My Travels

The Lie of Nostalgia, The Truth of Home

We’ve been traveling a lot lately—following the West Coast heat wave it would seem.  We left San Luis Obispo, California for Coeur d’Alene, Idaho on June 30th. On the way from SLO, CA, we stopped in Reno to see my mom and then in Boise to see my sister and her kids. We made it back to Coeur d’Alene just in time to jump in the lake on the fourth of July. Long trip.

We’re here for the month. Soon we’ll be making the Great Drive to Rochester, New York where I’m certain our car will explode in protest.

I apologize for the lack of posts, but you know how travel goes. Moving. Yawning. Sunflower seeds. Gum on the seat. Wishing you were home—wherever and whatever home is.

It’s an interesting subject, home; I’ve been thinking a lot about it.

For a long time I confused nostalgia with home. I assumed they were one in the same. I know now they’re not. And while it’s true that one springs from the other—like a seed from a tree or a son from a father—I’ve found that the two are quite separate, quite different.

Nostalgia is a dream. It’s a desire, sometimes sweet but usually bitter. A little nostalgia can go a long way and I believe it’s healthy in this dosage. Quickly though, nostalgia can consume and take root. It’s good to know the difference.

These last six months in California have shown me the difference between nostalgia and home. I always assumed California was my home—the city I grew up in, the town where every street, side-street, and park had a memory—but that wasn’t the case. California is not my home. It’s just a place, a place I once lived. And just like her burritos, California bursts at the seem, overfilled with people I love and places I’d be happy to die in.

But this is not home. It’s just a place.

The few years of marriage have taught me the truth of what home is. My wife is my home. Not any one place in particular, just her. I think home can be a place for some people, but not me. When I’m away from her I’m not myself, nor am I home. It’s just the way it is. Home is her.

Wherever we go we’ll be home—even in Rochester, even without furniture—and I’m excited about that.

Epilogue

I’m working on a blog post for next week and I’m really excited about it. It’s more in the vein of what I usually write. Before I jump back in to the blogosphere, though, it seemed wise to explain my absence and also reflect on what the last couple weeks have taught me.

Thanks for being patient. Stay tuned.

PS: I have a new page on my website. It’s called Top 5 Music, Movies, and Books. Give it a gander and let me know what you think.

Patience in the Storm of Murphy’s Law

I’m sitting here at the La Quinta Inn & Suites, near Disneyland. It’s Saturday morning and the breakfast hall is filled with anxious children, worn down parents, and crying babies. The breakfast, pretty typical for a motel, isn’t too bad. The coffee is hot which is good because it’s terrible. Good coffee, the really good stuff—freshly roasted, brewed heavy, bowel shakingly strong—doesn’t matter what temperature it cools down to. It has flavor, you see.

Today marks a week of travel for my wife and I. Our goal was to find a place to live in Rochester, NY, so we flew over there and stayed a few days. I met with the University as well, discussing what I need to get in order.

We stayed with old friends, met with new people, found some internet people (Tony, I’m glad you’re a real person. You just never know!). We drove to, what felt like, every corner of Rochester searching for apartments.

There and Back Again

It’s been a rough week of travel. We had rental car issues and hotel issues; our Chicago layover turned into a mid-life crisis (a storm came in—on our way back to LAX—and the lightning grounded all flights).

So we sat in the terminal. Every few minutes we’d find out our flight was delayed further. Many flights were cancelled, so we were thankful, at least, ours wasn’t. As the night progressed, lines built up, people paced, airport employees updated through indecipherable intercoms.

I was mixed. Yes, I desperately wanted to leave, but no, I didn’t want to die in a Chicago storm. The storm would pass and I was fine waiting. After all, we packed Redbox DVDs and found a seat near a charging plug.

As the night turned later, people’s attitudes grew dimmer. I wont lie and say that I didn’t complain, because I did. Ultimately though, I was starkly reminded that worrying and complaining—literally—get’s you nowhere.

We were stuck in an airport and had nothing to do but practice patience.

With the Lord’s favor, we made it back to LA in time to pick up Megan’s sister and her sister’s friend who traveled down to visit. Before that, we were able to check into our sketchy Los Angeles motel and soak in two hours of sleep. Then we headed back to the airport to pick up her sister and then head to Disneyland. For two days.

With a full day of Disneyland on just two hours sleep—you could imagine—my wife and I wanted nothing more than a little sleep.

So we checked into our motel, opened the door, and my wife’s eyes widened. “Ummm…”

I peeked around the corner and saw this:

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The four of us stood there, weathered and jet lagged. We looked at each other and erupted into laughter.

Thanks, La Quinta. I’m thankful, but this test in patience wasn’t necessary. I’ve had my fill this week. Also, the coffee just cooled and it tastes like the devil.

Do you have any travel horror stories? Any good layover tips? What do you think?

The Grand Canyon (or, How to Set Up a Tent in 28 Easy Steps)

The Grand Canyon. It was incredible.

Since Megan and I are moving to New York in the Fall, we realized our Grand Canyon window was dwindling fast. We kicked around the idea late last week, got our friend Randall on board, booked a campsite online, and left after work Friday afternoon for the 12 hour drive.

After 12 hours of sunflower seeds and energy drinks, our Prius arrived just shy of Grand Canyon Village at around 4am. Randall, a current CCC member (and best friend since 6th grade), claimed national forests were cool with parking and sleeping. Since national forests are usually outside of national parks, we were in luck. We parked in the forest and slept as long as possible.

27 degrees and 2 hours later. 

You know it’s cold when you consider peeing your pants for warmth. Or say, cutting open your friend to sleep inside him via Empire Strikes Back. None of those things happened. It was cold though.

Feeling spry, we woke up and drove into the park. The South Rim. It was $25 for one car, not bad considering all you can do once you’re in the park.

Our campsite wasn’t available until noon so we had to tough out the tiredness and make the best of it. We traveled to the East Rim (about thirty minutes, maybe) and checked out Desert View. There was an old tower to climb up in with a store right below you. Incase, you know, you want to buy a magnet or something.

Coming back, we stopped at one of my favorite views of the whole trip: Moran Point. It was killer. We tried to recall the name later to our camping neighbors. Megan called it, “Morgan Point,” and I called it “Moron Point.” It turns out we were both wrong, Moran Point. If you go, make sure and stop there.

Noon came around and we had a tent to set up. Megan and I were completely exhausted and since we borrowed the tent, it was our first time setting it up. (Thanks Scott, your rubik’s cube tent was a delight). In all fairness, if we read the directions first—instead of dead last—we would’ve noticed everything was color coded and kind of obvious. After about an hour of this tent embarrassment, Randall stepped in and helped. I collapsed into my sleeping bag and felt rocks under my body. Oh yeah, the air mattress… we forgot that.

Exploration

After some rest, we went back to the nearest town of Williams to try the Grand Canyon Brewery. I wont say it was awful, but just avoid it if at all possible.

The next day we hiked down into the canyon. Not far, a thousand feet or so. Not wanting to add, “Rescued by a mule” to our list of life accomplishments, we heeded the warnings of the trail and stopped at Cedar Ridge.

Once back up, we continued our day of exploration. Hopi Point was awe inspiring. The geology museum was great. The general store had a hot pickle.

Before we knew it, our trip was over. Monday morning had come. We drove a different way back, stopping in Vegas to lose $5. Before we left Nevada for good, we swerved off the desert highway for one last casino. The lunch buffet and $1 roulette signs nearly caused a freeway pile up.

We made it into San Luis Obispo around 9pm and I took the longest shower of my life. I’m still in it. That’s how long it is. Actually no, but nothing is sweeter than that first shower back from camping, eh? I next collapsed into bed where there was a mattress and no rocks.

It was sweeter than any canyon I’ve ever seen. Funny how that works.

Sunrise, 12 hours of driving, 2 hours of sleep. Grand Canyon, baby!
Randall Sleeps, Kevie Shoots
Randall and I really like sunflower seeds
Rock N’ Roll
Hopi Point. There’s a cave with a nesting California Condor! It’s in the red wall of the cliff. See it?
Hopi Point
On the hike down
the man, the myth, the legend. The Randall.
Cedar Ridge
From the Cedar Ridge hike
Megan near Cedar Ridge
The Wretched Tent
Revenge of the Tent
Moran Point. Randall in the corner
Desert View
Sunset over the canyon

ANNOUNCEMENT: We’re Moving! (again)

Well, we finally know. For over eight months now, I’ve been anticipating answers: Where will I go to school? Where will Megan and I spend the next two years of our lives? What kind of food will I be eating?

I found five schools that spoke to me. Five universities in five different regions of the country. Five different prices. All too expensive. Megan thought I was crazy. Not because of my chances, but because of the distance to which I was reaching, the scope of it all. Also, I give her plenty of reasons to think I’m crazy each day.

So, we waited. And waited. And I lost hope. I began to look at plan b’s and cower from fear. Months and months went by. More times then I care to admit, #thewaitinggame got the best of me.

Finally, the letters started coming; better yet, the financial aid letters started coming. Monday morning, my heart shat its pants with joy.

Upstate and Away!

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I write this in California. I sit with coffee and think of my family and friends here. Once again, I will be leaving them. I think of our friends and Megan’s family, in Idaho, who once again we will leave.

With a heavy, yet joyous heart, we have decided to move away from everyone we know and love. About 2700 miles away. As I get older, these things get harder.

The decision is this: we are moving to Rochester, New York! I will study Entrepreneurship and Economics with (hopefully) a minor in Creative Writing at the University of Rochester!

Best yet, my educational costs are completely covered. I was awarded a crap-ton of grants and scholarships! Think, three Little Caesar franchises. We’ll have enough to cover tuition, and a little extra to move there and get settled.

At this moment, I feel completely and utterly loved.

3 Reflections on Reaching Your Goals

(From the perspective of a poor boy who was given nothing)

1. Write down your goals on a piece of paper. Look at them everyday. Many books will tell you to do this; I was always hesitant. Monday morning though, I was able to check off the first four goals on my list. The best of which was this: go to a top university with a full scholarship. No debt for education.

2. Take responsibility for yourself and your situation. I was born into a family that didn’t champion higher education, nor did it have the money to do so. There was no fund waiting for me. I truly believe that everyone gets their chance. You might have to work a little harder, or wait a little longer, but it will happen.

3. Enjoy your goals with a thankful and modest heart. When I got the news, I called just about called everyone. I tried for CNN, but couldn’t get through. Excited doesn’t even begin to explain. Later, I had to check my motives. It’s okay to brag a little, but be cautious. Stay humble and move forward. We are all in God’s grace, every day.

PS: I couldn’t have done this without my wonderful wife! She is the best and I don’t know what I’d do without her. Thank you Lord for putting her in my life.

That Dam Lopez Lake or: (How I Learned to Drive a Boat)

I’ve been boogie boarding quite a bit lately. Getting back into the water has been an enthralling adventure—even despite the Pacific Ocean’s three constants: it’s always cold, it’s always windy, and it’s always cold.

Sometimes, a feller just needs a warm lake and a boat.

Megan and I moved from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho to San Luis Obispo, California this year. North Idaho has no ocean (which I hope you know), but does have close to three-billion lakes in it’s vicinity (mildly exaggerating). Needless to say, visiting lakes was not a priority for us.

A friend of mine recently purchased the Lopez Lake Marina, and I’ve been desperate to see what he’s done with the place. So we went to a lake.

Orcutt Road

Our day started with a beautiful drive on the backroads of San Luis Obispo. There’s a great little curvy road which takes you straight (well, curvy) towards the lake. We call it old Orcutt road.

Wineries have blossomed on just about every hillside. My friend Aaron put it this way, “at least they’re covering hills with grapes and not with houses and Costcos.” It’s true. Despite my reservations regarding these fast-expanding wineries, the beauty of these old SLO roads are protected. (more…)

Pawnee or Bishops? (Go Take A Hike)

Every Saturday morning I wake up to a familiar and tempestuous thought. I roll over in bed, listen to the wind labor through the morning air and think: “ya know, I could just stay in bed… all day.”

As for Megan and me, we don’t have kids.

Neither of us work Saturdays.

It’s been a chilly California 57 degrees as of late.

Our TV is right in front of the bed; yes, of course we have Netflix.

This is the problem. See, we’re still adjusting to California winter. Our minds are telling us it’s much colder outside than it really is. In Idaho, it’s not uncommon to take a “bed day” here and there throughout winter.

It’s a terrible excuse, I know.

I didn’t even look outside before burning through three episodes of NBC comedy, Parks & Recreation. (Great show by the way; every episode literally gets better.)

But then I looked outside.

Sure it was a little windy, but also warm. Sunny in-fact! California sunny! We both had an “oh yeah” moment and thought: instead of watching Parks & Recreation, why don’t we actually go to a park and recreate… (it sounded better in my head).

All this to say, Megan and I turned our lazy Saturday into a volcano hiking, boulder hopping excursion. Finally, we marked a mountain off our list and hiked San Luis Obispo’s favorite volcano—Bishop’s Peak.

I won’t go into too much detail here. It’s a wonderful hike. The terrain changes every twenty minutes it seems. Take the trail and you’ll see: dry mountainous, shaded, mossy forest, New Mexico-esq boulders. There’s even a bench dedicated to “George: The Hiking Cat.”

To top it all off there’s a view of the ocean at the top. Not bad for a day almost spent in bed. As far as Sunday goes… I wont be moving my legs.

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George Cat

Bishops 1

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Bishops 4