Posts Tagged ‘longing’

Monday, March 25th, 2013

“If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.” – C.S. Lewis

Saturday, November 10th, 2012

“I never said, ‘I want to be alone.’ I only said, ‘I want to be left alone.’ There is all the difference.” – Greta Garbo

Wednesday, September 29th, 2010

‎”grief is what we call it when we have experienced love.” – Sophia Sky

Vashon Daytrip

Sunday, July 11th, 2010

I’ve been struggling emotionally the last few days. I’ve been longing and sad, and it’s been frustrating that after 7 months of being separated I’ll still backslide and get emotional about not having my ex in my life in some of the ways he used to be.

Depending on how things are going, instead of art, my creative power cycle is sometimes used to think a lot. While the experience brought a great many positive things, in some ways, having sex with someone new was an emotional gamble that I lost. I understand in more acute detail than usual lately why it is that people tend to wait until they absolutely can’t fucking stand one another to break up.

I realized, while taking this picture of a crow at the Montlake bus stop, that it had been a while since I’d flown off somewhere with myself, just me and me. I remembered that this was the feeling I had had enough of when I spontaneously booked tickets to Europe. So I cleared my Saturday afternoon and Sunday calendar and decided to take a ferry and my bike someplace I hadn’t been before, someplace remote and quieter. I decided on Vashon Island.

The plan was to go out there in the early evening Saturday after I wrapped up my massages and meetings, sleep on the beach and spend Sunday exploring. The weather has been great for that and I figure around here, it’s best to get it while the gettings good. So I left my phone at home, hopped the bus to the ferry terminal straight from the office, with packed food, some extra layers and my travel journal.

Even from the beginning, the trip felt like travel. In the sense that I didn’t really mind that the ferry was almost an hour late, I wasn’t rushed or focused on any particular goal, and I already felt better just at arriving to the water at Fauntleroy.

I passed the time waiting for the boat chatting with a man playing with his dog, a Belgian Malinois named Kai, who favored a stick longer than he was which was so girthy he could barely manage to fit it in his jaw. Kai is about 8 months old and still being trained to handle his emotions, of which there were many it seemed about this particular stick. He would frequently get so riled up and excited over it being tossed into the water again so he could chase it down that it seemed his little heart may burst. Before I left, I had been invited to beers and evening Barbecue. Only in West Seattle, I said to myself.

The ferry ride was shorter than I expected, as I’ve only been to Brainbridge and Victoria before and those are both a bit of a trek. I felt lucky in finding an electrical outlet to charge my camera battery, which seems to go from perfectly fine to dead and nothing in between, while I ate some food and prepared to bike the length of an island and back over the course of a day and a half. I’d forgotten how nice ferry rides can be when the weather is good.

I felt some kind of privilege being the first to embark and disembark on the ferry, since I was a walk-on and most people bring their cars. I’m not sure why, but there was just something nice about it, and something inherently cool about being passed by a fleet of motorcycles and scooters directly after getting off.

The first thing I found out about Vashon is that only completely fucking batshit insane people bring their bikes there. Immediately upon getting off the boat, I was greeted with a hill twice the size of the 23rd/24th monstrosity in Seattle and enjoyed the ignorance of not knowing, or being able to see so, based on the windiness of the road. At the top, a half hour and two stops later, I was in a heap in a woodsy area occasionally uttering some kind of ‘what the FUCK?’ type notion, staring at the flawless sky, waiting for my heart to stop trying to punch me in the face. After that, I figured out how to bungee my backpack to my bookrack so I didn’t have to wear it.

I spent the rest of the daylight biking my ass off, which is why I don’t have a lot of pictures, though I did stop when I found things particularly interesting. This GMC truck was apparently being well guarded by horseflies, whose aggressiveness I had conveniently forgotten about since living in the country when I was a kid. I biked in silence, often listening to the wind rushing past my ears. I biked hard. Real hard. And occasionally, I slowed down to look around, like when I rode through the tiny town, which was mostly closed up for the day.

This little house was next to some kind of nursery shop, though I couldn’t find it unless I was actually looking at it and didn’t know it. The top floor is for rent. I spent a good 10 minutes standing on the side of the road, looking at this house and fantasizing about what it would be like to dump my life and move there. This place reminded me of the victorian house my wusband, who predates my current ex by quite a few years and is one of my most trusted friends, and I rented in the central district, a house which I miss to this day. I’ve felt the constant, subtle magnetic pull of country and nature as far as residency since returning from Europe. It wouldn’t surprise me if I move out of the city in the next couple of years.

Right around dinner time, I finally passed by a place I was drawn to enter – Quartermasters Inn and restaurant. The sounds of Billy Holiday and polite eating lofted from the outside deck. If the place had smelled, it would have been of basil. I had plenty of food, but I also brought a little money, and really the only way to experience a new place for me is to eat there. So, I locked up to a sign, mostly so the bike wouldn’t fall over, and went in.

I ordered my first glass of Rose since France. It seemed fitting and it was awesome tasting – not to mention effective. I got some muscles and clams which arrived shortly after the guitarist had begun playing. The volume was low and reasonable, like background music should be, and it was thought provoking for me to watch a person perform while intentionally being in the background. I’m not like that, and don’t particularly want to do gigs that are like that, but being how I’ve been contemplating bands and open mics, it was good reconnaissance and prep work for me.

I had a lot of exercise in my immediate future, and the next day off, so I tossed my food intolerance out the window and just ate what I wanted. While eating the two desserts (chocolate cake and bread pudding) I ordered, and a glass of port, one of the people from the table across from me asked what I was celebrating. It was somewhat interesting, when I thought of the answer to his question. I was just as easily celebrating myself as I was wallowing in an entire quart of rocky road. The only difference was my perspective and approach to doing so. I went with celebrating me.

I didn’t talk too much with people, but somehow still managed to get three different offers of company and/or lodging in the time I spent at Quartermaster. The person who’d asked about my desserts offered his address as camping grounds. The owner of the restaurant offered his sailboat, and the apparent boyfriend of the musician that was playing told me where the hostel was and who to ask for to get properly taken care of. I found the islanders to be hospitable and friendly, but I’d decided about halfway through dinner that I wanted to head home. If I got sidetracked or found a perfect place to rest, so be it, but I missed my guitar and felt satisfied with my travel dose overall. It was also only 8pm and already I’d put on my sweatshirt.

Before heading back, I shot this video of the water just south of Quartermasters. I rode back breathing hard and pumping fast, listening to my most recent playlist, and then to songs of leaving. I’ve rarely listened to my own music while doing something active like biking. It was surprisingly inspiring.

I reached the ferry just in time to hop on as it left, hopped the 54 downtown, and biked another 5 miles home in the dark. Milage total is ~22 miles, same as my last long biking day, but the terrain was much more demanding. I am quite sore and lethargic today, and woke up VERY glad I did not sleep on the ground last night. My back is totally wrecked – I think it’s time to pay the $100 for a pro fitting.

I had a lot of metime to think about stuff in a different way then I tend to laying alone in a cold bed or trying to fill my day up with things that help me avoid the computer. I have notes on song ideas, a new perfume I want, and realized I want to take guitar lessons. I’m contemplating a new tattoo.

I was able to articulate and accept that I don’t feel right in the world without knowing exactly who I’d move heaven and earth to demise with were it ending. Sometimes, that means I’d run toward someone long after it’s reasonable or dignified to feel that way. This happens to be one of them.

So, yay. Life goes on, and for the time being, life is pretty uncomfortable. Thankfully, the one thing you can count on is change. I’m waiting.

Thanks, Vashon.