In a surprising and miraculous conclusion to the trip, we were randomly upgraded to business class for our flight from Hong Kong back to LA, which neither of us had ever experienced on an international flight. It means you get your own little pod world to stretch your legs out to infinity, and they bring you meals and meals and meals with always a hot towel in between. We basically spent the entire flight grinning at each other stupidly and shouting things like HEY LOOK! TINY THING OF OLIVE OIL! and rubbing our faces in the towels and just being amateurs and very un-business like, and conducting absolutely no business whatsoever. A perfect conclusion to a perfecter trip WHAT ARE WORDS WHAT IS TIME OKAY BACK TO BUSINESS
Folks, if you’re just tuning in / playing along from home: we are in fact leaving on our honeymoon TOMORROW instead of YESTERDAY. Also, this is a terrible game show. There are no prizes. Maybe find something else to do. Other announcements related to the trip that I am going on, but YOU are not going on, so why do I force you to ride the waves of its drama with me?!: I’m not bringing my computer. Huge, I know. While I COULD get some cool staged pictures of myself ‘working,’ I am more excited to disconnect from my beast friend for a few days for the first time in years and years. I have nightmares monthly that I leave it somewhere. I will now do so on purpose, open my brain back up, confront my bad handwriting, force myself to not google my own thoughts, but instead just have them. The real question: will I blog? I can do so from my phone. And so, PROBABLY.
The beautiful and simple yet moderately sturdy Oak Island Pier, that I spent my childhood walking up and down, that my idiot brothers and cousins lept off of, that I tried to meet boys on, has sadly been destroyed by Hurricane Matthew.
Watching the video of its collapse stabbed hard at my heart, but being that coastal Carolinians are strong and used to storms and the rebuilding that comes after, I have faith that it will soon reappier.
Tiny little baby brothers Dan and Tim are on a plane right now to Iceland! I myself was there three years ago nearly to the date, gallivanting around and eating tiny lobsters and standing beneath waterfalls and freezing in Magie’s mother’s winter coats near various glacier lagoons. The very thought of my brothers driving around and doing the same things fills me with GIANT GIDDY FEELINGS OF ENVY AND JOY WHICH IS TO SAY, JOYNVY. I’LL JUST CONTINUE TO SIT HERE AND MAKE UP WORDS. HAVE FUN BROSTETTERS!!!
Me: Hurray, we booked the hotel for the Hong Kong leg of our honeymooooooooon!
Morrison: Thank you for the exposition! Very exciting. It’ll be my first time in Asia!
Me: Mine too!
Morrison: You’ve been to Asia.
Me: No, I haven’t.
Morrison:….You’ve been to Russia.
Me: Yes I have.
Morrison:….which is in Asia.
Me: I feel like you’re making this up.
Me: AMERICA IS A CONTINENT, RIGHT?
So maybe yesterday I was supposed to fly back from NYC to get back to LA today to start a new job, and maybe they HAD US BOARD AND TAXI THEN SUDDENLY GET SENT BACK AND DEPLANE AND WAIT MORE THEN GET BACK ON THEN AGAIN HAVE ALL HOPES AND DREAMS FOR TRAVEL SHATTERED AND MAYBE THIS HAPPENED THREE SEPARATE TIMES AND I CLEARLY HAVE A PERSONAL PROBLEM WITH THINGS NOT BEING IN MY CONTROL SPECIFICALLY WHEN IT COMES TO PLANS. But this is beside the point. My point: throughout this ordeal, I kept texting Morrison / parents / whoever would listen, ‘this is my nightmare.’ Today, after some reflection, I think I need to stop using this go to phrase, as there are actual people living out actual nightmares, and the fact that I’m stuck waiting and eating wilting lettuce is, in fact, not a nightmarish situation, LIKE EVEN AT ALL. Inconveniences are not nightmares. They are things that make us let go of plans, be where we are. Next time, I will try and take those moments to just like maybe be grateful that I am alive, like at all.
Without fully realizing it, I booked us a stay at mindfulness resort where you are only allowed to speak ‘just above a whisper,’ where everyone just sort of sits around staring into the sun asking big questions, where there are free and actual workshops called ‘Raising Consciousness and simply ‘Juicing,’ where there is ice cold cucumber water everywhere, where there are turtles to feed and stones to walk around, just for sport. It is paradise. I don’t know what’s more wonderful and terrifying, the place itself, or HOW VERY GOOD WE ARE AT BEING HERE.
I would call the place by name, but then other people in the world would know about it other than us and every old beautiful french person currently vacationing in Southern California, and we just cannot have that.
Who is Joshua? Is that his tree? Is it the biblical Joshua? Did that Joshua have a tree? Was language that denoted possession not invented yet? Answers to these questions and more when Morrison and I return from our glorious three day desert sojourn, sunburnt and rambling about the healing powers of crystals, having glimpsed our own souls during a sound healing session. I CAN’T WAIT.
Verb: to be a young person traveling through Europe alone with a journal; to frantically journal in it. Whenever anyone asks you what your deal is, you lie and say you’ve been hired to write a book about traveling through Europe and that’s why you’re so frantically writing everything down, then the person sort of nods and walks away, either blown away or doubting you, and you sit there wondering why you felt the need to lie that lie, but then start to practice saying it aloud so that next time it sounds more believable.
The other night I yawned and suddenly my brain ripped me back eleven years to standing outside of a clothing store in Milan, peering through the window to see if they sold pants, because I went to Europe for a month without any pants at all because I was 22 years old and how is that I was allowed to go to Europe for a month by myself. Remembering this feeling of lost-ness and wonder and this constant sense of NO ONE IN THE WORLD KNOWS WHERE I AM compelled me to bust out my old Journal from the trip. It’s full of self portraits and angry and wondrous poetry about hurricanes and paintings and nuns, and cliched rumination on americans abroad. I like to flip through it sometimes to remember what it’s like to have only one job: to wander, to ponder, to find and eat a weird sandwich, to write it all down. I miss having a journal. I guess this blog is my journal, but it doesn’t feel the same. It’s cleaner. Less private. A journal is for secret thoughts. For muck. I want to have a journal again for the stuff beneath the stuff beneath the stuff.
As part of an ongoing effort to explore different parts of California, and force my brain to think newer and larger thoughts, I have hightailed it up to Santa Barbara for a day /night to write, by which I of course mean, go wine ‘tasting’ to the point where I am so joyful and full of Rose that all of the retired folks at the bar around me must hear my life story and I fall asleep in a facemask, surrounded by peanut M&Ms. Also known as: yesterday. But today: one stroll and one bikeride by the beach later, I already have not one but TWO half-baked television ideas about donuts, and have spent a good half an hour wondering how miraculous it is that children’s brains form, like at all, to the point where they can point at me and say, she is on a bike! And know that I am a she, and that is a Bike.