy, baby! Watch out, Angelina!” he shouts.
Later, as Ortega stands next to the Jalepeños food truck, the topic turns back to his sister. “She’s like ‘Micah, why don’t you get a real job?’ Ha ha! She’s awesome; she’s cool.” His rough voice then softens as he shares how much he enjoys making her laugh.
“You know, people live in hell sometimes—and you just want to make heaven for them. You just want to give them a piece of heaven, basically.”
His dad’s amplified voice booms from a megaphone on the opposite side of the block. “Buy one, get one free here at Jalapeños. We’re at the corner of St. Francis Drive and West Alameda.”
Dad, it turns out, has suffered “four or five heart attacks and a mini-stroke,” so Ortega Jr. sees his creative marketing business not just as a career, but also as a chance to make up for lost bonding time.
“For him to be able to be out here playing the trumpet…I think I would do it just for him, so he has a good time,” he says. The fact that I get paid for it is straight up just gravy.”
Pensive, he reflects for a moment, and then his businessman side takes over.
“Just don’t tell the owners that, OK?"

Big Girl Jobs

Working part-time at the food co-op has provided me with everything that I wanted from a job when I returned to the United States. I work minimally, meet awesome people, and I still get a pay check every 2 weeks. Perfect. In fact, being in Santa Fe has given me the opportunity to live out my life in pretty much the most perfect way, for me - in my current mental space. Though it would be great to have a job where I made, you know, to make some "real" money (Real as in more than minimum wage for part-time work...haha, oh, full-time, there's an idea!), it is really awesome being able to work at such a laid back place with like minded folks and for the time, I dig it.

Today, while climbing up in the Jemez mountains, the mountain range that skirts Los Alamos, my adolescent retreat for hiking, camping, fishing, and socializing due to countless hours spent driving down intricate networks of dirt roads in cars borrowed from parents as we searched for elaborate party spots (outside of jurisdiction and away from forest service patrols), my friend asked me what I was trying to do once I returned from Korea. I thought - "Well, shoot. Coming back from Korea, eh? I guess there is just so much that I want to do still - school, classes, experiences, you name it, and I'm so young, that I'll just keep following my passions and see what happens."

I do want to get certified for this and qualified for that, travel here, and live there, but in the same sentence we joke about the luxury of having disposable income. This makes me start thinking to myself - do my life goals hinder me from ever getting on that road to, I don't know, stability? And, if I prioritize stability, does that mean sacrificing the 8 year old attitude I have in regard to my dreams and expectations for myself. Hey, I just want to go with the flow and do what I'm passionate about. Haha, in fact, it was just the other day that as my mom began to badger me about law school again and the possibility of me actually setting out a serious life plan, I responded by explaining my dream to convert a van into a mobile home and cruise around the continental United States. My poor mother. Yet, in all seriousness, due to the ambiguity of my course, I sometimes worry that I am at a crossroads, as so many others are at this age - twenty something and really just starting out on their own. There is an emphasis for people to settle down and get serious - like our lives belong to two different avenues - a crossroads between "the road" and settling down. Between travel and stability. Between part-time purgatory and career moves.

As a response to this whole big existential crisis, here's the deal with this whole living-in-the-real-world-thing, we don't know the end result of our decisions; we can't foresee our 80 year old selves reminiscing on "what-ifs" or dwelling on regrets, so how are we supposed to know what is best? For one, I believe that stuff makes people crazy, but all that we have right now are our whims and desires. I say, go after what's good - no matter what that is. It's all subjective, right? I know the road isn't for everyone and I also know that many of us have already made some pretty life altering decisions that make us feel like the time for dealing with all of this is in the past, if it can even be broken down to a two possible outcomes/a delineated fork in the road/a heads or tails kind of deal.

I guess what I've come to realize is that we are sometimes so hung up on tomorrowland, that we forget about what's going on around us. Working at the co-op has taught me a lot about people, about those from different walks of life, and has made me appreciate this city for what it has offered me. Though I'm still making minimum wage, am barely an adult, and don't have any real stability or possessions to speak of (hah!), by focusing on living passionately in Santa Fe, I have been thriving in this new environment and realizing that maybe it doesn't have to be a choice between one way or the other, that I can shun this socially imposed binary, and if I keep focusing on living out this life in my passionate, 8 year old way, big girl jobs might be in my future, but for now my priorities lie in meeting rad people and scraping by, and, I dig it.

Mr. Genuine

Flagstaff, Arizona is chock-o-block with colorful characters. Back in 2010, going out on a Wednesday night in that mountain town meant glitter, neon, and the expectation of seeing a plethora of "gingers", folks donning literal fox tails, and new age hippie types getting down to the get down. I went back to Flagstaff at the beginning of August, this year, and I felt right at home when I turned to a girl at the bar who resembled a cat due to her DIY cat face paint across her otherwise 80's inspired self. Characters. 

Stray from the ASU wannabe stream, shun Greek life, and embrace the character club that becomes Flagstaff's alternative bar scene; you'll get quite a taste of local culture. The character who all of my guys friends were hung up on when I was back at 7,000 feet was an individual who was just "soooo damn genuine". "Genuine in what way," was my question. "Just soooo damn genuine," was their resounding answer. "You'll know what we are talking about when you meet him," they told me. "The guy just oozes genuine-ness."
 
And, girls apparently, love it. (Which was most definitely why the guys proceeded into a full explanation of the "head tilt", direct eye contact, and slow, complimentary emotional tone of speaking which scores Mr. Genuine hot chicks in Flag, while my friends battle in snark-y conversations on the sidelines.) Disclaimer: Boys, if you are reading this, I totally love you and your snark-y selves.

I can see how it works, though. I mean, I don't need a guy who tilts his head to a near 45 degree angle when he holds my hand, looks into my eyes, and lathers on a nauseating layer of (Are you really being genuine?) genuineness, when he opens his mouth. However, the reason I'm explaining all of this is because I am being driven crazy by this dude, who I work with, who keeps trying to engage with me on that bickering word battle level that is just self-conscious-boy-flirting, but honestly, comparatively, I'm kinda wondering to myself - where the hell is a little straight talking genuine-ness? The thing is, most of my life, I've been in some little debate world, (literally) where as a member of the debate team, hanging out with debaters incessantly, my life became about nit-picking counter plans, arguing about the implication of words and economic policies, obsessing over fake-world bullshit and trivialities stemming from the Economist, and seeing this as a normal way of engaging with people. I looked for partners in friendship and in love who could 3-point an argument or at least didn't shy away from cynicism, political banter, or pretentious elitist debate game playing! Hah! Holy cow! 

However, I'm not the same girl I used to be. I don't get off on belittling patronizing or condescending quips that I used to see as confidence or the ability for a guy to "hold his own". I don't. I want to surround myself with those who prioritize respect for people, not a desperation to be "right". This guy talks down to me in front of others, then has the audacity to announce to me that he has to ask me a question, but he has to wait until after work...doesn't ask me right away, but lets it sit out there - hovering over our next handful of interactions, though he continues to make a big deal about needing to ask me a question. All of this makes me ultimately uncomfortable (Is he actually going to say something or are we about to share another weird silence due to the unresolved question mark that needs attending to? i.e. "Buck up, princess"), but then he doesn't ever get the courage to ask me out - just asks me about where to go and get a good beer - all while belittling me as an excuse to converse with me in our work place. Oh gosh - this is a rant. Tell us how you really feel, right?  

What I've come to realize is that though I'm interested in people's reading lists, I'm not trying to date you because of it. If you have a gift of gab and are quick on your feet, that's awesome, but the manner in which we speak should not leave me wounded by zingers. We live in a world where we underestimate the importance of making people feel comfortable; we say things to watch reactions and we test the water before we show our emotional selves. If head tilting and deep pools for irises are all part of some guy's "game", at least they result in an overdose of sincerity rather than the feeling of being put "on tilt" and needing to assert your intellect, as a justification for respect, before a dude will just buy you a beverage.

I like my brothers to be snark-y, but my threshold is all tapped out. I'm not down with getting to know folks through pissing contests and resume face-offs. I like comfort and characters. Hah! I like gingers, fox tails, uninhibited dancing, and if a guy tells me he used to be fat, I know I'll love him for life. It's because he probably doesn't realize how beautiful he is, but he's seen it all, and after all those years he didn't feel like a million dollars - he compensated by developing a stellar personality, unparalleled sense of humor, and an enormous heart. 

I'm not going to make assumptions about what is successful in relationships and dating, nor will I make blanket generalizations about what women want. I just know that we all can learn a lesson from Mr. Genuine. In a world so ready to blanket emotions with sarcasm and snark attacks, it's almost a novelty for a someone to put meaning behind a compliment. Honesty, with our emotions, requires a hell of a lot more confidence than intellectual sparring. Bravery is shown through wholeheartedness and is way more endearing than sucker punches.

In Flagstaff, the San Francisco peaks edge the town and they stand as tall, in many cases, as the walls around bleeding hearts.  So go on, maybe tilt your head a little, you know, it takes real confidence to just show you care.

Adventure Hot Spot

Last night, I was lost in a dream consisting of me, manning a elongated kayak, barreling down a Thailand marsh-y stream thing at about 70 miles an hour, stressed to the max, and unsure of my direction. I jolted awake - I jolt in my sleep...frequently...for the record - and after my stress level simmered, I realized that I have been having a lot of boat dreams where I'm sailing or kayaking or on some sort of floatation device on turbulent waters. Now, to get all Freudian on this dream world adventure, I guess I'm thinking a lot about some stressful changes in my life and the uncertainty of my direction - hence boats on turbulent water charging forward into the unknown.

I've realized that it was about a year ago that I started blogging and I did so in order to document some of the changes I was going through as a teacher in Thailand and a student in all other aspects of my own life. Since living in Thailand, I moved across the globe to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where my family lives in an attempt to reunite cut ties and reestablish face time. Now, I am waiting for my visa to be processed, trying to get organized, and doing all that I can to prepare myself in mind and heart for the next adventure that I will embark on - to Daejeon, Korea.
 
Just as I am still adventuring into unfamiliar territory, two of my friends also recently set out on an adventure of their own - cars packed up, contracts severed, and hearts set on northern Colorado. Without much experience in this area, just romantic ideas and restless spirit, they cruised through the Rockies in search of a new place to climb, find some work, and call home. After Orgeon-trailing it across the west, they found that their destination wouldn't be in the Mile High city, the yuppie mountain towns, or even the plains where hippies and ranchers congregate around microbreweries and the "great outdoors". To my surprise, they ended up parting ways and pursuing different dreams in alternate directions, both deviating from their "Hollerado" (a term coined by my friend, Tommy Strehlow) adventure.

But the really cool part of meeting up with my good friend again in downtown Santa Fe, was that his spirits were high - bent on seizing opportunity and the uncertainty of this world. I got psyched. Then, when talking to the other half of the Colorado expedition crew, I said that it sounded like they were both in an "adventure hot spot" emotionally - that they were embracing change, instead of stressing the lack of plans and "sure thing" type of organizing that most of us are all bent on. Moreover, they were going after this uncertain world on their own - and that is definitely a feat in and of itself.
 
There's just something to be said about going somewhere just to see what happens, opening oneself up to change, and relishing in impulse-based decision making. So often we remain in places where we aren't satisfied or stimulated, we are working a job that doesn't fulfill us, or we are just unhappy, but we hang on simply because of the nebulous world that looms beyond our comfort box. I believe that owe it to ourselves to karate kick our way out of this zone of complacency, take command of the raft, and Cast Away from the shore - especially if we have gotten comfortable with talking to deflated volleyballs. (Could be a metaphor for the dead beat energy vampires we surround ourselves with....hey, we build our boxes...just saying...)

One of my favorite quotations comes from Mark Twain. He said -

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

Moonfrog, Check Mark, and Listening

When I think of grocery stores, I hear voices booming over intercoms announcing "price checks", "bagging assistance needed", and of course something like, "clean up on aisle three, we're gonna need a wet mop!" You're bound to find the over-worked cashier, the whining child, awkward carts, frantic shoppers, and blinding halogen lightening - illuminating the drudgery that is grocery shopping.

The typical grocery store is harsh, the environment is tough, and the shopping experience usually just saps your energy and happiness, but at the food co-op where I've been working, despite the inherent sporadic craziness of being a grocery store, is quite a bit different from the run off the mill "big box" grocery business. At La Montanita Cooperative, food is celebrated. People interact with one another. There's a feeling that the shop, which emphasizes local and organic food, is actually aiding you in your pursuit of health and wellness. It feels uplifting, a culinary promise land where you are surrounded by signs for grass fed, certified organic, gluten-free shit, and the opportunity to spend oodles of money on strictly soy products, five varieties of local squash, buffalo meat, and enough vitamins to substitute ever eating food again. It's awesome! Whole Foods gets it - that's why they are now wildly successful among foodies of all ages and Hummer driving soccer moms alike.

In the midst of growing popularity for the "natural" grocery industry, many community owned and cooperated establishments see Whole Foods as a corporate, brainwashing bully. The Co-op, surrounded by the construction of more and more Whole Foods chains, works to bring it back to the community. And, I assure you, it's more than the hummus and kombucha that makes this grocery shop seem so different than the norm; it's the eclectic customers that bring mindfulness to an otherwise mindless cashiering world.

Take Lola Moonfrog for example. Though donning a McLovin'-style name, this 60's could-a been "love child" changed my day with her peacefulness and positive outlook on life. Together, as we completed the task of separating her produce (based on delicateness) into cloth bags, we chatted and she shared her peacefulness with me. Such a interaction is not abnormal for the co-op of Santa Fe, where shoppers are nit-picking, quirky folks - bent on particulars, but it was her thoughtfulness that moved me. We talked about the beautiful sunset radiating through the shop windows and she told me about the difficulty of her day. As she pushed her purchases away from my register, she mentioned to me that it was during her hardest days that she looks to nature for the small reminders of goodness. And, in the 5 minutes that we shared at the co-op, she felt a greater sense of calm and had a better feeling about the rest of her day. I smiled. Lola Moonfrog had brought peace to me as well.

One guy, a hippie twenty-something, with a scratch on his forehead, recounted how he had been off hiking in the woods when he had gotten the scrape on his head. He thought it resembled a check mark. "Kind of like the world was saying, 'you're allllllright'," he told me. Haha, hell yeah.

As it got to the end of my shift; the time of night when the store grows quiet and the folks with extensive shopping lists give way to those hunting for sugar fixes and organic late night snacks, my manager came up to my register and started opening up about his wife leaving him 13 years ago, the weight of the divorce that he had just gone through, and the heartache associated with never knowing why she left. Now, here's the thing - I was listening to what he had to say when I felt so inclined to try to relate it to what I was going through with my parents. I said one thing, "my parents are also going through a divorce right now, so I completely understand." But, as soon as the sentence left my mouth, I felt awkward and selfish about it. I thought to myself immediately, "this person isn't looking for someone to relate too. He isn't trying to find camaraderie. Here is a 50 something, co-worker of mine, looking for someone to listen and, Nicola, you're being totally selfish in trying to get your fucking story in." Luckily, he kept talking and I was able to keep my mouth shut and be a good listener, but it was interesting to me that I felt so bad as soon as I tried to identify with him. I guess, what I was thinking was that sometimes we just have to listen. Usually I try to respond with something - you know, chime in with my two cents, but this was different. Sometimes, it isn't what is happening in our lives that matters. It's important that we are just "there"...and that's it.

How many times have you tried to give someone advice that they didn't ask for, dominated someone else's struggle with your own narrative, or overshadowed another's need for a listener with your impulse to speak? Maybe it wasn't that big of a deal, but it makes me think about the importance of listening, about when we are selfish, and what we can do to be more receptive to those around us.

Lola Moonfrog, the check mark hippie, and my manager shared amazing, but also difficult parts of their lives with me today. Though small in nature, they were what mattered to me at the end of the day, and throughout my day, made all of the difference. I figure that we can find comfort in the subtleties of all interactions if we are focused more on what this world has to teach us, than what we have to say. Now, off of my soap box, I hope that my faltering was remedied by my reminder to listen, for there are lessons around us - even amidst life's inherent distractions - loud speakers, halogen lights, and wet mops included.

Love In The Heart Is The Best Medicine

While I was working yesterday, a guy who I think is totally cute, came in to the co-op and gave me a fortune cookie fortune that said, "Love in the heart is the best medicine."
I said I really liked it!...totally that's what I'm all about, but then when I asked him to write down his member number so we could credit his account for his purchase, he said, hahaha, "You're sure you don't need my phone number? You could try calling this, but it wouldn't get you very far."

Bahhhhhh. And, what did I do? I panicked! I just laughed it off and didn't do anythingggg! hahaha. I started blubbering about the day I was having and, hahaha, it was terrible. I'm such a bashful child, I swear!

Based off of the posts that have followed my arrival in the states...oh, and a lack of posts since I've arrived - it can probably be guessed that things have been all over the place for me here...I haven't had a lot of time for blogging, and on top of that, I didn't really feel like blogging everything when most every day ended up as an adventure of sorts. Mostly, though, it has been fantastic. I have been living with my sister in Santa Fe, New Mexico and I couldn't be happier about it. Though there are adjustments on both ends, we are so similar in so many ways. During this last month that I've been here, we have enjoyed some great nights out, amazing family dinners in, learned new skills (like how to throw a Frisbee!), hiked all over northern NM, acted like we were having sleep overs every night, and started some tough conversations too about...well, this whole wacky world around us. She is my inspiration and it has been nothing short of incredible being able to spend my time with such a fabulous girl.....I just feel so gosh darn lucky that she's my sister.

New Mexico is an amazing place, because this place doesn't just win you over with conventional beauty. It's definitely a place where you have to look for it. But, I swear, when you do, this place rewards you. Lucky for me, this is green chili roasting season, so it seems like roasters are set up at every grocery store and street corner, filling the air with warmth and the sweet flavor of green chilies. You know, I'm not down on fall weather coming anymore. I was reminded that I love this time of year when I began pulling boots and sweaters out of moth ball ridden closets, drinking seasonal beers like Hoptober and Blue Moon Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale, getting pumpkin lattes, and taking morning walks through the mountains - amongst swirling aspen leaves. It is a great time of year to be in the south west.

However, I must relish these times shared with family in the land of enchantment, because at the end of the month, I'll be moving to Daejeon, South Korea. What?! Yes! Fact. I just accepted a debate teaching position starting in October and it is literally filling my life with stress (the good kind), anticipation, apprehension due to the unexpected, but mostly just down right excitement to be around some of my best friends. Especially this kid...mutha fuckin' Travis. I have been friends with him since basically day 1 of college.



But, before I get too caught up with the bite of the travel bug, I'm reminded daily of the love in my life and happiness to be surrounded by family here. Two of my family members, Ryan and Noah, get in to Santa Fe today and I feel like a little kid on Christmas waiting for them to arrive.



Yeah, things can be trying. Life can be tough and bring you down, but "home" is not location or things, "home" is love, family, and friendship. Home is the feeling I get when I smell green chile, see turquoise, and walk through the mountains of Santa Fe. So, though I still can't be normal around boys, haha, I'll hang on to the fortune.

Dealing With Fall

Someone once told me that their least favorite season of all was autumn, because it was the time when everything started dying and the world became cold. 

I was cuddling as far under the covers as I could to escape the crisp morning air that was slinking in from the open window, when I realized how strange it was that there was a cool morning around me in the first place. Getting out of bed, I grabbed my Goodwill oversize poncho, pulled it over my head, and gazed out the window, greeting the cloudy fall weather that encased my sister's apartment. Then, I headed for the kitchen, put a pot of hot water on, hunted for tea bags, and cut myself a piece of pie my sister's room mate had brought home last night. You know the kind of pie that's 1/3 whipped cream, 1/3 chocolate mousse, 1/3 guilty pleasure - a store bought sugar binge is what I'm referring to. It's a totally worthless sham of a food item, that can only be justified during the odd hours of the morning or at 7:00 a.m. with my Tazo tea and autumn feelings.

I curled up on the couch and began to analyze my bizarro dreams, which, by the way, have been unbelievably wild since I moved back to the states. And, I don't mean wild, like "out there", kind of dreams. More like, did I really teach a yoga class to a bunch of senior citizens and my mom in a public library? Why am I still dreaming about my days as a server at Lumberyard Brewing Company...and can someone please run this drink order to my table???

Mostly my slumbers have been hijacked by scenarios that are very close to reality, making my mornings puzzling as I try to figure out what is "dream world" and what is "real world". However, I guess we are always in dream world to some extent.

What can be said for sure, though, is that in this dream world/real world, as I hide from morning cloud cover instead of summer sun, it's apparent that fall is here. Even walking through the food co-op, where I have been working this month, butternut squash, pumpkins, and vegetables I haven't seen in years decorate the entrance way with colors like changing leaves on a tree. And, as I embrace this crisp autumn morning, the first true signifier to myself that summer is being replaced by a cooler and more transitory season, I feel it in more than just the dropping temperature and collection of leaves tornadoing around the backyard.

Since being back in America, or rather, settling in to American life here in Santa Fe, New Mexico, I have been faced by change in more than just a colorful way. As I knew I would, I came home to a lot of difficult conversations, separate lives, and actually, sadly, really no room for me. It's close to what I imagine being caught in a divorce is like as a child, but as an adult, your shit goes into boxes or storage somewhere and you'll be lucky to see half the stuff again. You don't have parents deciding when you spend time with them, ie. weekends with your Dad. No, that's now on you as an adult and so you morph into Catherine Zeta Jones in Entrapment, stealthily limboing your way around people's emotions and sensitivities, which always hurt worse than lasers, in my book. As an adult, you don't get a room in one parent's place and a room in another. As an adult, you usually lose two homes - home with them, together, as your parents, and home as in your house where your childhood is neatly wrapped up and kept safe for you to return to when you need it.

The truth is that spring has always been the time where I feel the most change and unsettled emotion. I think it was because that's always the time of year when you have to make decisions. Where do I want to go to college? Do I even want to go to college? What am I going to do this summer? Will this school year ever even end???

But, since I chose the end of summer to return to America, after almost an endless summer in Thailand, it's decision time, it's making moves time, it's where do you see yourself time, and I makes me realize that despite the crippling guilt of not being here, despite the guilt I just feel everyday, because of my parents, and my inability to do ANYTHING, despite the anger and sadness that I harbor because of what life has dealt, I have to keep going and this fall is a time for change.


I didn't think this post would take this direction when I sat down to write. I think I'll just leave it there.

Yesterday's Wine Post

Soooo yesterday...I was a couple of glasses of wine deep when I started writing about how "on top of the world I've been feeling". It makes me laugh now, but I guess sometimes we all have to gush. And, despite my soapbox antics, I believe I touched on a couple of important things that I want to talk a little bit more about: it comes down to a bit of culture shock.

My sister thinks I preach a little bit, and I know that's true, but I'm genuinely a "I want to yell this from on top of a mountain" type of person. Though living in the mountains, and despite my ability to yell from said mountains if I should choose, I end up preaching in blogger world and then anyone who wishes to subject themselves to my preaching gets to sort through my rants and shenanigans, deciding for themselves if there is really anything meaningful lying within these rambling paragraphs. But, I digress. Whoops!

Any who, back to this culture shock stuff. There is something that I have been noticing a lot recently. and I think I can call this reverse culture shock. However, it stems from an exposure to negative attitudes. For instance, yesterday I was filling out an application at the YMCA climbing wall while a girl I knew was working at the front desk. I was attempting to remember contact info and check little boxes while she was greeting the people who were walking into her place o' business. It was baffling how many people just walked past her and didn't say anything. That's instance number one, a small thing, sure, but it didn't really sit right. Then, I was having an interview at a health foods store when the manager asked me how I would prepare myself for dealing with angry customers, since as a cashier I could expect to hear a lot of grief from those on their way out the door. I was a little stumped by this question and told him about how I used to work for Greenpeace, so dealing with upset and emotionally abusive people was no big deal. Hah! Finally, I was chilling with some folks, I didn't know that well, when the conversation devolved into ranting about bosses and boyfriends and life in general. It was unrelenting and really more like girls just needing to "talk shit"...or something....I guess. I listened for a second and then had to walk away; it was exhausting. By the end of my day, I had come to the conclusion that though Thailand is a pacifist and generally calm place to live, (people never confront people to their face and are rarely, RARELY rude to one another) the whole world isn't like that. Well, duh, right? But, the thing is that I guess it just shocks me a lot more now. Simple courtesy like responding to a greeting, not taking your day out on a grocery store employee despite not being able to find any extra firm Tofurkey, or getting a sentence out sans "name calling" and shit-talking - these things matter. Being good to people around us...matters.

I really just can't stand to listen to people being rude, bringing each other down, or talking shit about others. I don't understand it. I don't have time for it. I think that it is a greater reflection of who WE are when we start popping off about someone else. Sure, emotions run high; people do things that are not always good and kind, and it can be really upsetting, irritating, unfair - what have you. Yet, I honestly think that there's got to be a better way to deal with it.

I'm not a saint here, by any means! Hah! Yeah, not at all, but I think it's sad when one of the glaring differences between being here and in Thailand is...I don't know...simple kindness?? Yeah, what the hell?

Around me people reinforce these attitudes and assumptions. My sister's boss has been worried about a coordinator coming in to work at their Santa Fe store from Washington D.C., because as the Chilean woman says, "Those people in D.C. are not like us." She insists, "We are warm, they are cool." It makes me laugh, but we don't all have reputations as nice people!

This is something that I've been trying to grow accustomed to. Now, maybe it's partly due to the fact that I can now understand what everyone around me is saying, so I can hear when people are unkind to one another...hah!, but it has definitely struck me and I believe that if we project positivity, it just makes sense - good things will come back to us.

So, now I'm doing that whole job hunt deal, like I mentioned at the beginning of this post. I'm taking my resume to schools, gyms, grocery stores...anywhere!...but, like I said, things just FEEL a little different than any other job hunts I've ever been on. I've been all sorts of chipper and positive - grooving on the ol' peppy step, if you will...haha - and it's like opportunities just keep falling in my lap. Hey, people say attitude is everything, well, I'm noticing a lot of attitudes around me and I'm definitely seeing the difference.

We don't need abrasiveness and bringing people down to bring ourselves up. We don't need negativity and, honestly, I thought bitching and shit-talking was something people graduated from once the secret got out on how hollow it is. If we barely have time to be with the people we want to be with, doing the things we want to do, in the places we want to be in, why fill it up with negativity? Opt out!

I guess, at the end of the day, when life is just charging along at unbelievable speeds, we just have to leave the spilled milk and yesterday's wine alone.

Get at me!

My big concern about being in America was that I would be faced with a large dose of culture shock, that the world around me would be changed, and that I wouldn't know my place. However, after being in America for a month, I'm realizing something that I had never expected - this world around me isn't that different. Instead, I'm the one who is different.

I'm different and I'm realizing this since I've returned to the United States. I'm not the same. I'm not the same person. Though I thought that it took me a year and a half to get back to "me", I was never getting back to "me", I was getting back to something else. I was finding a different person, a better person, a new person. That person I was trying to find wasn't someone from my past. It was a new sense of self.

It's crazy, but since being in America, things seem to just "happen" for me, if that makes sense. No, it doesn't make sense. It's strange, but life isn't the same as when I left in 2010. Maybe, it's because I'm just making this life what I want it to be. I'm positive, optimistic, and have some fucking "swagga". I have that "get at me attitude" and it's incredible to feel on top of the world, but I'm realizing that the attitude I now have is a culmination of life experiences, of low points, of high points, and of new found confidence in myself. I never thought that Thailand was changing me or had changed me rather, but it's apparent now. I guess we sometimes have to leave our comfort zones or confront ourselves in order to discover what lies within us.

I don't give a shit about drama; I'm not trying to be rude to people. I don't want to bitch and talk shit. I'm different and this is how I'm trying to live my life. I'm psyched about positivity and optimism; I'm all about the "no one's gonna keep me down" mentality. I'm on the fast track and I don't have time for "nay sayers" and negativity, 'cause a month into America living, this is how I am. This is the new me. I'm comfortable in this skin I'm in and all I can say is "Child, please. Get at me!"

What does it take for us to maintain our "stoked", our "amped living", or our "swagga"?

I'm lucky to feel this and I know that now, but I've gotta ride it out 'cause being on top of the world is fleeting. Take advantage of those times when you ride cloud 9; live it up when you are positive and optimistic. Life is beautiful and incredible, but it's a mindset mixed with opportunity...and I'm realizing that now.

Santa Fe, New Mexico

I left for New Mexico after allowing myself a longer stay in Flagstaff than expected. (Though I was thrilled to be amongst my friends, local coffee shops, and the San Francisco peaks, I needed to get home to my family; the land of enchantment was urging me to hit the road once more.) I had planned to catch a ride back to the neighbor state with someone using rideshare on Craigslist, but schedules didn't line up, so I was dropped at the Greyhound station by my Flagstaffian friends for the 6 hour bus excursion.

The Greyhound bus lurched and careened down the I-40 between the two border states, and as we reached Gallup, New Mexico, a storm swirled overhead. I had forgotten that one reason I love the south west is because many times when a storm is coming, you can see it threatening even hundreds of miles away. This was that kind of storm. The hodge podge of Greyhound passengers, including a gentleman next to me who persisted in explaining to me how to keep myself healthy and be a good wife, despite my feigning sleep, finally slowed in their talking to look out the window and take in the rainbows that arched across the sky. It was one of those "double rainbow" experiences where all passengers strained their necks, disregarding those traveling next to them, just trying to get a look at the rainbows. Suddenly, we realized that shining brilliantly, not two, but three rainbows soared above the desert floor to create a type of snow globe border to our New Mexican sky.

"This is why I love New Mexico," I thought, and I joined the rest of the crew in gawking at the wonders of the south west. "Take me home, take me home," I chanted in my head and we climbed the hilltops towards Albuquerque, leaving the desert, the storms, and the rainbows behind.

There are two views that make me think of home: the first is the overlook of Albuquerque right past Acoma Pueblo on the 40. It's the sight of the valley stretched out beneath the colossal Sandias, the city sprawling across the sandy basin, and the evening settling in on those afternoon drives east that makes me feel like I'm finally home. The other is the climb up to Los Alamos. There is no other road like it - hugging the mesas as the highway charges up to the secret city, the sun setting behind the Jemez and illuminating the Rockies - that's what I love about northern New Mexico. I love the colors and the contrast. This place has drama. It is emotional to look at.

In an e-mail to a friend, I tried to express my feelings of being home, but all I could talk about was turquoise and Santa Fe style buildings. Everything came back to the colors, the colors, the colors. He wrote back something like, "have fun with those colors", mocking my childish ways and obsession with the southwest's palette, but I had to shrug it off, because there's nothing like it and this is what keeps me coming back. It really is just about the colors - capturing the beauty that is embedded in the place I call home.

Pulling into the Greyhound station, in downtown Albuquerque, colors, storms, and rainbows aside, I had only one thing on my mind. There would be a 21 year old girl waiting for me there. A girl who shares my history, my thoughts, my obsessions, my story. A girl who is like the other part of me and is someone I love like an arm or extremity of some sort - with necessity. My sister.

I hauled my massive backpack out from under the bus and as I approached the station, there she was. All tears and excitement - all hugs and love. Santa Fe, New Mexico means family to me. This place means blood and drama and colors. It means life isn't always easy, but you have to look at the struggle of the desert and you'll see something great here. It enchants you. It captivates you. I wish I could tell you about reds and yellows and immediately paint you a picture of what I see here. I wish you could feel what I feel when I see turquoise and stucco, juniper blanketing the foothills and the Sangre de Cristo mountains, sandstone and menacing storm clouds, but you'll just have to take my word for it - it's the colors, it's family, it's home.