We’re on the home stretch.  Literally.

After a day of staring out at the plains, we stay tonight just hours from home.  We didn’t expect much from today’s travel, but I found the day of monotonous driving across the flats of Eastern Colorado and Nebraska to be the perfect backdrop to inspire some reflection on the trip.  The pastel winter skies and brown rolling hills remind me, in some ways, of hardship.  The landscape appears so unwelcoming, but then the soft skies sort of beckon you to look a bit deeper.  I find that as I drive long stretches like today’s, my mind comes back to a sense of true gratitude for my life’s many gifts, particularly in light of the starkness surrounding me.

I’m heading home from three weeks traveling the country and seeing old friends.  I’ll see my family and Rick’s family over the holidays for the first time in two years. My skis are in our car waiting to be used over New Year’s.  I have some incredible opportunities awaiting me in 2014 for both travel and work.  I have a supportive, wonderful, and caring group of friends and family to support me.  I have a patient, intelligent, and compassionate partner and husband.  

Life, though it certainly is uncertain, feels so full.  This year has brought some incredible highs and lows to me and my family.  But, reflecting back on the year I feel so grateful for the people who shared the ride with me.  

I’m sitting in my friend’s house in Portland.  It’s grey outside and I just finished my second interview for a job that sounds pretty incredible.  I’m coming down from the nervous jitters that accompany all interviews and trying to piece together what taking the job (if it was offered) might mean.

Rick and I had/have some pretty incredible travel plans for the new year, but if I am offered this job that travel will not happen.  That would be pretty sad because I just purchased a bad ass touring bike for the express purpose of riding it in exotic locales.  But, as we have toured the country by car I have developed an increasingly strong case of home envy.  We’ve now stayed with SO many friends across the country – apartment dwellers, cabin dwellers, large fancy home dwellers, and adorable rental dwellers.  Their houses are in cities and small towns, and though they span all range of size and shape, their commonality is that they represent home to someone.   We want that.  I want that.  I want a place to put my books on shelves and cook dinner and create a little alcove of yogic bliss.  I have lived out of a suitcase since August and I’m ready to unpack.

I recognize that the grass is always greener listening as my friends lament the fact that they have to work and  as they marvel over our trip, popping from place to place to ask, “Could this be home?”.  I constantly feel apologetic for my ramshackle existence, my lack of employment, and the fact that I don’t know my plans for two months down the road, but am reminded over and over again of the fact that so many others will never do something like this.  To conscientiously design one’s life around one’s priorities rather than his or her means of income is a gift.  And embarrassed as I am to admit that my home is more or less limited to a 2010 Subaru with New York plates, I also acknowledge that those wheels are a gateway to lifestyle choice and on-the-ground implementation of our partnership’s stated life objectives – to live in a place that we love and which inspires us.  To live simply.  To do good.

Here in Portland, I feel pretty happy.  We arrived late yesterday afternoon, and went for a 5 mile trail run by headlamp with two friends and locals.  We ate at Ned Ludd and savored the foodie haven that is Portland.  I wonder if this could be home? Could this work for both of us? Hard to say.

In touring the country we have taken in the subtle regionalities of the places we have visited.  The ambitious easterners with their warmth seeping slowly through their cool facade; the friendly midwest with its hearty residents who eschew several inches of snow and rapidly dropping temperatures to make you feel welcome.  We have slept by the fireside in a cabin in Montana, waking at 2 am to put on another few logs to keep us toasty ’til morning.  We have cruised Seattle, observing the pop of young vibrancy amidst grey skies and rain.  And here we are in Portland – once a dream and almost a reality for me.  Thankfully I changed course, but I know I would have enjoyed law school here – riding bikes and studying torts and tortes. Could I live here now?  Would I feel old?  Has it passed its moment in time, or does it still have an authentic and exciting vibe?  Would I be forced to wear thick rimmed glasses and pretend my vision is not excellent? Are there even jobs in Portland or is the market over saturated with young and educated people?

Truth be told, I don’t think Portland has actually passed its prime.  I think it has established deep roots for its alternative culture.  My friends here are living a wonderful life and I think it would be amazing to have the resources they do living here.  She is training as a doula and studying Ayurveda in her spare time. Here, they have institutionalized what in other cities are alternative things.  That’s cool.  I recognize that Portland offers these types of opportunities, where a small town in Montana may not.  But yet, at what cost?

We’re making some challenging life decisions and I am pretty excited at the wonderful gift it is to be able to DO this – but that doesn’t make it any easier to take the reigns and determine one’s own fate. I keep waiting for my intuition to speak to me and give me a clue as to the direction I should go.  It’s always been my reliable ally.  Here though, I am struggling for guidance.

I’ll report back once I know more.

There is little that quite commandeers my heart like a Montana skyline at sunrise.  In the waxing light over the expansive horizon I imagine all range of possibilities – of log cabins, cold rushing rivers, and a life that I have long yearned for.  In a Montana sunrise, it seems all the secret whispers of my heart are possible.

There has always existed in me this love of Montana.  Wyoming and Colorado too, have an arresting ability to encapsulate my dreams and hold them steadfast in a single moment as the sun rests delicately on the horizon.  But, Montana is the real keeper of my vision.

The harsh land, softened by the hazy light of evening, or morning,  holds before me the promise of life unburdened by trivial urban worries and constraints. I love Montana the way one loves a hazy memory of childhood, like a truism in my heart that knows not its origins.

Though I am not sure how to make life in Montana work, its romantic call to me doesn’t quiet with time or passing years.  Since I first laid my eyes on the windblown prairie, the solemn mountains, when I was 12 or 13, those images have burned in me.  Montana calls to me in a language I was never taught, but know instinctively.

I know, I know.  The same question keeps hurling at me day after day: Do you even work?  

Well, no.  Not currently.  I’m sure I will again.  And honestly, I would love to.  I like to work. A lot.  But right now, my focus is on working on getting a few other things in life straightened out.  Like where in the sam hell we will put down roots, find a little home, and unpack our friggin’ suitcases that have been our too-long, too-much-crowded-and-disorganized-home for several months now.

So, starting tomorrow, Rick and I will embark on a road trip lasting several weeks to tour all the spots we might just want to plop ourselves indefinitely – a la the movie “Away We Go.”  The hope, of course, being that come the end of our trip we will have a bit of clarity around our lifestyle aspirations.

Most notably, the biggest concern (aside from employment – but related) is whether we want to go rural or urban.  We both tend to lean towards rural, but the kicker is that it’s hard to live in a rural environment and work a traditional job.  Not that we have to have traditional employment, but it has been our way so far and it’s treated us well.

Well, enough of the mucking about our motives and dreams.  On to the details.  This will be a tour of the West en masse – with the exception of California.  I don’t really see us there.  But there are some job possibilities there that I’m lukewarm about; I just don’t feel like driving there at this point.

A rough itinerary with the caveat that it may be entirely shuffled if interviews intervene:

Minneapolis – Jackson Hole – Helena – Bozeman – Missoula – Seattle – Portland – Boise – Salt Lake – Colorado Mountains – Denver – Milwaukee.

Yeah.  There are a few good spots in there (like all of ’em!).

We will be checking out what each city has to offer and comparing (spreadsheet in hand) the plusses and minuses of each.  The frontrunner has long been Seattle, however we have our eyes and hearts set on the idea of a more quaint existence, which means that Montana, Idaho, and the mountains in Colorado all are definitely in the running.  It’s going to be interesting.  But at the very least, if we don’t come away from the trip with a definitive answer, we will at least have had a pretty badass road trip (hopefully including some skiing, lots of running, some yoga studio testing, and a fair amount of eating…)

So there it is.  Should we be in your neck of the woods, please let us know.  We have horribly out of date contact information for most of our friends.  And we like friends, and local knowledge of places, and food recommendations, and home-baked pie and apple cider, and beer… just saying.

Bon voyage!

I’m sitting in bed, watching the sunrise over the mountains outside of Las Vegas.  I’m in the honeymoon suite at the Bellagio – a place which meant nothing to me until  saw the Hangover 3 on my plane ride back from Australia.  The whole thing is surreal for a few reasons.  First, I have never had any desire whatsoever to visit Las Vegas.  Two, I somehow ended up here on my honeymoon.

But, let’s back track a bit here.  It’s been a while since I last posted.  In the interim, I quit my job, moved home from Australia, hit the ground running planning the remainder of my wedding, was interrupted from my planning by an unexpected contact from an estranged person in my past just a few days before my wedding, and then proceeded to have all my friends – most of whom I hadn’t seen in two years or more come in to my hometown for a weekend of amazingess, I married my Rickster, and now here I am in Vegas, watching the sunrise and eating minibar snacks.

So, the wedding.  Let’s start with that.  This post may have to be divided into multiple entries.

From day one, Rick and I knew we wanted it to be our own – personal and reflective of our personalities.  But, as these things do, it began to take on a life of its own.  We originally wanted an outdoor summer wedding in Colorado but neither of us wanted to wait over a year to get married.  Then we considered a winter wedding in Colorado.  We looked high and low and found some amazing places, but after announcing our plans to family, I learned that my Grandma who had been undergoing lung cancer treatment, wouldn’t be able to come to Colorado.  So, we changed plans,  ramped up our wedding planning, pulled our date up a few months, and took the wedding to my hometown of Milwaukee.  She never made it to the wedding. We lost her in May, just a few months after she learned of our engagement.  Though I know she was there in spirit her absence was a hole that many of us felt.  But, perhaps our choice to bring it to Milwaukee was for the best because anyway because in planning from a world away one needs people on the ground and my parents were the engine that made this wedding happen.

The weekend was nuts.  I am not even going to rein in my enthusiasm for it.  Rick and I hadn’t seen many of our friends in the entirety of our time in Australia.  It was a reunion, and wedding, and a hell of a party all wrapped into one.  My bridesmaids started coming in a week before the wedding.  Katie, Jane, and Max, the Maids of Honor, were the first.  They arrived in town and from there the momentum just didn’t stop.  We finished projects, we went to yoga, we made a Photo Booth, we met with people from the club, we verified orders and gave orders (and apparently I even do it in my sleep).   It was so much fun.  By the time Thursday night hit, all my girls were in town, most of Rick’s guys were too, and we had our Stag and Hens nights.  We all met up in the end, but prior to that my Aunts, Mom, sisters, all of my bridesmaids, and many of my good friends took a Pedal Tavern around the city, had an amazing dinner at Benelux, and then we took a bus from bar to bar, finally meeting up with the boys at Wolski’s – which we closed, replete with stickers and assorted other “I closed Wolski’s” paraphernalia.  It was SO much fun.  I only wish we could have ridden the pedal tavern longer.  My Maids of Honor did a STELLAR job planning.

Friday we all were in need of some TLC.  We did our nails, sipped coffee and attempted to restore ourselves from lack of sleep and overindulgence.  I took my bridesmaids out to lunch and gave them some gifts as a thank you for helping take part in my wedding.  They, in return, gave me a fork to an old bike with a ribbon tied to it.  It was a symbol of the fund they are starting for me to buy a touring bike before Rick and I head on our antipodal adventures.  So, needless to say I was thrilled!

We met up for the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, which included a brewery tour at Sprecher Brewery in Milwaukee.  It was a fun night.  We had Chipotle cater it – obviously Rick had his hand in that one.  But I have to agree that the food and beer were a great combination.  It was a perfect opportunity for some of our out-of-town guests and close friends to spend some more time with us.  And it was low-key and fun.  We then took a school bus to Trinity Irish Pub, where we met up with the wider group of guests getting into town for some drinks and more food.  I was taking it easy Friday, so I didn’t stay out late, but the party was a good one.  It was so much fun to see people after years of being gone.  I’m surprised I didn’t spend the whole time crying from the excitement of it.  I probably should have stayed out, because I came back to our hotel, laid in bed, and proceeded to sit there thinking about stuff – giddy and nervous – until about 2:30 when Rick made it home.  So, yeah, sleeping wasn’t a big part of my weekend.

Saturday was like clockwork. Sort of.  The girls all went to the salon and got our hair and make up done.  Which was hilarious because by that time we had two nights of going out under our belts, drama was festering – in a good way, and we were eager to recount the previous night’s shenanigans together, possibly over a bloody mary or two, while the lovely stylists did our hair.

We headed to the Women’s Club of Wisconsin, which is absolutely a beautiful spot within walking distance of all the hotels we had out guests in. I had never been to it prior to the wedding – though my mom celebrated her debutante party there and took dancing classes there as a child.  It’s got three floors, the uppermost of which is a ballroom – which we used for both our ceremony and reception.  It was a gorgeous spot for our ceremony.  We had some family friends do all of our decorations.  I helped them pick out some flowers I liked – seasonal, wild-looking flowers, with gourds and pumpkins and stuff.  They also made these amazing urns filled with curly willow, lit up with small lights.  I know it was a LOT of work for them, but they were so happy and gracious.  It was an amazing gift to Rick and me.  The room looked exactly as I imagined it would.  I couldn’t thank them enough for turning my dreams and pinterest stalkings into reality.

Our ceremony was like a dream.  My lovely bridesmaids all looked beautiful.  Three of them sang one of my favorite Wailin’ Jennys songs called “One Voice”.  Rick’s friend Manuel, read the Buddhist marriage blessing, Ryan sang Bob Dylan’s “To Make You Feel My Love”, and Justin did the whole ceremony.  It was perfectly us.  Perfectly light-hearted but meaningful.  Perfect.  Our vows were ours.  The ceremony was peppered with our own words that we had shared with Justin over email in the months leading up to the wedding. It was amazing and sweet.  We had a bagpiper walk us in, and then lead us out.  Bagpipers always make me cry.

After the ceremony, Rick and I followed the bagpiper straight outside, before anyone saw us leaving, and we headed down the road together with a couple of Spotted Cow beers.  We watched the sun set by ourselves out in the autumn dusk, before rejoining the wedding reception.  A police car passed us carrying our open containers – we laughed that it would be hilarious if we got a ticket on our wedding day.  But, he went on without incident.

And then the night unfolded.  There were drinks.  Many.  A band.  A good one!  Toasts. My dad actually killed his toast.  He brought out my stuffed bear from childhood.  It was amazing.  I think he is a better lawyer and public speaker than I’ve even given him credit for.  My sisters made beautiful toasts that made my eyes water, my lifey had a toast which almost made me pee in my pants it was so funny.  Gchat conversations from the beginning of dating Rick – references to him potentially being crazy because he runs ultramarathons – it was unreal.  I had to go back to my conversations to verify that indeed, I did say all the things she quoted me on.

And we danced and sang and when the Women’s Club kicked us out, we went for more at the County Clare where we all stayed.  It was so much fun.

I slept in my wedding dress.  There were too many buttons with tiny little hooks. After the night’s shenanigans, Rick and I couldn’t get it off.  I woke up at 6 in the morning and begged him to please “get me out of the thing!”  So romantic.  He got me out of it.

It was a fun, beautiful weekend.

The night before the wedding, gale force winds whipped up all over the city.  Out hotel room’s windows were shaking.  Winds were still whipping through the air during the early part of Saturday.  The same sort of winds rushed around my Grandma’s house the night she passed away.  They took down tree limbs and power lines.  The revisit of such gusts seemed to me to be a sign that she was in attendance for the weekend.  My mom, sisters, aunts, and I all wore pieces of her jewellery the night of the wedding.  She was entirely there.  I missed her that day, but I felt her and I know she was taking part in her own way.

I can’t write anymore.  Though, there is much more to be said.  Today we leave Vegas (thank god!) and head to Zion.  I cannot wait!   I want to have alone time in the desert with my husband and silence.  That’s all I want right now.  I cannot wait to camp in the cold and hike in the dry sun.

There is a lot spinning around in my head on these subjects of late.  

The first and most obvious reason is my upcoming wedding planning, which has me living approximately 2 months ahead of myself at all times.  I have no idea what day it is after two weeks of vacation.  I can’t remember much about my life in Australia, because once I’m home it has a way of turning into a strange dream life that may or may not be rooted in reality.  I also have no idea what season it is because it’s almost the end of winter in Australia and almost the end of summer in Wisconsin, and really it all feels the same to me after two weeks at home.  I’m so confused in life right now. And excited.  And jet-lagged.  Let me tell you a secret about living in Australia – it’s the future there.  I took a brief vacation to the past for two weeks – in so many ways.  My body and mind are all still trying to adjust.

My second note on time travel and love is a brief commentary on the cosmic weirdness of the following:  my ex boyfriend of 7 years is getting married on the day that doesn’t exist in my life due to crossing the international date line while flying.  I leave on Friday, land on Sunday and somewhere in the la la land in between he will get married.  I really expected that this would have some sort of intense effect on me – his wedding, that is.  I think I anticipated this day, even when we were still together and in love.  There seemed to be something not in the cards about us, so I had expected that one day we might be apart. But, though I think part of me always anticipated that someday we would marry other people, I expected to be there.  I expected we would still be close.  Instead, I haven’t talked to him in nearly two years.  

Oddly, I’m not melancholy.  I don’t even know if I have feelings about the wedding.  I feel so far removed from his existence that I can’t even feel sad about it.  I feel nothing.  It’s perhaps a more troublesome feeling, honestly.  I feel guilty for my lack of feelings.  How can you share your life with someone for 7 years, having made plans for a future together; a wedding, kids, and everything that goes with it and then feel so little when they get married?  It’s odd.  I saw some good friends of his last weekend and we chatted a bit about the upcoming wedding.  Before they left I just told them to express my best wishes and give him a hug for me.  How strange.  The longest, most turbulent, and sweetly twisted love story in my life boiled down to a hug from afar and a meaningful time/space glitch wherein the day he commits to spend his life with someone else doesn’t exist for me.  

Life, you’re clever and funny.

Today I leave home for 7 more weeks in Australia.  It’s hard to leave.  Mentally I’m ready to come home and the next month and a half seems like a strange post-script to our life there – living on friend’s couches and trying to get in one more surf.

But, so it goes.  I’m off.