What is it all for?

While wiling away the brief, blinking moments of nothing in my life that are quickly killing even themselves, I was asked an interesting question.  The conversation had kept running long past the metaphorical last buzzer and we turned into those two shadows in the back of the gym that no one notices as they lock up...but they don't notice themselves either.  It was a Saturday night that was too chock-full of options that the two of us decided to avoid being overwhelmed and sat camped out together for hours trying to share life updates somewhere between the sarcasm and laughter.

"But do you still even consider yourself on this journey to find a home?"

I'm running, I've found my groove, there's no stopping and - BAM. Did someone just hurl a bucket of ice water on my face?

My first reaction was to wonder why my friend who knows me so well would even ask me that question.  What kind of question is that? Of course I'm still on my journey.  This isn't where I planned to end up.  This city did not embrace me as I entered.  There was no cuddling in the warmth of my bed while it was bitingly cold outside...no comfort.

"I do because I still feel like I haven't come to a complete stop.  I feel that there's something more, somewhere out there that I need to get to."

But does that still make this the original journey I started?

"I should stop saying I'm still on my journey. I am on a journey. Life is a journey, of course. Whatever. But that part of my life, that escape, that fleeing that I needed has ended.  I guess I've started a different journey."
"I think so, too. Your journey has ended.  This is your new life, Kaitlin. You'd better get used to it."

While I inwardly chuckled at this comment coming out of this person who continuously makes fun of my Seminar-minded musings, I was reminded of the comment that his friend told me months ago (oh, how times does sprint) while paused in Alabama: "Your adventure should be all about love."

And it has been.  That's truly what it came down to in the end of it all.  And if this journey within the greater journey of life has any indication of what life as a whole is all about...well, I think you know where this is headed.

But it's true. This adventure has been about love.  It is the explanation of everything my fleeing has been about.  It has been about learning to slow down in the midst of life speeding up around you.  Breathing.  It's when you slow down and are able to truly see what's happening around you because you no longer are fretting about what comes next that you learn love.  You pursue.  You pursue love.  You pursue love to consume your own self.

Internally I was fighting myself.  I was at a point where I was moving and my world around me wasn't.  Northern California already had me firm in its grip, talons around my ankle, and I was drowning in that last bit of water that pops as it gurgles down the drain.  I would have given myself 6 more months there before I slipped down that drain and set up roots.  I saw all of it happening and for a long time I felt like there was nothing I could do about it.  I was a little kid that was so excited for my new bouncy ball only to toss it to the floor and realize that it didn't bounce.  It was accept or get out and I didn't have long to decide before it was decided for me by the invisible forces that trap in all Californians within their nets simply because it's California.

So I started to pursue love.  I'm still not quite sure of what that love was - and is - but it had something to do with my continual amazement at life's possibilities.  I have a love for testing limits.  I don't want to live in a world of imposed limits that don't even have the nerve to justify themselves.  It has something to do with Jon's description of romantic love:  "It's worth it to stay interested in case it's real."  But that applies to any type of love.  And since life is defined by love then it's safe to say that I should stay interested in life in case it's real.

Now you're thinking about all of this.  Maybe re-reading portions. You never thought you'd turn into a Gael, did you?  Welcome to the Seminar disease!

Anyway...this love journey was only realized once I stopped to look at everything happening around me.  There's no better way to describe it than to compare it to the upside-down truck route sign from Birmingham (wow, way to make a lot of appearances in this post, Alabama).

We were trying to get somewhere.  You have to drive everywhere you go.  For some reason Alabama and California wanted to be lovers and decided their children would be forever public transit malnourished.  You drive fast because you can.  You make a lot of superfluous turns.  You pass a lot of warehouses and vacant, rusting buildings.

We were pondering what Alabama was.  How does one describe it simply?  At that perfect moment in the conversation where there is an awkward silence, one where both people feel the need to say something but don't, we stopped at a stop sign.  I was already perfecting my California roll, Birmingham-style because I was rushing.  I looked up to my right.  He looked up to his right.  Instant, synchronized laughter ensued.

"That's what Alabama is right there.  That's Alabama."

Or at least that's what sounded like came out of his mouth between explosions of laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Huge picture blog

The time for a huge picture blog entry has come.  I've gotten a lot of questions in the past few weeks about what I do every day.

Well...at first I thought people were joking.  Then I considered the fact that maybe these people just don't understand New York.  Then I noticed that 99% of the people asking me were from California. Then it all made sense.

It's funny to think of how Californians don't think there's anything in the US except for their beautiful, wine and organic food-filled state.  Even I fell into the trap of believing that places like DC, New York, and Boston were just more San Francisco's except bordering another ocean...rather, a smaller ocean.  With worse beaches.

Anyway, it turns out that New York is a city to itself.  There are city-specific customs, accent deciphering, ways of forming thoughts, manners for separate neighborhoods...it's almost about learning to live in another country except everyone speaks the same language as you. Or they do for the most part. I had to hand the phone to my coworker yesterday because I couldn't figure out what our client was saying.  He must've been from Long Island.

So here are random pictures of my life since I've moved here. I know I've left out some from the 4th of July and other events that I've attended but I feel like these are the most comprehensive.  By the end you will also notice that I can make photo stories about as well as I can play water polo...I can't swim.

Photos - commence!

The first picture I took of the city as I drove in to Brooklyn.  It turns out that I've ended up working in one of these buildings!

Most streets in the non-fancy areas of Brooklyn look like this.  With the huge subway bridge over your head.  Subways don't infest every area, though.

Rooptop bar on the top of Eataly in the Flatiron.  Rooftop bars are a big thing here.  People will actually ask you if you want to go to a rooftop bar.  Or if you know of a really good one.  Maybe it's a way to escape.  I've noticed the only way to get some clarity and the easiest way to "get away" from the city is to go up.  Up, up, up.

I had to include this classic New York photo of my window before I prettied it up.

My new window curtains and bright light.

The view from the top of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.  I don't think many people know you can go up here because it's never crowded.

Another roof.  My roof. This is where me, my roommates, and friends will come to eat, drink, and be merry when we don't want to go out.  Or to escape the heat of our apartment (I was smart and bought a window AC for my bedroom).  I often go up here to sit in one of the comfy camping chairs, think and read.  It's always cooler, quieter, and has a great view of downtown Brooklyn and the surrounding neighborhoods.

What I see every day coming out of the subway to go to work.  It's the new WTC building.  Sometimes when I'm eating lunch outside I think about what it would've been like to have worked at my current job on 9/11...

Every once in awhile Poo (my sister, Grace) sends me pictures like this just to make sure I'm still homesick for things like my ugly alien doggie.

How I spend most of my days.  This particular day was my work to be completed by 5:30.  It was 4:30.  On a Friday.

The Brooklyn Flea Market is the thing I recommend to all of my couchsurfers and friends that stay over. It's basically full of overpriced junk or trinkets and furniture that you can make yourself for 5% of the price but it's a great photography spot.  People carry their SLR-whatevers like they're an extension of their bodies.  Cameras are everywhere but for good reasons.  It's a great spot for people-watching, too.  Roam around the crap-filled stalls, grab a couple bites from some of the best eateries in Brooklyn and the Lower East Side, find a spot on the grass by the water and then pig out.

Another Brooklyn Flea pic.  I go every other weekend or so.

When Eleni and I decide to be really smart we have days like this.  It doesn't take much of an explanation.  We had nothing to do on a Saturday so we went to Forcella, bought a disgustingly delicious pizza, walked over to Blue Angel Wines where my cousin, Amaris, works sometimes, then sat on the back patio with a bottle of gruner and ate with our hands sans plates.

Once again...up.  Have you noticed a trend yet?  This was a stormy night in NYC at a bar called Le Bain on the top of The Standard Hotel.  Somehow, me and my friends walked straight up without being asked for our names (it's a guest list only type of place).  I tend to have experiences like this when I go out with my friend, Matt, from college.

Hot tubs inside the bar...

...and outside.  Typical.

Random spot in Brooklyn along the water.  It's fairly "secluded" for New York and is calm enough to be able to hear the water lapping against the rocks below you.

I work near the water in Manhattan and the closer you get to it the more water-themed artwork appears.  The picture doesn't seem like much but I eat lunch here sometimes and I find it comforting.  Water reminds me of home.  Of California.

Most streets near where I live look like this.  Lots of color.  A liquor store or deli on every block.  Lots of trees.

More water-themed artwork near where I work.  One of the streets is called "Water Street" so the connection is understandable.  I stood underneath the sculpture and looked up.

This is two blocks from where I work.  Yup.  A little scary knowing that the world is happening right next to you.  The world's economy is being toyed with and you can go sit here and feel the buzz.  It's overwhelming.

Matt and I usually meet once a week or so when I get off work and go drink wine to remind ourselves that we can bring a little Oregon and California flavor to New York.  Most people around our age in the city go to a little grungier places with really cheap PBR and beer+shot specials.  Matt and I, being of like minds, enjoy being a little snooty and finding different wine bars around the city.

This is where I end up after my other job one or two nights a week.  I work in a restaurant called Corsino in the meatpacking district 3-4 nights a week and there's a bar/restaurant named Fatty Crab next door.  They're our restaurant buddies - always trading food with us, sharing work equipment, etc - and have turned into friends for a lot of us.  The chefs recognize us (they can see and talk to you from where they work) so we're usually given free food and drinks combined with whatever we buy.  I never care what they give me because everything I consume here is mouthgasmic.  I'm usually given a "taste" of something that comes on a big spoon (I think this one was beef tongue with blahblahblahIdontremember) and a "taste" of a paired drink (some type of champagne here) while I wait for my food.  Sometimes more.  Maybe I look really hungry some days.  The place is great and gives me a more neighborhood-y feel for NYC.  I've made a lot of good friends here.

I had to add the classic "Kaitlin having too much fun" photo.  I'd actually just arrived at this couchsurfing party and was promptly loaded down with drinks so that I could take a "funny" picture for my surfers.  Bison grass vodka is a popular thing here and I'm noticing a trend with the beer selection...

Don't worry, mum and dad. I wasn't drunk. This was posed. You won't believe me but I had to add that comment for clarity.

And this is mostly how my nights out end.  With some random friend wearing a hipster t-shirt, undecipherable artwork, and a lot of candy.  Or food.  In this case jelly bellys.

This is about how crazy my life is.  A normal day consists of waking up around 7:30 to make breakfast, shower, and read the news.  I leave for work at 9 to catch the subway at 9:10.  I get off the subway at 9:25 and get to work around 9:30 depending on whether or not I grab some tea on the way.  From 1-2 I take lunch and either sit at Trinity Church (the oldest church in NYC) with two of my coworkers or wander around exploring the Financial District.  I get off work around 5:30 and then there are always two scenarios...the first is that I have to get to my other job by 6:00 so I just hop on the same subway line I always take between home and my jobs - the "C", sometimes the "A" - and I show up with a few minutes to spare.  I get off work around 10 and either grab a glass of wine next door or come home and visit with my roommates before going to bed.  The other scenario is I get off work and decide whether to run errands or meet up with friends in another part of the city.  If I do that then I get home anywhere between 8pm and 2am.

I don't often have a day off which is why it's been hard to update this lately.  I'll work harder and making time for it now that I'm getting into a groove with life and learning that I really do love this place.  It won't be my home forever but I'm not planning on leaving for a few years...

Rough life, huh?

Laughing and Cringing

Last weekend Eleni and I went to support our fellow Troubie (our high school mascot was a troubadour...because wandering minstrels are incredibly intimidating), Ashley Mortensen, in a musical that she was in at the Midtown International Theater Festival.  Maybe that wasn't really the name of it but it certainly sounds as pretentious and intimidating as it originally sounded.  We've been watching her in plays for almost ten years...wait, have we really known each other that long? Does this make us those types of people that forget when an event occurred in their relationship?

"(Blah blah blah), remember? We went there three years ago during the summer when we...wait..."
"No, that was four years ago."
"Four years ago? It doesn't seem that long ago."
"Hold up. Maybe it was 2006!"
"Whatever."

Anyway...it was amusing enough to see her perform after our couple-years-long hiatus of having our eyes glued to her and our ears so much in tune with her voice that we can pick it out of an entire chorus of Broadway singers.  But it was only when we were waiting for the subway below the disgustingly jam-packed NYC suburbia that is Midtown (it's not the 'burbs but you get the same feeling there that you would going to somewhere truly in the suburbs - think Walnut Creek) when we realized why we didn't really enjoy the experience.

The moment we walked up to the growing crowd of people curiously waiting to see just another version of "Alice in Wonderland"...at 11am...in Midtown Manhattan...we noticed the *gulp* theater geeks.  Nowadays we couldn't help but chuckle instantly because we, as much as we would like to avoid it, were once theater geeks.  That's actually how Eleni and I became friends: we were "married" in a play very similar to "Alice in Wonderland" in the fact that whoever wrote it was probably tripping on acid so we spent a lot of time trying to figure out who was more uncomfortable.  She had bound breasts and I had a fake butt that I couldn't sit in or remove for three hours.  We bonded over where to put my fake mole before each performance and whether it should "grow" or not as well as the hours we spent deciding if a candelabra should really be called a "candlebra" and what that would look like.  So, naturally, part of us felt very "at home" with these people and when we not-so-successfully eavesdropped (we laugh easily so we're not very sneaky in vital, secretive situations) we actually could relate to what they were talking about and understood the vague references to various plays and playwrights.

The other part of us was cringing.  It was a clear reminder of who we both used to be in high school.  It's not that we were bad people when we were younger...it's still not terribly embarrassing and we both would never trade our high school years for someone else's but it brought our minds back to what we were trying to get away from in the first place.

I left California because I didn't know who I was.  Because I didn't know who I was, I also didn't know what I wanted.  I still don't.  But I certainly have a better idea.

I spent elementary school and junior high being incredibly nerdy and an overachiever.  High school was spent trying to balance soccer and theater and more or less convincing my friends that I also had a 4.0...I guess that's where I started to realize that being intelligent didn't necessarily mean that you were a smart person so I spent less time on schoolwork and more time focusing on who I was as a person.  College was where I was supposed to "really find out" who I was but after the last year I realized that you can't really trust the person you become in college.  College seems to be more of a place to learn how to survive: you simply become an adult.  Let's remember that adults aren't always bright people.

Spending 40 days driving across the US by yourself doesn't give you much time to ignore yourself.  You don't get to dump your brain into your work or join the environmental club to fill up hours in your vacant schedule.  Those 6-8 hours a day in the car will get your brain thinking so hard about every minute detail of your life that one minute you're singing "hold me clooooooser, tiny daaaaancer" and the next minute you realize the music is off and you're gripping the wheel so tightly that you have to massage your fingers to get them to stop looking like curled witch's claws.  I found out more about the person that I am in those 40 days than I ever have in any other designated "period" of my life.  I'm comfortable saying that I know who I am. Maybe I don't know myself fully but I know what I like and dislike, where I want my life to go, who I want to surround myself with...I always felt lost before this trip.  I felt as if there was a "me" walking around somewhere in the world and I couldn't catch up with her.  That as soon as I saw her walking down the street I'd run as fast as I could to catch up to her and then slam my body into hers and hopefully it'd turn out like in the movies where my body would just evaporate or melt into hers and then finally I would've found myself.  It was as if I could feel this "me" but I couldn't have it.  I needed to find it.  I'd only been given hints throughout my life and now I had the chance to find the real her.

And then I locked myself into a tiny Nissan Versa and started driving.  I spent a lot of time looking at endless stretches of freeways.  I ignored my phone.  I played music I hadn't listened to in years.  I played new music I'd never heard before.  I found the local NPR station in each city I visited.  A lot can happen in your brain when you leave your family thousands of miles away, have your best friend ditch you in middle-of-nowhere US, fall for somebody unexpectedly but you both seem to have to deny it, get lost in the boonies and think all you'll have to eat are the non-perishables your mama stocked you up on, and you then decide to move to a city you've never seen.

I feel like I've turned into a girl (let's face it, no one is a "woman" until they've had children since that's the ultimate "womanly" rite) that knows breaking up with her long-time, live-in boyfriend was the best thing that's happened to her.  That enjoys spending hours by herself because it gives her time to reflect.  That knows she doesn't need to settle for someone or something simply because it's the "right thing to do" in society's opinion.  That can express herself freely and clearly.  That says "I want to work in a law firm" so she goes out and does just that.  That agrees when people tell her that her trip should be all about love.  That is wildly talented.  That, more than anything, is an incredibly lucky human being.

So when Eleni and I were yanked back by our Brooklyn hipster collars (I like to dress up, Eleni just is a hipster) to a scene out of - and said only in Michael Caine's voice - St. Francis College Preparatory for Young Women in the "City of Trees" that is Sacramento in the early 00's (is that how it's written?), we both cringed a little bit while we laughed.  The situation was bringing us straight back to the exact thing we both have been trying to escape from for five years.  I seem to remember one of us saying how sad it was that you can leave that world for years and when you come back it's completely the same.  We could've been 16 again right in that moment and no one would've known.  We would've blended right in like water from one cup to another despite the median age being significantly higher than our present one because, as Eleni put it, "You don't even have to change."




**To those of you who keep asking: the post with pictures is coming.  My next post will most likely be a random compilation of tidbits of my life here in NYC.  Soon, my dears!**