I'm sitting here in a cafe on Lopez Island, looking at these photos from the Oregon Coast - a trip that was not even two months. When traveling time seems to operate differently. With each new landscape, person, nightly home the moments extend and expand so that just a couple of days can feel like a lifetime.
I've been moving around, taking in new scenery, communities, homes for nearly 3 months now. I've extended and expanded with the swiftly passing moments. My mind has broadened, I've had to become more flexible and more resilient, I'm absorbing inspiration constantly and then finding more creative ways to feel grounded in all this constant motion.
Ever since New York, or really childhood, I've dreamt of a little wooden space of my own. When things become difficult, or I begin feeling a bit lost on my path, this image of a small, sweet cabin will drift back into my head and I'll feel comforted just by the idea. And while I've been able to inhabit a few sweet and charming spaces here on the island, I feel ready for a more long-term little space of my own. A quiet, humble space where I can work and breathe, plant and grow.
And when in such transient states, or quite stable places, often we have to make decisions. I've been thinking a lot about the nature of decisions - how some are practical, some are impulsive, some are intuitive -- some are from the heart, and some are backed up by a more rational mind. I've always been on the side of intuitive decisions, but I've been wondering what it means when your intuition pulls you one way, but circumstance is leading you another.
In New York circumstance was largely in my favor - I was met with opportunities doing what I loved, I had a sweet place to live and a roommate I really got along with. On the surface all was well, but often I had this nagging feeling that I wasn't where I was supposed to be - everything I found meaningful was at a distance. Relationships were fleeting and I was estranged from the wilderness, from simple living, and from quiet. I would often wonder what success really meant if I didn't have anyone nearby to share it with, if I was walking home through crowds and crowds of people to arrive home feeling even more alone.
So, with the opportunity to come to the northwest, I heeded that intuition. I left the potential career climb behind and onwards towards the dream of that little wooden space I could live and work - making bread, painting, photographing- and breathe, towards the landscape that I love. Now I am finding the circumstances have directly flipped. Here in the northwest everything I find meaningful is near - I have warm supportive friends, many spaces of quiet and unbelievable beauty, my mind is clear and I feel myself becoming healthier - however those more practical circumstances are not appearing quite so easily. I'm spending much time searching for that little space I'll live for the upcoming seasons, and a steady job to help support it. And I suppose it is a lesson, that often following your dream doesn't mean everything will immediately fall in your lap, and even that the process of getting there is quite beautiful too - that sometimes heeding your vision takes time, patience, and a bit of work. I know my little space will come, and in the meantime I've got a lot around me to be pretty thankful for.
This little trip to the coast happened after 2 days of sitting in a brightly lit convention center - at the Mother Earth News Fair sitting at the Taproot Magazine stand. We drove an extra 2 hours just for 15 minutes on the coast and it was completely worth it.