Food Education Part 2: Richard

The second person to have a dramatic impact on me during my time at the Co-op was Richard*. Richard was noteworthy for his momentous produce purchases, his friendly disposition and clothing, which looked like he was prepared for much colder conditions.

"Rutabaga, parsnips, arugula, daikon radish, romanesco..." I rapidly typed in the codes for all of the fresh goods on the touch screen at my register. It had become a sort of game to see if I could get all of the codes entered in correctly without having to look at my reference sheet. In between my hasty typing and transferring of grocery items across the register, we started talking.

Richard was a personal chef for people with health ailments and he cooked in a way that attempted to ease the issues his clients were experiencing, through dietary changes dependent on fresh foods. I don't remember seeing him buy anything in a package. I doubt that he ever did. We began sharing recipes, books, and information about different uses for produce, though I have to say that I was more of a student, due to my then limited experience with fresh food and cooking in any way. In any case, we started discussing a lot of environmental issues and the politics of food. I shared with him the changes that I had identified when I was living in Thailand and he related to my experiences through his time living in Hawaii.

Richard lived on the island of Kauai, where he had learned about a different way of life from the local people. He had been embraced by a peaceful, loving, patient culture - much like what I had found in Thailand - and he made his home there. Throughout the years, he learned about the community and their tie to the natural environment. They grew an assortment of produce on the tropical, bountiful land - establishing a sustainable way of life that thrived in this island oasis.

However, the island, with its rich soil, natural resources and superb growing conditions, also became of interest to companies like Pharmacia - the former Monsanto (Monsanto's website) as place to work on genetic seed cultivation. With this expansion of seed companies and biotech industries, the environmental conditions on the small island began to drastically change.

In a haunting article from Truthout, a non-profit news source, "On the Front Lines of Hawaii's GMO War", Mike Ludwig writes, "The GMO seeds produced on Kauai are not considered food items, so the agrichemical companies are allowed to use more pesticides than traditional farmers. Together, the four biotech and agrichemical companies use an estimated 18 tons of "restricted use" pesticides on their plots each year, and local doctors and activists worry about the chemicals drifting in the air and water."

"Biotech agriculture facility and irrigation ditch near the beach on the Hawaiian island of Kauai." (Photo and caption: Mike Ludwig)

Richard lived next to one of the fields being sprayed with chemicals and over time began developing serious health problems. The doctor he visited in Kauai told him that he needed to leave the island or he would die. Devastated by the idea of leaving his home and his community on Kauai, but suffering a myriad of health problems, Richard decided to return to the mainland and ended up in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

I asked if he was thankful that he had the option to leave - an option that local people are not afforded. He looked deeply saddened by the question as he responded, "that was my home."

"Rutabaga, parsnips, arugula, daikon radish, romanesco..." I type.

Heartbroken by his displacement, Richard still dreams of his life in Hawaii, a place he can never return to. 

Sources: 

Ludwig, Mike. (2013, November 13). On the Front Lines of Hawaii's GMO War. Truthout. Retrieved from http://www.truth-out.org/ 

*Names have been changed due to the personal material in this post.

Food Education Part 1: Juicing

During a year of this culinary rediscovery, one in which I preserved food, built upon my previous baking experience of just add oil and water, and explored the trend of juicing, I began to get to know food. Some of my "concoctions", as my sister would warmly describe my attempts at food creation, turned out better than others. In time, I started to get a handle of things. I began speaking with people more qualified on the subject of cooking, who became my resources for learning and my inspiration to challenge myself. In the cooperative grocery shop environment, the collection of teachers available was bountiful.

Each from diverse backgrounds, and in many cases interacting with food in very different ways than I had ever considered, the people I was in contact with had a profound impact on me. There was Lola Moonfrog, a co-op regular who I assisted one day in a quick therapy session (for both of us) and the bagging of her groceries in individual cloth bags. It felt intimate to be so carefully handling heirloom tomatoes and delicately placing the beautiful fruit into her shopping cart.
(Blog post on Lola Moonfrog and "listening")

There were folks who wouldn't allow you to scan their purchases or refused to stand next to the scanners, so I spent a fair amount of time typing in barcodes and conversing with people who held very different opinions than myself. There were, during this work experience, two people who influenced me the most: the first was a juicing advocate.

When people think about juicing, they may still be thinking about Lance Armstrong and steroids, but for those in the nutrition business, "juicing" emerged as a method of liquifying your fresh fruit, herbs and vegetables into a simple juice to be consumed as a dietary supplement or meal replacement. It is an amazing way to get a lot of the nutrients from your fresh veggies, consolidated into an easily consumed form.

I had the opportunity to chat with a customer who had severe diabetes and, as a result, had lost feeling in a part of his face. We started talking after I commented on the massive amount of fresh produce that was gliding down the conveyer belt toward me.

"My doctor said I would never get over the diabetes," he explained, "and he said that the feeling in my face would never return. Then, I started juicing."
I looked up at him from the rainbow spread of fresh foods that were now decorating the register. He smiled, "I juice every meal. I take my juicer with me when I leave town or go on vacation. My doctor can't believe it, but I cured my diabetes and the feeling is coming back in my face."

I was stunned. I grew up with a mom who I called a "health nut", because she was diligent about putting balanced and diverse food on our table. But, we still grew up with processed food. I call it hybrid cooking where packaged food and homemade meals are mixed together. For instance, we would buy a pizza crust and then top it off with broccoli and veggies that, as a child, I could have done without. I remember making complaints about not eating something "normal", but that same kid grew up thinking about healthy, nutritious food and would one day try to help those walking around the grocery store looking for "normal" bananas realize that they meant "nonorganic". And, we didn't sell that stuff.

Though, on the spectrum of food knowledge, I had a ways to go.

Dairy-Sea-Legs

Not too long ago a friend asked me if I had ever thought about being vegan. I told her flat out that I had no interest in it. (I didn't mention that the night before, I had been scribbling on the back of bar napkins angsty comments about vegans who buy meat replacements at places like Costco. Yeah, I've got an opinion or two.)

I explained that I had changed my diet for health and environmental reasons about six years ago, when I began limiting my intake of meat. Excluding all meat, with the exception of fish, is referred to as a pescetarian diet and I have followed that lifestyle for some time now. While still eating animal products like eggs, milk and cheese, I was pretty rigid about the presence of meat in my diet.

Then, something changed. Well, actually, a lot changed and has been changing for some time. Looking back on it now, I guess it has been a long time coming. When I returned from Thailand, I started working at a food cooperative in Santa Fe, New Mexico. After being out of the country for a few years and away from my absolute favorite foods, finding myself surrounded by western food, I embarked on a culinary love affair. It felt like I was rediscovering produce, vegetarian options, cheese - foods I had only dreamed of while I was overseas. However, things were strikingly different.

For one, very quickly, this dream world comprised of joyous, delectable feasts, came to a grinding halt when I realized that I couldn't stomach all of the dairy. Here I was, in the land of glorious, cheesy New Mexican food, pizza and macaroni - delicacies in the land of stir-fry and curry, but my body was being destroyed. I felt terrible. I couldn't believe what a havoc it wrecked on my system, and this was after less than two years of eating a mostly dairy-free diet. Not by choice, but due to regional availability.

During the height of my war with dairy, I met Phil. I think it would be reasonable to say that Phil is a mad scientist when it comes to mac and cheese. When we started dating, he was cooking up the dankest and certainly the cheesiest recipes I had ever tried. I persevered through each meal and somehow got my dairy-sea-legs.

So, I started changing my diet back to "normal", but after being in a different country for so long and seeing a lot of different ways of living and thriving, I could see how things were starting to change for me beyond my difficulties with dairy. I was really taking the time to consider my health, my body and my relationship with food.

It is due to this relationship with food, my body and the world around me, that I have revisited my friend's question and have arrived at a different conclusion than I had anticipated.

This is the beginning of a new adventure. Stay tuned.

Unpacking Compassion

Sunday morning and the light is soft. The room, where I unpack my belongings, feels like a hug - enveloping me in a sense of security that I have searched for since Phil and I left Santa Fe. Yes, everything is falling into place, but, gosh, there were times last month when I was debilitatingly stressed about the outcome of things.

We all face challenges; we all struggle and need a helping hand from time to time. Luckily, Phil and I were incredibly blessed to receive assistance through our own transition. It made all of the difference to us and it reminded me that despite the magnitude of what we were dealing with, there were people just around the corner who were compassionate and willing to help in the transition. When it seemed as though everything was building into an impossible obstacle, (financially we were at our breaking point just two days before our move - our car broke down and it was going to cost more than what we had to get it repaired), people offered to give us rides, pick up moving boxes, aid in the move and even helped repair our bikes to get us mobile again. It made our move not only possible, but one of the easiest moving days, probably in the history of moving!

It wasn't easy and there were times when I felt hopeless and frantic, but we were persistent and eventually the storm subsided. I have to admit that it took every part of me to not outwardly lash out at...everyone...and certainly those who seemed bent on complicating our predicament further. I wanted so badly to be a sixteen-year-old girl and prank the shit out of my housemate. Haha! I really had dreams of supergluing everything in our house and mailing her milk stink bombs. I know! A part of me really wanted to make things as difficult for her as she had made things for us. However, every time I had these irrational thoughts, I took some deep breaths and reminded myself of the kind of person I want to be. It was really hard! And, it is scary that the line between goodness and malice is so fine. I saw that line in myself and I was reminded of the anger and bitterness that grows within people and makes them sick. I stuck to my resolve and I left the house in an untampered condition - repeating to myself to act with compassion. 

I know that I am not alone in this. After I wrote my last post, touching on the struggle I was going through, I received a personal message from someone I interacted with back in the day, who I have since lost touch with. In their message, they apologized for lashing out at me on the internet in response to my blog post. I didn't have the opportunity to read what they wrote, as they removed it quite quickly after writing it, but apparently they had been set off by reading about my problems and after experiencing a terrible, personal loss, had responded "distortedly". I wanted to write about this because though I can never begin to imagine what they are going through, I believe that this is a common reaction, especially when in the internet world we are seeing the juxtaposition of our lives and others quite blatantly. This can be a disheartening challenge in and of itself, but certainly when you have experienced something horrible in your own life and then you see on the interwebs, people lamenting about their own issues that are so far from your own. It can be extremely isolating and, shit, the Facebook world is totally distorted. So, what I have to say about this, and what I continue to believe, is that we are all going through our own battles and struggles - daily. Sometimes it pertains to bad days, relationship strain or serious loss, however on some scale, we are all in this limbo of struggle. If we respond to this in a distorted and unhappy way, I understand. If we are weakened by the magnitude of the weight that we carry, I get it. It is okay. I just wish for love, positivity and for all people to mend.

I feel the cool morning air swimming through my new space. Reflecting on challenges behind me in conjunction with an awareness of a heightened sense of my own strengths and weaknesses, I know that there will be more to address, more to shoulder. No matter what trials we face, we will be forced to consider who we are, what we are made of and who we want to be. It isn't easy and sometimes we need a little bit of compassion and a helping hand. 

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.” ― Plato

Kindness Tested

Oh yeah, I used to write...

Hey there, blog world. I used to be diligent about writing and it was incredibly therapeutic. I guess I have just been finding therapy in other avenues. I have been climbing...a lot. I draw and paint. I make hippie hair wraps and mess around with Mod Podge. I have fun talking about politics and the world -with my partner. I make elaborate meals, even when I don't have too much in my pocket. I garden too, and this year we were able to grow some epic squash - though we did have to transplant a lot of our plants after our living situation changed. This is the topic of my post today: change. Phil comments that it is the year of the snake and as we have experienced a hell of a lot of change this year, it feels fitting. Shedding skin can't be comfortable, and for us, it hasn't been the easiest of years. However, we have changed tremendously, learned a lot about who we are and I believe that we have become better people for it.

Recently, someone did something absolutely devastating to the two of us and it has required every bit of my strength to try to stay calm and rational through it all. This is the abridged version of the story:

Phil and I were away on vacation while the owner of the home that we rent was putting in a horrible retaining wall in the backyard. (If you have ever driven down a highway and have seen the cage and rock retaining walls on the side of the road, you know what I am looking at in our backyard. Oh, and when they can out of materials, they just used pallets and t-posts.) Returning from vacation, we found that our property had been severely damaged during the creation of this wall - our backyard garden had to be removed in order for the retaining wall to be put in, hose nozzles had been smashed and the yard was left as an unfinished construction site. We were devastated. Additionally, we discovered that during the week we were away, the property manager had been fired for mismanaging funds, losing the copy of our contract (a document that, though we asked for repeatedly, was never copied for us) and for not making repairs to the house while it was under his supposed care.

After all of this destruction, when we were asked to sign a new lease, we decided that we would start looking for other places. Our room mate, a 40 year old woman, Kelly, told us that she had already turned in her 30 day notice and was finding a place with her friend. We asked to speak to the new property manager to discuss our options. He suggested that we might want to turn in our 30 day notice too. So, we decided to turn in our notice, but to keep our options open in case we weren't able to find a place. We looked for a couple of days and then decided that with our passive-aggressive room mate moving out that we would take over the lease. On top of that, we hadn't been planning to move right before Phil started school and we were realizing that it just wasn't financially feasible. I wrote to the home owner asking for the option to take over the place. Before I heard back from the home owner though, I came home to find Kelly showing the place to prospective tenants. Confused, I asked her what was going on and she said that she wasn't leaving. Okayyyy.

We talked and I explained to her that it wasn't financially feasible for us to leave either. I suggested that perhaps we could all figure out a solution to the living situation. She didn't seem happy with that option. Then, the following day, I received an e-mail from the home owner stating that she couldn't let us stay in our room, because she had already promised the lease to someone else....our room mate - Kelly!

So, we had our room sold out from underneath us. And, to add to this...we haven't found a place to move into, so we are still desperately searching.

How do you live with someone who will do something like that to you? How do you share a house with someone who is now trying to fill the rooms of a house that you have called home, while you have nowhere to go. I can't believe it. I simply can't believe that people act in this way to each other. She's a 40 year old woman. She has lived this way for half a lifetime. Not once in this whole ordeal did she talk to us about our plans or even give us an indication of what she was doing.

Devious.

So, after shaking with anger for a day, then thinking about sadistic shit, then realizing that slippery slopes are not for me, I am trying to put one foot in front of the other. I am attempting to remind myself of the kind of person that I am and who I want to be, despite it being so damn hard sometimes.

We are doing our best to embrace the change - shedding the skin of a living situation that we were struggling to make work, hopeful for what will come. With less than a week to find our new home and to move - I'm keeping my fingers crossed for miracles, desperately hoping that I will be rewarded for my resilience, yet realizing with that whatever happens, I am learning about who I am and the kind of person I want to be.

Oh, and at least I'm writing again.


"Our duty is to encourage every one in his struggle to live up to his own highest idea, and strive at the same time to make the ideal as near as possible to the Truth." Swami Vivekananda 

Community

Though we live in a seemingly "paperless" world, for those who have a permanent residence, you are rewarded with a substantial amount of mail. Usually said mail comes in the form of bills, flyers, promotions and other seemingly useless pieces of waste. For Phil and I, living in Arcata and now at a permanent residence, we have also started receiving mail, but the funny and amazing thing is that a lot of our mail has come hand written. Yes, world, try this on for size:

The other day, I collected the pieces of mail that had been delivered to our box, flipping through the mail for house mates, until I came across a letter for us. The envelope was hand addressed, which confused me, since we really don't get that kind of mail. I was further perplexed when I saw that it was a letter from our bank.

Dear Nicola and Phil,
Thanks for coming in and opening a savings account with me! If you need anything, stop in and say hello. I hope you enjoy your toucan checks.

Yes, toucan checks. It was a Portlandia moment when we sat down to order checks and it went something like:

"Okay, now it is time to choose your checks for the account," the bank representative, Nico, stated.
"Sure," we replied.
"What are our options?" I asked.
"Well," said Nico, "you can get the standard checks, the checks with a thin border color, the checks with the bank emblem as the background, or there is one with a tropical toucan on the front."
I looked at Phil, considered his love of birds and said, "I think we need to choose the toucan ones."
Phil and I then made comments about how happy we would be writing checks with a toucan on the front.
"Oh," Nico hesitated, "it looks like the toucan checks cost a bit more than the regular ones."
"How much more?" Phil inquired.
Nico explained to us the additional cost and added, "it appears that the toucan checks are printed with soybean ink on recycled paper and a portion of the proceeds go toward rainforest preservation."
"Hmm," Phil mused, "can you tell us a little more about this toucan? Is he a suitable representative for this rainforest preservation campaign?"
"Oh, goodness!" I laughed.
Playing his part as devil's advocate, Phil asked, "is the toucan a part of the project or is he just a random toucan?"
"Now, I can't speak to the toucan's involvement in the non-profit..." Nico played along.
We all laughed and quoted Portlandia from that moment forward.

It was ridiculous and wonderful, but the best part was that we really enjoyed our time at the bank with the associate who always helps us. We then went to the local grocery store, where the same cashier shared in our usual banter as we collected our groceries. Finally, we drove five minutes from downtown, Arcata, to our home on the outskirts of town.

Yes, our town is small. Yes, we are getting to know everyone. And, yes, having a sense of community is easier in a place where the population is smaller, we live where we work, and we play where we live. However, I refuse to believe that we can't achieve that feeling of community no matter where we are.

It was lovely getting a note from the representative at our bank, but it isn't our first hand written note here - this is the second one we have been sent from a business in Arcata. It's quirky living in a place where this just happens. It made us laugh like crazy and feel like we had stubbled upon a secret, but here's the secret:

Interact. Engage. Connect.

Also, all of you who write me notes on Facebook after reading my blog posts...don't be shy...just follow/subscribe to my blog already. Community is everything.

Hungry Hungry Ego

Getting on the phone and catching up with friends and family is sometimes hard to find time for, but when I do get a chance to sit down and have a lengthy conversations, I am incredibly thankful. Yet, phone conversations can be strange. When condensing the last few months of living into an hour-long conversation, we tend to first present the high-lights, gloss over the struggles and project what we will be taking on in the future. This, at least recently, seems to be the trend in my discussions and, in reaching this conclusion, I began to feel slightly hallow and uncertain as to what I was actually trying to convey across phone lines. And, was what I had to share, good enough? For years, I have stressed over ego-driven questions: Will I be successful? Will I establish a career? Will that career be prestigious? Blah, blah, blah. The funny thing was that only after all of the important life-goals bubbled to the surface, was there any room for thoughts of happiness, fulfillment, love, learning and...ummm...life? Destination based. Sound familiar?

I used to chat a lot about prestige and feeding the ego. Friends, in similar situations as myself, regardless of their respective paths, were also grappling with notions of achievement. I used to wonder, will I be okay just being a this. Do I need something more? And, my concerns were echoed by twenty-somethings around me. It took some soul searching, "failures" and "successes", but with time, I realized that doing something that sounded good on paper, wasn't necessarily my solution. What I wanted was more multifaceted that that.

Now, my mental dialogue has a different sound. Instead of being as obsessed with a nebulous conception of traditional success, I, in attempting to take the road less traveled, have been checking in with myself to make sure I'm not just finding another way to feed my ego. Let me try this on for size: if being on an alternative course still acts as a check list of achievement, then am I not just doing the same-same, but different? Meaning, if I start my day on a kayak instead of in a board room, but treat that in the same way as external success, wearing it like a badge or packing it away as a "win" to flaunt whenever I find the opportunity to "life-flex", then isn't it just adding fuel to the ego fire?

I had a momentary stress-fit where I began to question my choices.
Then, Phil stopped me with this question: "Is it genuine?"
"Yes," I answered without hesitation. "Yes, it is genuine."

When I think about the people who inspire me the most, I think about those who are out taking risks, living and loving despite the fact that there is no guarantee. You can regard the choices you make in many different contexts - a customer at the Santa Fe Co-op suggested taking a Carlos Castaneda approach. "Go to your death bed," he said, meaning you should think about what it would be like if you were to reflect on your life from your final hours on earth. In those moments, what was important, what had meaning, would, in theory, be made clear. Now, that seems a little morbid and heavy to be considering each choice with death in mind, but the idea of stripping away internal and external pressures that mold our lives away from our genuine desires is what I am referring to.

I was once told by a Santa Fe local, "when considering the lifetime of the earth, our presence on this planet, our individual lives are but fractions of a second. Understanding the greatness of this fact, our speck of existence is a miracle - to make of it what we choose."

When I share my triumphs, my struggles and the synopsis of my life, through conversations and print, ultimately the message is up to me. Where ever I go my ego can be heard, but as I find that I am enough, my voice is getting louder.


Photo credit: Joshua Mays and projectmooncircle.com

A Slice of Pizza

Phil and I don't eat out a lot; it's rare that we treat ourselves, but after a long day of work proceeded by an extra hard climbing session and a late night, we decided that we could use the convenience of comfort food - that only pizza can deliver.

We called in our order and then cruised down our wind hill, five minutes into downtown Arcata. Giddy with hearts set of cheesy goodness, we arrived at the pizza deli and collected the aromatic pie. As we departed the establishment, heading home with our treasure, a man called out to us from a dark alcove of a closed business, asking if we could spare a slice.

"Sorry, dude, all accounted for," Phil said.
"For other folks, too," I lied.
"Do you have any money you can spare," the man tried again.
"Sorry," we replied.

We got in the car and started driving down the road.
"I feel bad for lying," I blurted out. "Why do I feel so guilty about not sharing our pizza and why did I lie to him?"
"I lied to him too," Phil admitted. "I said they were all accounted for."
"Why did we feel it necessary to do that?" I asked.
"It is our pizza, and this is a big deal to us."
"You're right, this isn't an everyday thing."
Phil added, "Yeah, we paid premium price for it...with good money."
"But, I still feel bad."
"It was the way that he asked," Phil answered.
I wondered aloud, "how are you supposed to ask for food...the right way?"

Forgetting we needed to pick up a few things, we pulled into the Safeway parking lot, still mulling over the discussion we were having.
"Well, if he would have come to our house and asked us for help, I would have helped him - but not like that," Phil tried to justify.
"Would we help him?" I asked. "Truly? I mean, I want to believe that we are the kind of people who would help someone if they came to our house to ask for help, but I don't know if we would."
"Well, it is just hard. You can't just give all of your food away," Phil refuted.
"True, but maybe you do give what you can. And, yeah, that probably means you get less. But, if we are the kind of people who believe truly in wealth equality and community, then shouldn't we be okay with getting less?"
"So, does that mean that we help each person who asks for it?"
"Yeah...maybe it does," I said.

Making our way through the checkout and getting back to the car, Phil decided, "We need to drive back and give that guy a piece of pizza. If we don't, all of this is for nothing."
"I know," I agreed and we retraced our path back to the pizza deli.
When we saw the lights of the establishment glowing, Phil pulled up next to a guy on the corner, but it wasn't the same guy.
"Is this the same guy?" Phil asked.
"No," I fretted. "It was that guy back there." I motioned a little ways up the block.
Phil made his way to circle back.
"See, that's the problem!" I lamented.
"That it is compounding?"
I laughed at myself. At laughed through my embarrassment. Shaking my head, I grappled with my feelings. "No, that's the problem." My reaction of selfishness is the problem. Our greed is the problem. Our not looking other people in the eyes is the problem. Our isolation is the problem. Our demonization of others is the problem. Our not seeing people as people is the problem. Our reaction is the problem.

"You don't have to give your whole pizza away, but you have to give what you can, when you can," we concluded as we found the original guy and pulled up next to him. He was still standing against the building when I got out of the car and started towards him with the box of pizza in my hands.

"We circled the block and had to come back," I lamely explained. "I would like to offer you a piece of pizza."
Phil, now standing next to me, helped hold the box open as the guy graciously helped himself to a slice.
"Thank you," the guy said. "Smoke a lot of bowls; I hope you get to smoke a lot of bowls, guys."
"Take care," we replied as we turned to get back in the car.

Buckling up, I looked over to the guy, who had just been confronted by the other transient man on the corner - the one Phil had mistook as the original guy. What happened next, we weren't prepared for. As we looked back, we saw the original guy rip the slice of pizza in half and share it.

They shared it.

Phil and I, after experiencing a roller coaster of emotions and feeling moved by the conclusions we had reached, felt physically sick. This feeling of distress seemed to surge through me, choking my throat and making me unable to laugh or cry. We held each other and talked about the few blessings that have provided us with a life where there is a roof over our heads and food on our plates. We empathized with the feelings of distress over not having anywhere to go. Not too long ago, we were there. Knowing how similar our path might have been to that man's, I experienced an almost debilitating sadness that I have only now come to understand as shame. I was so deeply embarrassed by my actions and my thoughts, so filled with the anguish of shame over realizing my hypocrisy, then horrified by the juxtaposition of someone giving away part of his piece of pizza so willingly, that it overwhelmed me. It was profoundly moving.

So, for the last couple of days I have been struggling with this truth, only comforted by the realization that seeing what I have seen, in the way that I have seen it, does not allow me to go back.

I say that the man willingly shared his pizza, but I can only assume. Maybe he went through the same struggle as I, grappling with the same decision calculus. I believe that we are all struggling and that we go through that struggle each and every day. I will never know what he is thinking, but I do know, that for me, I have my answer:

We do help, when we can and with what we can. Every time.

Expectations Don't Need Water

I am talking with my mom on the phone, when we start discussing the garden Phil and I are putting in and I say the fateful words: "long term."
My mom responds, "How long term are you talking?"
"Well, Phil did apply to Humboldt State, so I think we are going to be here for at least a few years."
My mom makes a sound on the other end of the line, "hmmph." Then, silence.
"Don't sound so freaked out," I plea.
"Well, I'm just worried that you are holding yourself back," she says.
"Mom, if there were somewhere else I wanted to go or something else I wanted to do, I might be being held back, but for now, everything I want is right here."

When I was a kid, I worried that I had to have some big, impressive plan for my life - shiny and glossy with achievement and prestige slapped all over it. I told my teacher in third grade that I wanted to be the president of the United States, and I think that I believed that I needed to at least aim for that.

In college, I began to find myself. In academia, I thrived, but I further internalized the energy of go, achieve, prestige. Approaching graduation, armed with plans and no shortage of support from my ego, my trajectory suddenly veered. I didn't want what I had always wanted. After collecting my diploma, I boiled everything down to two priorities: I wanted to use my degree and I wanted to travel. So, I worked my butt off at a super stressful job in politics, then I bought a one-way ticket to Thailand.

It's been a bit of time since I took off to South East Asia, but walking through the dinosaur-aged redwood forests of Arcata, California, I tell my mom that I still want the same things as I did back then. I still care about the same issues; I still feel the same fire. However, I also want some things that hadn't occurred to me when I was twenty-one, such as cultivating positive and meaningful relationships, discovering a path not governed by my ego, and searching for fulfillment - yes, and happiness..."long term" happiness. My beliefs haven't fallen out of step in terms of my angsty, political fervor, but new and unexpected happenings have continually redirected my path towards taking advantage of unplanned possibilities, leaving me feeling as though my life isn't determined by this moment right now, nor will it be the same in 30 years as it is today, but if that were the case, and that's what makes me happy, then why is that so bad?

We talk about prestige and we talk about expectations for ourselves and for others, but we are harsh. We cut out the hippie shit that pertains to feelings and adventures, and we stick to ladders and dollars - so that we can actually do some measuring.

"Well, it's just not what I would have chosen for you, that's all."
I tell her, "we can't rely on plans...the world doesn't seem to work that way." But, what I mean is, "I'm not in a big ol' hurry...and for now, I putting down roots."

Sweet Potato Green Chile Enchiladas

When I opened the door in rainy Arcata - to find a package on our doorstep all the way from New Mexico, it meant only one thing: green chile!

For any New Mexico person, green chile might be the single most important thing in the world. Okay...food related. Seriously, it might be the single most nostalgia-inspiring, delicious vegetable ever put on the planet. So, the arrival of green chile meant a special kind of cooking was in our future.

If, when I say, "chile", thoughts of beans and southwest spices enter your brainwaves, you need to plan a visit to New Mexico and come to understand the majesty of a green chile...which has nothing to do with some kind of soup thing...and sure as shit only touches rice on the side of a plate. (Rice is a side dish...get it the hell out of burritos...unless you are eating Mexican food...which isn't the same as New Mexican. Typically here, I make some kind of joke about the "new and improved" Mexico. That's not how I feel. It is just a joke. However, it is important to note that New Mexico has a unique and distinct culture...with diverse food relating to its own region and not the same as the country of Mexico.)

I digress. I'm writing to share a recipe that I have adapted and fused with New Mexico deliciousness for a meal that needs to be memorialized. This has been a family recipe since my mom had the incredible inspiration to use sweet potatoes as a substitute for meat in tamales and enchiladas - a delicious veggie option, but my carnivore partner loves them too. Let me know what you think!

Sweet Potato Green Chile Enchiladas

Ingredients:
New Mexico green chile. Hot.
2 large sweet potatoes
A couple of Anaheim peppers
Tortillas
Cheese...now we are just being obvious.
1 Onion
Beans
Enchilada Sauce. Up to you. Green...red...Christmas?

Spices: cayenne, salt, pepper, garlic, nutmeg, cinnamon.

Phase 1:
Roast Anaheim peppers on the stove or broil them until black. Place them in a paper bag. (This helps the skins come off.)
Bake sweet potatoes  - once soft...mash them and then season. I used about 1/4 teaspoon of nutmeg, cinnamon, garlic, and cayenne...then cracked black pepper and sea salt to taste.
Prepare pinto beans - or use a can of refried beans...either way, you need a bean spread.
Brown onions in a frying pan. About a cup of onions, but I won't tell you how to live your life.
Preheat the oven to 375 or so...

Phase 2:
Warm the tortillas for a minute in the oven.
Shred cheese. I used sharp cheddar. You could used pepper jack. Or, you could mix and match. Up to you.
Defrost the previously roasted green chile. Once defrosted, run them under water and shed off the outer skin, seeds, and stem from the chile. I used 3 hot peppers for this meal. Think about your fire eating abilities...and maybe think about the fire eating abilities of your friends and family. Be considerate...or if you don't want any of your room mates eating your food without permission...make that shit spicy. Haha. Kidding.
Do the same with the Anaheim peppers. (Run under water, shed skin, seeds, and stem.) Then, cut them open.
Add the onions to the sweet potato mixture. Mix.

Phase 3:
Prepare your enchilada sauce. Normally I am a supporter of making every-ting from scratch. (I just think it is infinitely better and that you should challenge yourself to learn new things in the kitchen.) Last night, I didn't have any red chile powder, but I was at the grocery store and I found that they actually had Hatch products...so I bought enchilada sauce - both red and green...and settled for medium. (Only because "hot" wasn't available...where am I??)

Phase 4: Assemble
Spread beans in the center of each tortilla. Make a thin, but healthy layer.
Next, place a strip of Anaheim pepper on top of the bean layer and top with good sized, even dollops of sweet potatoes.
Roll up the enchilada. Place in a lightly greased deep dish or cast iron. Repeat until you have the enchiladas filing the dish. (I usually fit 4 at a time.)
Pour your enchilada sauce over top. Go crazy. This is like a bath for the enchiladas and Christmas should be celebrated.
Cover with additional green chile to make it hot and then cheeeeeese!
Bake for 20 minutes.

Phase 5:
Think of your home and the meals you create with the people you love.

Phase 6:
Eat your heart out. Enjoy!

Peace: Despite the Storm, In the Storm, Due to the Storm

For those who have returned to life after traveling, the feeling of post-travel blues is only too familiar. There is a "come down" after being in motion. On the road, each day brings a new location, new experiences and unexpected adventures. The daily changes, unique struggles in and of themselves, are the paint tablet. Each minuet variation is amplified by the lack of familiarity; hinderances transform into animated stories, and each road presents itself as a path to spectacular and unprecedented possibilities. This excitement creates an energy inside you. It's as Christopher McCandless writes of his journey, adapted by John Krakauer in Into The Wild, "My days were more exciting when I was penniless and had to forage around for my next meal, I've decided that I'm going to live this life for some time to come. The freedom and simple beauty of it is just too good to pass up."

The experience of being without was not totally planned, but it was when we found ourselves struggling to continue on, each and every day, that we transformed in ourselves. (I originally wrote "grew", but the magnitude of what happened to us seemed to fall flat with the imagery of growing - an inherent, inevitable part of life.) Yes, we transformed. It was uncomfortable, exhausting, but tremendous. Indeed, no two days were the same and then, at the completion of our trip, we landed in unfamiliar territory, altering the rhythm of our journey, to build a life for ourselves. Arcata was our Magic Bus. 

At first, I felt restless. I wanted the movement of travel. I didn't see my way unfolding in Arcata - the way that Phil did. It's not as though I didn't want it, but I felt the pull of the current and I wondered if this was really it. A home makes a difference. After 4 months of making a home in our tent and a career out of go, explore, seek, I felt an unfamiliar shift in gears. Unfortunately, wanting to feel established in a new place...wasn't that easy. 

I curled up in bed and cried about loneliness and uncertainty. Moving with someone is an unbelievable amount of pressure. It amplifies your reliance on another person - which, for an self-proclaimed, independent person, feels like weakness. Uncertainty comes from the ticking clock and a deadline on figuring out what comes next. On a basic level we questioned: would we be sleeping in our car again? Where would we live? Unfamiliar territory and mixed concerns of not feeling fulfilled made the ambiguous future more daunting. Would I find something to be passionate about here? Would this new town have what I need to help me grow? I wasn't sure and I morned the loss of the open road. 

Mo money, mo problems? No money, no place to go. This is the inside of the storm: the swirling emotional instability, the lack of options and the stress of trying to hold down a job without a foundation to stand on. In the last two months, I have weeded through hundreds of housing posts on Craigslist and responded with individual e-mails to forty-one. Bad timing, overstretched finances, and the fact that Phil and I are a couple and tenants/landlords were mostly unwilling to even consider two people, elongated our housing search. With about a week to find our next place, I wrote a S.O.S. on Craigslist outlining our situation and what kind of home we were desperate to find.

I received two responses: one couple looking for people to sublet in the spring and one individual in a three bedroom house. 

The sublet offered cheap accommodation, but a temporary solution to our housing search. Additionally, it posed another problem being as it started two weeks later than we needed. I e-mailed the other individual and waited to hear back. No response. With the prospect of having nowhere to stay for two weeks, I followed up again with the three-bedroom-house-person. Just days away from homelessness, I received a message apologizing for missing our e-mail, but enthusiastically offering to show us the place. We headed to the residence an hour later, praying that we had found the answer. 

How do you build a home when you are a guest? How do you see your future when next week might mean sleeping in the car? We felt drained. Overwhelmed by long hours, suspended limbo, and unending stress - we needed something to work.

Despite the storm, we found release. It turns out that the person who responded to our S.O.S. is someone we actually want to live with. The. House. Is. Amazing. The feeling of "home" almost knocked us over as we crossed the threshold. The warm lighting, open space and friendly, smiling face that greeted us, sealed the deal. We had found it. The place was...home. 

After discussing the details with our potential roommate, we left the house filled with hope. Everything felt right. Coincidentally, we found ourselves returning to a bar we found our first night in Arcata, to share a celebratory beer. Over our beverages, we recounted the night we arrived in town - a bitter, October evening when we had drifted into the establishment (hoping to get a little toasty), in preparation for a night spent in the broken down car.

Finally, as it would be when you find your way, everything fell into place. As I write, I'm sitting at the island countertop of our new home, while Phil cooks breakfast. We may not be continuing our McCandless-style adventures, in new and exotic locations every day, but after months of motion, we are happy to have one place to look forward to. We want to build a life here. We want a springboard for growth. We want to put down roots and make a home. It took everything we had to get to this place, but in the storm, love propelled us. Love for each other - love of exploration - love of people - love of learning - love of creation and possibility. Sure, feelings of uncertainty still exist. However, I am moving away from the post-travel blues - where unsure of the future, I dwelled on stagnation; afraid of being disappointed, I focused on uncertainty. Now, I'm looking forward, remembering the lessons of our journey and remembering that we weather the storms, because peace hovers just above the horizon. 

Does a Question Mark Count As an Answer?

With a brand-spanking-new year, comes brand-spanking-new possibilities. So, riding a wave of good feelings and motivation, I sat down to fill out a housing application (joy) - only to discover that I am not a real adult. Present home address: ehhh...subletting...for a month? Previous home address: staying with friends? Next previous address: damn it, a teepee? It didn't get much better, because as a 25-year-old, this is what my housing record looks like:

Three years ago I moved to Thailand. I lived there until August 2012. (No housing record to speak of...and certainly not in English.) When I moved back to the good ol' U.S. of A., I stayed with my sister. I didn't have a contract or anything...I was a bum. Then, I moved in with Phil. We lived at the same house until July 2013, but I was never officially a tenant. When we were ready to leave Santa Fe, we moved into a tent, stayed with old friends and family, slept in the car, cruised around the country, crashed wherever we could find accommodation...including many a backyard, couch surfed, worked on a farm, stayed with new friends in Arcata, and then found a temporary place of our own.

So, now that I'm filling out official documentation for housing - you know, planning for the future - I'm realizing that I am actually not much of an adult. I don't have a rental history. I don't own anything of value. And, I don't use credit. Hah! It's so simple, yet not so simple. I hadn't even made it through the first page of the rental application when I felt an existential crisis creeping up. I turned to Phil and lamented, "I'm not a real adult! How am I supposed to fill out a housing application when I don't have a history living anywhere?"

I don't think that either of us are grown-ups, but it doesn't really matter. I told a co-worker about my situation and she said that she didn't think that my story was outside the norm in Arcata. That gave me hope. Today, we went to look at a room in a very relaxed, little house. It was mellow and the landlord was easygoing. I realized that Phil and I can be happy anywhere and that we can fit into most living situations. We are flexible and we have become accustomed to alternative living, however, I'm getting tired of bending to fit various set-ups, instead of being honest about what we need. I want to seamlessly fit, but to also be met in the middle. I don't know if we will end up being chosen by the landlord, but it was refreshing to go see a place and feel immediately comfortable. On top of that, it showed us that there are some options available where you don't have to promise your first born child to move in or accept conditions you may not have otherwise accepted. (For instance, we aren't trying to pay 500 dollars a month to live with 14 squatters and one bathroom.)

Now that we aren't on the road anymore and we both have jobs, we have a few more options. However, we do want to find some middle ground. For so long, we have been bending with what we have been handed, but we have learned a lot about what works for us. Though we may not find the perfect place right off of the bat, we have hope that our future may be more along the lines of what we are looking for. This is a brand-spanking-new year, and though we don't know where we will be living in two weeks, for now, it looks like a few question marks will suffice.