My first night sleeping on the road, Texas to Georgia, I pulled into a rest stop and tossed and turned sleeplessly for four hours, before giving up and getting back to driving. I couldn't let myself relax. Every noise beyond my windows was suspect. Every car approaching pulled me back to the world outside. Inconvenient, really, since rest stops are literally places for cars to come and go at all hours of the night. There was so much distrust deposited into my heart. Echo's of people asking if I had a weapon, if I had bear spray for intruders, if I had a way of protecting myself...I couldn't relax. Paranoia does not make a good cuddle buddy.
After that, I spent two months parked in a safe place in Georgia. Then two weeks in less safe spaces, but with Ixchel next to me. A friend, another person, bringing me a sense of safety. Now, I'm back to a solo adventure, last night being my first night alone after leaving NYC. I pulled into a rest stop a few hours after the sun had fallen. Annnd...I slept peacefully for eight hours straight, only awakening as the sun filtered onto my bed.
I believe a shift has finally occurred in this adventure. It is no longer where I am parked or who's with me that is leading me to feeling secure. It's the van itself. My van is my home now, my safe haven, and curled up inside it, I feel secure. Separate from the world. Now don't worry, Mom, Dad (I found out my dad is alive by the way. Although now I might kill him myself for worrying me so spectacularly), I am aware that it's still "just" a vehicle, and I'm not completely safe and separate inside it. I park in safe places and do my best to protect myself, but really, the feeling of paranoia has gone, and that' what I wanted. To be at home, wherever I go. I feel incredibly lucky to have reached this phase.
Following the theme of absurdity that has presented itself in van life, I notice one day my speedometer leaping erratically around my dash. Bouncing from 60 to 15 to 75, unsure of it's place in life. When it's not freaking out, it simply lies limp below zero, giving up on this crazy universe. What's the point of working, you know?
This new behavior with the speedometer causes my check engine light to begin questioning it's own existence, and it turns itself on and beams in my face each time I drive.
Eventually, I can't ignore the two of them any longer, especially since I no longer have a driver's license on me, it having been lost in the chaos of the ambulance ride back in Georgia, so the last thing I need is to be pulled over speeding when I don't even know my speed.
I bring it to a shop my grandparents recommend.
"Hello! I just need to have my speedometer checked out and fixed, it's jumping all over the place."
The mechanic doesn't miss a beat. "Just download an app to tell you you're speed."
I laugh, and he looks at me blankly.
Huh...he's serious.
What a world we're living in...
There's an app for *that.
That being...you know...everything.
Over the course of four days, I venture from New York City to just outside Colorado Springs. Nearly 2,000 miles. I was meant to go straight to Denver, but Ostara messages me when I'm about six hundred miles out, staying in Kansas for the night with my aunt and uncle I haven't seen in 11 years.
Ostara's message inquires as to my arrival time.
"We're all going camping for Cody's birthday. Do you think you can make it?"
Well shit...
It'll be quite the rushed drive, but I'd love to see all the people he mentions and meet many more I've been hearing about for months now, so I agree to route directly to the campground. I have things to focus on still...finding my dad...finding a job in Denver...but I could use a few days in the mountains with friends. So onward to Colorado Springs!
I sit in my van, dejected and overwhelmed. I've been walking around the Colorado campground for at least an hour, hoping to catch site of a camp that looks like my dad would reside in it, but no such luck. I've gone to the office and asked about him, since I know he's on the site crew here, but they acted as though they had never heard of him.
Okay...
They direct me to ask a man who's just pulled up on a four wheeler outside the office. They tell me he's on site crew and will know.
I rush outside and catch him as he's hopping in a box truck.
"Hi! I'm looking for my dad, but he doesn't have a phone right now, and I know he's on site crew. I was wondering if you might be able to direct me to him? His name is D.J?"
He shakes his head, "I don't know him. Maybe he's with food and beverage."
"Oh, okay. Thank you."
I turn back toward my van...I know Jimmy (the person who told me he had spoken to my dad in Colorado) told me he was on site crew...I don't think he meant food and beverage.
Am I crazy? Did Jimmy even see my dad? If he works here, why does no one seem to know him?
I climb into the van and drop my head into my hands. What do I do now? I've followed every lead...no one has been able to help me. If he is on site crew, my best bet to find him at this point is to wait for the weekend and hope I can catch him at a job...but there are so many people on crew, and I have no idea where he might be stationed.
I sink deeper into uncertainty and helplessness.
In the back of my awareness, I hear a car approaching and glance up instinctively. I'm not really sure if I'm allowed to be parked where I am, so I'm on high alert as people approach.
But it's not a car, it's a four wheeler.
With two men riding in the front.
And one of them is my dad.
I launch myself out of the side doors of the van, and sprint towards the road.
"Dad!" I shout, hoping they will hear me over the roar of the four wheeler.
It appears that they don't, and I prepare to propel myself faster towards them. But at the last second, my dads head turns, and recognition comes a beat after.
"Hey! Mai!"
The vehicle slows and he climbs off right as I reach him. I can't help the tears pouring down my face as we embrace.
"Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?"
"I thought you were dead," I say over his shoulder, trying not to shout and bring more attention from his coworker. Shout in frustration. In relief.
"I know, you did, I know," he pulls back, "But didn't Jimmy give you my message?"
"He told me you were alive, but I still couldn't find you, and I had already been looking for weeks before he got to me. Jesus." I'm wiping at the streaks of salty water running down my face, suddenly very aware of the other person on the four wheeler, waiting impatiently for us to wrap it up.
"I know you're working," I say, stepping out of the way, "What time are you done?"
"Usually around five. Go through that gate and follow the path along the fence, you'll find my camp. Punkin' is there, you should see her laying in the sun. I'll be there when I'm done."
I retreat to my van once more as they pull away, and a fresh flood of tears wash my face, born of relief and disbelief and a month of worry and fear finally being released.
Life is a crazy ride, y'all.
When I've pulled myself together somewhat, I follow a path through the woods, seemingly leading nowhere, until I reach a small camp against the fence.
I see a black dog laying outside a tent, and I assume it's Punkin', but I'm still too far to tell, and I don't want to startle a strange dog if this isn't the right camp.
"Punkin'!" I call out cheerfully.
The dog looks at me, but doesn't move.
Strange...I call her again, but it has no affect.
I doubt momentarily if it's her, because she's usually happy to see me, but I have to remind myself it's been a year and a half since I've seen her or my dad.
I approach slowly, listening for any warning growls or barks to let me know if it's a different dog, but once I'm close enough, it's clear it's her.
I kneel and reach to pet her head. She doesn't growl or bark or retreat, like she does with strangers, so I know she remembers me, but she also doesn't have a big reaction. The stub of her tail wags a few times, and she lays her head back down.
I pet her graying coat and it hits me how old she's getting, and that maybe that's why she didn't get up to greet me, and I'm crying all over again. She'll always be a puppy in my eyes.
I share my sandwich with her, and forcefully pull my emotions under control, and sit contemplating this strange life until my dad arrives.
"Punkin'!" My dad's voice comes through the trees. "Who was here?" He calls out, and she jumps up and runs to him.
I guess you're not that old, I think, watching her run, you just only love him.
"Oh, you're still here!" My dad says when he spots me.
"Well, duh, I was waiting on you."
We chat for a bit about meaningless stuff, but finally I have to ask.
"So what's up? Why haven't you contacted me?"
"My phone got stolen."
"Oh man...I kinda figured it was that or you broke it."
"Yeah, everything got stolen accept what was on my body. I think someone must have seen it and threatened to call the cops or something before they could search me."
"Wait, what?" I ask, trying to compute this new information. "Like, they robbed you while you were sleeping?"
"Well, I don't really know what happened before I woke up in the hospital. I -"
"Wait, what?! What the fuck, dad? You woke up in the hospital?"
"Okay, let me back up..."
"Yes, please do. What the hell happened??"
"I don't really know...I was walking along with Punkin', and I was pulling my cart, but the wheels were a hard plastic, so it was pretty loud on the concrete, so maybe we just didn't hear them coming up, or maybe because we're used to walking on the hike and bike path, we're used to people running up behind us, so the footsteps didn't really register...I don't know..."
"Dad...you got jumped...?"
"Yeah, mugged...I don't really know what happened. I woke up in the hospital with my jaw hurting really bad and a big lump on my head and I was covered in my own blood." He holds out a jar for me to peer inside and I see a molar sitting in it.
It takes a minute for this horror to register. "Oh my god. They hit you hard enough to knock out your tooth?"
"Yeah...I think I must have turned at the last minute as they ran up, so they hit me in the face, and I must have fallen and hit my head on the trunk I was pulling along, because that was the hardest thing around and the angle makes sense. But really, I don't remember any of it. I just had to try to put this all together from speculation and where I hurt. I woke up in the hospital 14 hours later..."
I'm about to ask how Punkin' managed to stay with him, but he beats me to it.
"It was kinda cool, I woke up and there was a little note next to my bed, that said 'The Humane Society has your dog.' So thank god for that. I don't know how they got her, but they held her until I was released. I guess maybe she hung around my body, or maybe whoever called the cops had seen her with me, so they knew to grab her. I don't know."
All I can do is shake my head and mutter profanities under my breath as he speaks.
"The nurse told me I was one of three homeless people brought in under the same circumstances that night...victims of violence, I guess is what they call that." He shakes his head and shrugs, and I'm stunned.
Who the hell thinks it's okay to treat homeless people like that?
We talk about the minute details for a while longer and eventually I heave an overwhelmed sigh. "May 17th, huh? That's when you woke up in the hospital?"
"Yup."
"Well, I tell ya...May must be a cursed month for us."
"What do you mean?"
"I woke up in the hospital four days after you did..." And I proceed to fill my dad in on my own ER experience, my grandmother dying, driving to Florida, and all the other things he's missed in the last month. Seems impossible for it to be so much, but it takes us the entire evening to catch up, pausing only to go get dinner and find a park to eat it in so Punkin' could join us.
"You still writing?" My dad asks as we work on our slices of cheesecake and watch the clouds change color beyond the mountains.
"Eh...some, I guess. Just posted a blog, but it was the first in a long while. It just came so easy in Europe. I felt like I always had stories to tell. But here, I don't know...people don't wanna read this shit. I don't have stories here."
"What are you talking about? Seems like you've got plenty!" He exclaims.
I had only just finished telling him about ripping my vent fan off the car, and the absurd days that followed, eliciting laughter and wide-eyed disbelief where appropriate.
I chuckle, "Yeah, okay...I'll keep writing. I try to do a daily practice, but it's not always so great." I shrug.
I head back to my dad's camp early the next morning, before he has work and I have to head to Denver for a meeting, and we have coffee. It's good to see my dad again, and to do such familiar things together. I breathe a little easier as these simple actions - morning coffee, dinner together - bring a sense of stability back into my unstable world. It's never been about where I am that makes me feel settled, but the people around me.
I'm glad to see my dad again.
A year and a half is too long.
I shut the water off and pop out of the stall wrapped in my towel. Another woman stands at the bench against the wall, drying off, and she glaces my way, but only briefly, dropping her eyes back to her own area. I pat myself dry and hang my towel, pulling on my clothes.
"Did it take you long..." She begins, but hesitates, trying to find the words and still not looking at me. "Did it take you long to get used to the rennie shower house situation? Just...being exposed in front of people?"
Her towel is still wrapped tightly around her torso.
"Oh, uh..." I kind of laugh. "I guess I was at an advantage, since I grew up in a commune, and then I spent some years doing theatre and modeling...you get used to changing in front of your cast mates and models and photographers pretty fast, so I don't really think about it here."
She nods and finally releases her towel to put on her clothes. "I got really spoiled at my last faire..." She tells me. "We often got hotel rooms, so I always had privacy, but here it's different."
"Is this your first show on the road?" I ask.
She nods.
"Well, welcome!" I smile. "You'll get used to it. It probably feels a little awkward now, but it's an awkward we all have to deal with, don't worry."
I wish her a nice day, and chuckle to myself as I'm exiting. It's easy for me to forget how many different stages of rennie can exist at the same time. You can have been here for 40 years...you can have been born here...you can be on the road for your first show ever, freshly away from home...you can only work the weekends...you can live in a tent full time...or a trailer...or your car...you can live at a booth and never see the rest of the workers except on faire days...you can live so close to your neighbor you can hear their whispered conversations in the night. Everyone's at a different phase and a different stage and a different comfort level, despite the fact that we're all here, essentially doing the same thing.
But isn't that that true of all of life?
No matter what you're doing...you're having a different experience than the person right beside you.
Sometimes there aren't words for the feelings we experience. As someone who enjoys expression through writing, that's a hard thing to admit to myself, but I'm sitting here, and I'm wracking my brain for a way to portray to you all the things I felt this July 4th, and there's just nothing coming...because it was a deep, internal feeling. Not a simple thought, to be expressed quickly.
16 hippies hike into the mountains...sounds like the beginning of a rather interesting tale, doesn't it?
We scatter into the mountains, separating and reconvening into different groups repeatedly on our journey to the top, where we lay down a feast of snacks and pass around bread and avocados and candy and drinks and laughter and love. We pile into a puddle on the edge of a rocky cliff to watch the clouds change and morph beautifully at sunset above the mountains.
I sit on the edge, a friends head on each of my legs, and look at this beautiful, caring, adventurous group of people I'm with, and I'm overwhelmed with emotions I can't describe. But I will say, some of the closest contenders are love, gratitude, kindness, elation...
Some of these people I have known my whole life...some of them a few years...some a couple months...some just today...but all of them are beautiful. And all of them are my friends.
I look between the faces of the people I have known the longest. I think of the drama and heartache that has been passed around within our little family, and how weaker ties may have been severed cause of this...but we're all here. Smiling, laughing, holding one another, sharing what we have.
After that, I spent two months parked in a safe place in Georgia. Then two weeks in less safe spaces, but with Ixchel next to me. A friend, another person, bringing me a sense of safety. Now, I'm back to a solo adventure, last night being my first night alone after leaving NYC. I pulled into a rest stop a few hours after the sun had fallen. Annnd...I slept peacefully for eight hours straight, only awakening as the sun filtered onto my bed.
I believe a shift has finally occurred in this adventure. It is no longer where I am parked or who's with me that is leading me to feeling secure. It's the van itself. My van is my home now, my safe haven, and curled up inside it, I feel secure. Separate from the world. Now don't worry, Mom, Dad (I found out my dad is alive by the way. Although now I might kill him myself for worrying me so spectacularly), I am aware that it's still "just" a vehicle, and I'm not completely safe and separate inside it. I park in safe places and do my best to protect myself, but really, the feeling of paranoia has gone, and that' what I wanted. To be at home, wherever I go. I feel incredibly lucky to have reached this phase.
Following the theme of absurdity that has presented itself in van life, I notice one day my speedometer leaping erratically around my dash. Bouncing from 60 to 15 to 75, unsure of it's place in life. When it's not freaking out, it simply lies limp below zero, giving up on this crazy universe. What's the point of working, you know?
Eventually, I can't ignore the two of them any longer, especially since I no longer have a driver's license on me, it having been lost in the chaos of the ambulance ride back in Georgia, so the last thing I need is to be pulled over speeding when I don't even know my speed.
I bring it to a shop my grandparents recommend.
"Hello! I just need to have my speedometer checked out and fixed, it's jumping all over the place."
The mechanic doesn't miss a beat. "Just download an app to tell you you're speed."
I laugh, and he looks at me blankly.
Huh...he's serious.
What a world we're living in...
There's an app for *that.
That being...you know...everything.
Over the course of four days, I venture from New York City to just outside Colorado Springs. Nearly 2,000 miles. I was meant to go straight to Denver, but Ostara messages me when I'm about six hundred miles out, staying in Kansas for the night with my aunt and uncle I haven't seen in 11 years.
 |
| All my baby cousins I had never met! |
Ostara's message inquires as to my arrival time.
"We're all going camping for Cody's birthday. Do you think you can make it?"
Well shit...
It'll be quite the rushed drive, but I'd love to see all the people he mentions and meet many more I've been hearing about for months now, so I agree to route directly to the campground. I have things to focus on still...finding my dad...finding a job in Denver...but I could use a few days in the mountains with friends. So onward to Colorado Springs!
 |
| Rennie boy yoga time |
 |
| "This water was *just* ice!!" |
 |
| Being Billy Goats |
 |
| I found where the good people went <3 |
I sit in my van, dejected and overwhelmed. I've been walking around the Colorado campground for at least an hour, hoping to catch site of a camp that looks like my dad would reside in it, but no such luck. I've gone to the office and asked about him, since I know he's on the site crew here, but they acted as though they had never heard of him.
Okay...
They direct me to ask a man who's just pulled up on a four wheeler outside the office. They tell me he's on site crew and will know.
I rush outside and catch him as he's hopping in a box truck.
"Hi! I'm looking for my dad, but he doesn't have a phone right now, and I know he's on site crew. I was wondering if you might be able to direct me to him? His name is D.J?"
He shakes his head, "I don't know him. Maybe he's with food and beverage."
"Oh, okay. Thank you."
I turn back toward my van...I know Jimmy (the person who told me he had spoken to my dad in Colorado) told me he was on site crew...I don't think he meant food and beverage.
Am I crazy? Did Jimmy even see my dad? If he works here, why does no one seem to know him?
I climb into the van and drop my head into my hands. What do I do now? I've followed every lead...no one has been able to help me. If he is on site crew, my best bet to find him at this point is to wait for the weekend and hope I can catch him at a job...but there are so many people on crew, and I have no idea where he might be stationed.
I sink deeper into uncertainty and helplessness.
In the back of my awareness, I hear a car approaching and glance up instinctively. I'm not really sure if I'm allowed to be parked where I am, so I'm on high alert as people approach.
But it's not a car, it's a four wheeler.
With two men riding in the front.
And one of them is my dad.
I launch myself out of the side doors of the van, and sprint towards the road.
"Dad!" I shout, hoping they will hear me over the roar of the four wheeler.
It appears that they don't, and I prepare to propel myself faster towards them. But at the last second, my dads head turns, and recognition comes a beat after.
"Hey! Mai!"
The vehicle slows and he climbs off right as I reach him. I can't help the tears pouring down my face as we embrace.
"Hey, kiddo, what's wrong?"
"I thought you were dead," I say over his shoulder, trying not to shout and bring more attention from his coworker. Shout in frustration. In relief.
"I know, you did, I know," he pulls back, "But didn't Jimmy give you my message?"
"He told me you were alive, but I still couldn't find you, and I had already been looking for weeks before he got to me. Jesus." I'm wiping at the streaks of salty water running down my face, suddenly very aware of the other person on the four wheeler, waiting impatiently for us to wrap it up.
"I know you're working," I say, stepping out of the way, "What time are you done?"
"Usually around five. Go through that gate and follow the path along the fence, you'll find my camp. Punkin' is there, you should see her laying in the sun. I'll be there when I'm done."
I retreat to my van once more as they pull away, and a fresh flood of tears wash my face, born of relief and disbelief and a month of worry and fear finally being released.
Life is a crazy ride, y'all.
When I've pulled myself together somewhat, I follow a path through the woods, seemingly leading nowhere, until I reach a small camp against the fence.
I see a black dog laying outside a tent, and I assume it's Punkin', but I'm still too far to tell, and I don't want to startle a strange dog if this isn't the right camp.
"Punkin'!" I call out cheerfully.
The dog looks at me, but doesn't move.
Strange...I call her again, but it has no affect.
I doubt momentarily if it's her, because she's usually happy to see me, but I have to remind myself it's been a year and a half since I've seen her or my dad.
I approach slowly, listening for any warning growls or barks to let me know if it's a different dog, but once I'm close enough, it's clear it's her.
I kneel and reach to pet her head. She doesn't growl or bark or retreat, like she does with strangers, so I know she remembers me, but she also doesn't have a big reaction. The stub of her tail wags a few times, and she lays her head back down.
I pet her graying coat and it hits me how old she's getting, and that maybe that's why she didn't get up to greet me, and I'm crying all over again. She'll always be a puppy in my eyes.
I share my sandwich with her, and forcefully pull my emotions under control, and sit contemplating this strange life until my dad arrives.
"Punkin'!" My dad's voice comes through the trees. "Who was here?" He calls out, and she jumps up and runs to him.
I guess you're not that old, I think, watching her run, you just only love him.
"Oh, you're still here!" My dad says when he spots me.
"Well, duh, I was waiting on you."
We chat for a bit about meaningless stuff, but finally I have to ask.
"So what's up? Why haven't you contacted me?"
"My phone got stolen."
"Oh man...I kinda figured it was that or you broke it."
"Yeah, everything got stolen accept what was on my body. I think someone must have seen it and threatened to call the cops or something before they could search me."
"Wait, what?" I ask, trying to compute this new information. "Like, they robbed you while you were sleeping?"
"Well, I don't really know what happened before I woke up in the hospital. I -"
"Wait, what?! What the fuck, dad? You woke up in the hospital?"
"Okay, let me back up..."
"Yes, please do. What the hell happened??"
"I don't really know...I was walking along with Punkin', and I was pulling my cart, but the wheels were a hard plastic, so it was pretty loud on the concrete, so maybe we just didn't hear them coming up, or maybe because we're used to walking on the hike and bike path, we're used to people running up behind us, so the footsteps didn't really register...I don't know..."
"Dad...you got jumped...?"
"Yeah, mugged...I don't really know what happened. I woke up in the hospital with my jaw hurting really bad and a big lump on my head and I was covered in my own blood." He holds out a jar for me to peer inside and I see a molar sitting in it.
It takes a minute for this horror to register. "Oh my god. They hit you hard enough to knock out your tooth?"
"Yeah...I think I must have turned at the last minute as they ran up, so they hit me in the face, and I must have fallen and hit my head on the trunk I was pulling along, because that was the hardest thing around and the angle makes sense. But really, I don't remember any of it. I just had to try to put this all together from speculation and where I hurt. I woke up in the hospital 14 hours later..."
I'm about to ask how Punkin' managed to stay with him, but he beats me to it.
"It was kinda cool, I woke up and there was a little note next to my bed, that said 'The Humane Society has your dog.' So thank god for that. I don't know how they got her, but they held her until I was released. I guess maybe she hung around my body, or maybe whoever called the cops had seen her with me, so they knew to grab her. I don't know."
All I can do is shake my head and mutter profanities under my breath as he speaks.
"The nurse told me I was one of three homeless people brought in under the same circumstances that night...victims of violence, I guess is what they call that." He shakes his head and shrugs, and I'm stunned.
Who the hell thinks it's okay to treat homeless people like that?
We talk about the minute details for a while longer and eventually I heave an overwhelmed sigh. "May 17th, huh? That's when you woke up in the hospital?"
"Yup."
"Well, I tell ya...May must be a cursed month for us."
"What do you mean?"
"I woke up in the hospital four days after you did..." And I proceed to fill my dad in on my own ER experience, my grandmother dying, driving to Florida, and all the other things he's missed in the last month. Seems impossible for it to be so much, but it takes us the entire evening to catch up, pausing only to go get dinner and find a park to eat it in so Punkin' could join us.
"You still writing?" My dad asks as we work on our slices of cheesecake and watch the clouds change color beyond the mountains.
"Eh...some, I guess. Just posted a blog, but it was the first in a long while. It just came so easy in Europe. I felt like I always had stories to tell. But here, I don't know...people don't wanna read this shit. I don't have stories here."
"What are you talking about? Seems like you've got plenty!" He exclaims.
I had only just finished telling him about ripping my vent fan off the car, and the absurd days that followed, eliciting laughter and wide-eyed disbelief where appropriate.
I chuckle, "Yeah, okay...I'll keep writing. I try to do a daily practice, but it's not always so great." I shrug.
I head back to my dad's camp early the next morning, before he has work and I have to head to Denver for a meeting, and we have coffee. It's good to see my dad again, and to do such familiar things together. I breathe a little easier as these simple actions - morning coffee, dinner together - bring a sense of stability back into my unstable world. It's never been about where I am that makes me feel settled, but the people around me.
I'm glad to see my dad again.
A year and a half is too long.
I shut the water off and pop out of the stall wrapped in my towel. Another woman stands at the bench against the wall, drying off, and she glaces my way, but only briefly, dropping her eyes back to her own area. I pat myself dry and hang my towel, pulling on my clothes.
"Did it take you long..." She begins, but hesitates, trying to find the words and still not looking at me. "Did it take you long to get used to the rennie shower house situation? Just...being exposed in front of people?"
Her towel is still wrapped tightly around her torso.
"Oh, uh..." I kind of laugh. "I guess I was at an advantage, since I grew up in a commune, and then I spent some years doing theatre and modeling...you get used to changing in front of your cast mates and models and photographers pretty fast, so I don't really think about it here."
She nods and finally releases her towel to put on her clothes. "I got really spoiled at my last faire..." She tells me. "We often got hotel rooms, so I always had privacy, but here it's different."
"Is this your first show on the road?" I ask.
She nods.
"Well, welcome!" I smile. "You'll get used to it. It probably feels a little awkward now, but it's an awkward we all have to deal with, don't worry."
I wish her a nice day, and chuckle to myself as I'm exiting. It's easy for me to forget how many different stages of rennie can exist at the same time. You can have been here for 40 years...you can have been born here...you can be on the road for your first show ever, freshly away from home...you can only work the weekends...you can live in a tent full time...or a trailer...or your car...you can live at a booth and never see the rest of the workers except on faire days...you can live so close to your neighbor you can hear their whispered conversations in the night. Everyone's at a different phase and a different stage and a different comfort level, despite the fact that we're all here, essentially doing the same thing.
But isn't that that true of all of life?
No matter what you're doing...you're having a different experience than the person right beside you.
Sometimes there aren't words for the feelings we experience. As someone who enjoys expression through writing, that's a hard thing to admit to myself, but I'm sitting here, and I'm wracking my brain for a way to portray to you all the things I felt this July 4th, and there's just nothing coming...because it was a deep, internal feeling. Not a simple thought, to be expressed quickly.
16 hippies hike into the mountains...sounds like the beginning of a rather interesting tale, doesn't it?
We scatter into the mountains, separating and reconvening into different groups repeatedly on our journey to the top, where we lay down a feast of snacks and pass around bread and avocados and candy and drinks and laughter and love. We pile into a puddle on the edge of a rocky cliff to watch the clouds change and morph beautifully at sunset above the mountains.
I sit on the edge, a friends head on each of my legs, and look at this beautiful, caring, adventurous group of people I'm with, and I'm overwhelmed with emotions I can't describe. But I will say, some of the closest contenders are love, gratitude, kindness, elation...
Some of these people I have known my whole life...some of them a few years...some a couple months...some just today...but all of them are beautiful. And all of them are my friends.
I look between the faces of the people I have known the longest. I think of the drama and heartache that has been passed around within our little family, and how weaker ties may have been severed cause of this...but we're all here. Smiling, laughing, holding one another, sharing what we have.
 |
| It's impossible to sit or lay without everyone joining in! |
I am grateful for these incredible people who actively choose family and love over resentment and pain.
Thank you all...for being my people.
We are reading. Keep writing!
ReplyDelete🖤🖤🖤
Delete