I haven’t washed my hair for a few days. It’s starting to show. I’m left with a few options. I could call Heather and ask if I can go to her house to shower, or I can just bring my shampoo into the Starbucks bathroom and wash my hair in the sink. I usually opt for the sink lately.
Heather would say that I wasn’t an imposition, but I knew better than that. I stay at her house when she and her husband, Josh, are out of town, under the pretence of watching their rats. For a little while there, they would ask me to stay on days they were home, too. I let it slip that my situation would, more than likely, be semi-permanent. I wore out my welcome, then. I’m okay with that. I actually find that I prefer sleeping in my car than on her couch. (Nothing against her couch, of course, but it sags in the middle and I never know where I am once I wake up.) My car has grown more comfortable since the winter. The other day I had myself convinced that I was in a real bed just before I opened my eyes.
On a related topic… I daydream a lot about beds and bedrooms these days. I find myself staring into space and trying to recall the exact feeling of slipping my legs under the crisp, cool covers on warm summer night and feeling the sheets glide over my bare calves. The feeling of lying on my stomach, with my head on the cool pillow and the comforter pulled up all around me. I miss the smell of the cool air, carrying a hint of the scent of the metal screen that would shield me from the crawlies of the night. I miss having blinds to mollify the rising of the early morning sun. I miss carpets and doorframes and squeaking box frames. I miss bed spread. I sometimes walk the aisles of Target, trying to imagine which fine home furnishings and decorative motifs I would go with if I had a house to put them in. I’d get my office furniture from Bernie, of course. One day…
I leave Starbucks at around 9:30pm on days when I’m not working. I use the restroom and change my clothes to be appropriate for the next day (jeans if I’ll be off, work clothes if I work in the morning) and head out to my car, which is usually parked on the third floor of the parking garage. This is my new favourite location. I park just where the overhang ends, facing Look Out Mountain. In a few steps I can be in the glorious summer sun, but my car can hide safely in the shade. There’s almost never anyone up there. I pretend that it’s my backyard. I walk around barefoot, and sing. I look out over the edge at the quaint town that I live in. Right across the way there is an apartment building. It’s a high end kind of place. I get to peek in some of the patios and windows and see the big-screen T.V.’s and stainless steel kitchens. Sometimes I get jealous, and I resent the people that live there. Most of the time I get sad. One night, after I closed, I moved the car out into the moonlight, to the spots that look out on Table Mountain. I watched the glow of the city from behind the landmark, and the stars as they came out. I listened to Lifehouse on repeat and tried as hard as I could to find God. All I found was music.
I would just stay in the parking garage at night, but for two reasons. Firstly, it’s too well lit. I couldn’t sleep well with all that light all the time. Secondly, there are police that patrol the structure, starting at around eleven each night. I’m not sure if they come back hourly, or if it’s a once a night kind of thing… but I have a feeling that I wouldn’t go unnoticed for long. It’s fine to leave your car over night, that I know for sure. John’s car broke down and has been in the garage for weeks with no problems (I’m starting to leave notes in the dust on the windshield every time I pass by). However, I have a feeling that a person staying in the car over night would be a different matter entirely. So, at night, I get to the car, toss in my stuff in the passenger seat, or in the trunk, depending on my organization for the week, and turn my attention to Lily and Violet for a minute. I make sure they still have food and water, that their bedding is dry and clean, and that they get sufficiently wired up and subsequently tuckered out before we head off to bed. They love running around on the back sill of the car, where I store my aprons, comic books, coffee mark-outs, and my brand new potted plant. It’s dying already, of course. I think Daisy had magical gardening powers. I do all of this while still in the parking garage because it’s well lit. I don’t like having to turn on the dome light while in my spot for the night. It makes me self-conscious, when I do, and draws attention to the car.
I pull out of the parking garage and drive the three blocks to Heather’s apartment complex. There are a few places near here where I like to park for the night. Just before the front doors, there’s a turn off with additional parking to the left of the building. I sometimes pull in here and turn off the lights. I coast into my spot next to the SUV that has been parked with the windows half down for years through rain, snow, and all sorts of abusive weather. I know that no one pays close attention to it, so it’s like a shield in a way. Ignore the SUV, ignore the little white car beside it. Either that, or I park in the very last spot on the left. It’s right next to the river, which is beautiful to listen to during the night. If I decide to park somewhere darker, I head up, past Heather’s building, and toward the park. There’s another row of parking spots, just to the right, that are unclaimed by the building and the park, and have absolutely no restrictions. I know it’s okay to leave vehicles here overnight because of the trailer that’s been parked there for a little while. I like waking up to the sounds of people enjoying the park behind me. No one bothers me. The only real downside to this spot is that, though it’s shaded by a huge tree, it still heats up quickly in the mornings. The spots by Heather’s apartment are right up against a big wall that, along with the mountains behind it, shades my car from the morning sun for a while. This morning I slept until nearly ten in the spot by the river. Near the park, I have to leave by around nine.
Once I’m in the spot of my choosing, I turn off the car, make sure the doors are locked and make my bed. I put the driver’s seat down all the way and slide it as far as I can away from the steering wheel to give me more leg/maneuvering room. I find my body pillow and jam it up between me and the passenger’s seat to guard me from the protruding emergency brake, gear shifter, and center console. I take off my shoes, and my socks as well, on warmer nights. I put my pillow under my head, and loosely drape my comforter over my torso, more for cover than for warmth at this point in the night. Sometimes I hang a sweater from the hook above the back seat and arrange it so it blocks out the parking lot’s bright lights. I find my phone and put it in my right pocket. I find my keys and hook them on my left belt loop. I curl into a ball facing right and listen to the rats scratching around. On colder nights over the remaining winter, I would have my sleeping bag around me, and at least one sweater on. I would cover my head and face with the sleeping bag and/or comforter. It would be warm there as long as I didn’t come uncovered in the night. As soon as Spring finally hit and it warmed up, I moved my sleeping bag and coat to my storage unit. No matter what I’m wrapped in, the windows get foggy by the morning after chilly nights. I don’t care much. As long as I can sleep through the night without drawing attention to myself, I’m fine. If I get woken up and questioned, I’ll say that I’m staying with Heather and that I got locked out and couldn’t get a hold of her. At which time I’ll call her, pretending to be exasperated, and she’ll let me in. After that I’ll go back to sleeping in Walmart parking lots.
In the morning I put the pillows and comforter back into the backseat, locate my toiletry bag and brush my hair and put on deodorant. I put the seat up and put on my shoes. Then I slide the seat forward and turn on the car. I drive the three blocks back to the parking garage by Starbucks, and head up to the third level. I gather what I may need for the first part of the morning, be it my toiletry bag, my computer bag, or a book or two. I check on the rats again, and make sure they’re bruxing the morning away, and then I head down the stairs to Starbucks to pee and to brush my teeth, sometimes to change if I didn’t do that the night before. These early morning rendezvous with my store are the only time that I feel ashamed. My co-workers see me come in and know where I came from. My regulars see me and offer greetings saying, “What, do you live here or something?” I avoid eye contact and pretend to be joking when I say yes. Once I come out of the bathroom, clean and more awake, I’m fine. From there I either work, read, go on the computer, or, rarely, go back to sleep. If I’m opening I have to wait an additional few minutes until the shift gets the keys to unlock the bathrooms. Those are usually the longest minutes of my day and I inevitably start actually working a few minutes late because I don’t want to work with morning breath. Most of the people that I work with know that I live in my car. It’s hard to keep that a secret around here. I’m unclear as to whether or not my manager knows. I don’t care about that much either, though. Whether or not he knows, I’m a good worker and am always available. It’s hard to complain about an employee like that.
A few of the people I work with offered to let me stay with them or their friends when I first got here, saying they just have to check with their roommates or something like that. No one has really gotten back to me about it, and, to be honest, I don’t really want them to. I’m a jumble of mixed feelings about it… but I don’t have any money for rent at the moment, and I’d hate to mooch off anyone. I feel bad enough taking showers and doing laundry at Heather’s apartment, although she says that they don’t pay for water. I feel like a bum. I’d rather wash my hair in the sink and find a Laundromat. But I can’t say no when Heather asks me because she’s genuine and she doesn’t want to hear that I feel like I’m imposing. “It’s not imposing if I INVITE you” she has said, multiple times. It doesn’t change how I feel about it, though.
In a couple of month I may have a paycheck that doesn’t necessarily have to disappear the moment I get it. If, by then, I’m sick and tired of roughing it, I’ll look into finding a place. Until then, I’ll continue to live by these means. It’s the only way I can feel legitimate. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the generosity, it’s just that I don’t feel I’m worthy of charity. I chose to be where I am. I made an active decision. I said to myself, when I get to Colorado, I’ll live in my car until I have the money for an apartment. In all honesty, it’s not that bad. I get lonely sometimes, but I get lonely with an apartment, too.
I’m glad I got a new friend for Lily. I feel like I worry about her less now that she has a companion. They can snuggle at night and keep warm, play all day while I’m working (or vice versa), and generally just keep each other company while I’m not around. Now that I have Violet, I have half as much to worry about and the living-in-my-car situation is much more bearable.
Today, I was walking from the parking garage to Starbucks to do my morning business. A man, who I guess has seen me around Starbucks before exclaimed in a joking manner, “Don’t you ever go home??” I turned to him and said in a perfectly serious tone, “No.” and turned back around. I think it threw him off a little.
On a side note: I don’t think many people in the world realize just how amazing the taste of fresh Granny Smith apples is. The way the juice explodes from its cocoon just below the tart skin… it’s really breathtaking. I’m a big fan.
The days are getting shorter again. Next time I’ll tell you about the solstice. For now, the hour is late and Adelaide is calling. Within her, I’m sure Lily and Violet are waking up, ready to seize the twilight. The world is our burrito. : )
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Karma and Coincidence
It’s warm and wonderful here. Outside, flakes of white swirl in the summer breeze. They’re cotton, says Heather, from fields nearby, and they can get as thick as a blizzard on windy days. They remind me of snowflakes from a gentle winter storm, and flutter aimlessly as they search for their place to land. They coat the ground in corners and along the curbs in this little town. The grass at the park is speckled with them. In the evening, when the summer bugs emerge, the setting sun reflects off of the buzzing air like the dust kicked off a weary sofa in the living rooms where I grew up.
It’s hotter in the sun than I’m used to. In Florida, I hardly felt the sun. Instead, I felt the oppressive wetness of the air and the coating, stifling heat of mere existence. Here, the sun is present and sharp. You crisp beneath it quickly, and shiver in the shadows that you pass through, as though the heat has clear boundaries and refuses to be possessed in darker places. It’s cold inside Starbucks, too. We never touch the thermostat except in desperate situations, and it remains set for the hottest summer days. If you’re working, the chill is pleasant, as you can become overheated easily with all of the machines pumping out warm air. If you’re lounging in the café, as I often do, it becomes necessary to wear a sweater. My feet long for socks, and in the evening I often contemplate getting the blanket from the trunk of my car.
I went, today, while reading one of the many books that I gather from the local library, to sit on the rock wall just outside the store. I found a patch of sunlight and curled within it. Immediately I was warm and could feel that I might burn if I stayed for the duration of the novel. The patch of sunlight grew larger as the morning wore on, and soon I was entirely immersed in light. I would look up from the bright pages and find the rest of the world dimmed in comparison to the gleaming light at which, up until then, I had been staring. As I felt my neck become just too warm, I picked up my purse and moved to the shade where I stayed comfortable under the blanket of an unusually warm breeze. I thought to myself about how warm the rest of the day inevitably would be, with a breeze like that. Here in the mountains, the air speaks of what the future holds. You can smell the rain as it approaches, and all of the weather must climb over the mountains before it reaches our little valley, therefore providing us with visual notice of its impending arrival.
The nights are growing warmer now. It’s a blessing and a curse. Hopefully it will stay cool enough that I can sleep in some mornings. In the chilly nights I stay warm enough, except for the tip of my nose. If I cover my head with the blanket, my nose warms nicely, but so does the air that I inhale. I’m never comfortable when I have to breathe warm air. I’m not sure how I ever really survived the Florida summers. So, what eventually happens is, once my nose is warm, I uncover my face and breathe deeply the frosty night air. This inevitably leads to a cold nose. I end up spending the whole night covering and uncovering my face and never really getting any rest. When the nights are warm, I’m comfortable. I sleep peacefully, as I did last night. In the morning, however, usually at first light, warm nights turn to hot days and the sunlight beats down, warming my bed to those deadly temperatures we read about- associated with supermarket parking lots and small children or pets. I don’t mind waking with the sun, really. But if I’m to have any semblance of a social life here (which may or may not happen), it would be nice to be able to go to bed long after sundown with the promise of sleeping in to look forward to. Luckily, the parking structure right next to my store stays cool and quiet, and keeps my rats safe and comfortable. It also provides nice napping grounds for hot afternoons, or lazy days off.
I’m not writing today to talk about my sleeping habits, though. Today I’d like to talk about Karma and Coincidence.
While on my latest excursion, a two thousand mile round-trip road trip to my beloved San Diego, I met Dawn Mitschele. She is one of the beautiful and wonderful women who performs with Billy on various songs including ‘Mayhem is Beautiful,’ and his new single ‘Grace of Love’ from his new album, ‘The Man Who Invented the Sky,’ in which she sings the haunting chorus of “They are us/ We are them/ Love is ours/ In the End.”
I met her though Johnny at Twiggs, the coffee shop that I frequent whenever I’m in town. She and Johnny were going over some songs that she was going to perform at her friend’s wedding. When they were through, Johnny pulled up the chair beside me to play chess all afternoon with his friend Jim, like they do nearly every day at the close-knit corner coffee shop. We struck up a conversation about music and he asked why I was in town. I confessed I had driven in for the concert the following evening and he asked who I was here to see. When I mentioned Bushwalla (a name I’m used to no one recognizing), he was stunned. Bushwalla? He asked. You drove all the way here for Billy? He told me that the girl he was just practicing was Dawn from the song off the last album, ‘Mayhem is Beautiful.’ He told me he was in it as well, playing the background music. *I realized just now that his business card was in my purse, and I had intended to get in touch with him to do carvings for his impending wedding. My heart has broken all over again* Dawn came back to the shop, having forgotten something, and Johnny introduced us. I was beside myself at the chance to meet the two of them. That song is one of my favorites. Dawn is happy and sweet, and seemed excited to hear of my travels. When we parted ways I felt that I was in exactly the place I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m taking the right path in my life, but I took it as a sign that everything was the way it was meant to be.
Over the next couple of days, I ran in to Dawn often, and each time was more pleasant than the last. The time that gives rise to this blog, however, was the day of the show, while I was sitting outside of the venue. I had spent the morning at Twiggs, the early afternoon at the beach, and lunch at a tiny half-hidden café right by the ocean which sold only natural foods. I felt fresh and calm, and ready for a day of relaxation and anticipation. Dawn emerged from the theatre after sound check and was only slightly surprised to find me there. She mentioned later that night that I had become a staple in her daily life for the last two days. We chatted a bit about the day before and the day to come. She didn’t seem to understand why I would like nothing better than to spend the entire day outside the venue when I could be exploring. I tried to explain that it was part of the experience that I love so much. I like to be there long enough to become part of the scenery. I watch the people that walk by, oblivious to me and my adventure, and imagine their daily lives. I listen to the sound check inside and become almost unbearably excited for the show to come. I never get bored, instead, I revel in each moment that I sit with anticipation, knowing that after the show, I’d give almost anything to be outside waiting for it to start all over again. I mentioned that I had finished the book that I had brought to occupy myself, and she insisted on lending me the one she keeps at the bottom of her purse, water stained and read on whims. I don’t remember what it was called, but I remember what I read. There were chapters called ‘Heart,’ ‘Relationships,’ and, most importantly, ‘Karma.’
I read it in passing. I didn’t really focus on it as I was trying to absorb all of the rest of the world. The chapter on Karma I found particularly interesting, however, and read from start to finish. I’m not a very spiritual person. I don’t have a religion. I don’t believe in a creator. I do believe, however, in the goodness of people, and I hold faith that everything in the world will right itself in the end, purely on the power of will and the variance of perception. If you can make the best of a bad situation, then you will live a happy life and everything will be alright in the end. What I believe is similar to the principles of Karma discussed in the book. The book takes it a step further that I do and takes into account reincarnation and the everlasting soul. It says that if you commit a transgression or wrong in your life, a parallel act will be committed toward you, to balance the Karma. It explains bad things happening to good people as transgressions those good people committed during a past life and have no memory of. It says that everything is balanced in this way. It also says that, if something happens to you, someone does something to hurt you, for example, and you get angry at them and wish them harm or punishment, really you’re just receiving what you deserve for a past incident (in this life or another) and by becoming angry and emitting negative will, you are just creating more bad Karma. The way to get around this, it says, is to try to understand what happened and why, and to forgive and love the person who hurt you. Only in this way, says the book, can the cycle be broken and balance be restored.
Now, as I already mentioned, I don’t exactly believe this; however, I do understand the principle behind it. It is the same message that Buddha, Jesus, and all those hippies were preaching: love, forgiveness, and peace. It was nice for me, sitting there in a peaceful environment, with all of my adventures past, and the exciting new adventures to come, to reaffirm my faith in goodness. I often think to myself, would a truly good person wish bad things on someone else. No. And, seeing as I would like to be as good of a person as I can, I can’t either. This counts toward everyone, including people who may hurt me in some way.
To clarify, this doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in punishment. I believe that if you hurt someone, you should be punished accordingly. If you do something wrong, you should be brought to justice. But I don’t see justice as ‘bad’ so I’m not contradicting myself. If a man robs a bank, for example, I think he should be imprisoned and fined accordingly. This is just. The people who were in the bank, who were taken advantage of and wronged, should seek that the thief should be caught and punished. Then, they should try to understand how insecure and desperate that person must have been. They should understand that now the transgressor is serving the punishment, and then try to forgive and love him. By love him, I don’t mean they should send gifts to the prison and welcome him back with open arms once his time is served. That’s ridiculous and foolish. I mean love him as if it had been a longtime friend who committed the crime. They should keep themselves distanced, don’t trust him or support his crime, but wish him relief from his insecurities or difficult lifestyle, wish him happier times and security, wish that he turns his life around and lives comfortably and without crime in the future. It may not actually help the criminal, but the victims will heal faster, and will know that they acted well: maturely and compassionately. By hating or wishing the criminal harm, all the victims are doing is hurting themselves and not letting themselves get over what happened. It’s in the past and all people can really do is forgive, love, and try to live their lives the best way they can.
Since my first trip to San Diego back in 2007, which feels like a lifetime ago, I have tried to live positively. I’m an optimistic person now, and I feel like I live the way I’ve always wanted to. I’m happy. When I got back to Denver after the 18 hour drive home, I was buzzing with excitement. The show had been fantastic. I took advantage of every opportunity that was presented to me (including hula-hooping for the first time since grade-school) and I made incredible new friends. I pranced around my Starbucks showing everyone the pictures of my new friends, my new adventures, and the men I had recently fallen in love with (there were a few… but then, there are always a few.) One of our regulars, Bernie, a nice and ever-smiling man with bright blue eyes that twinkle with joy, saw the photos and asked if I’d put them on the computer yet. You don’t want to lose all those memories, he said. I reassured him that I’d get them onto the computer and my Facebook within the next few days and that I would never want anything to happen to them. I put up a post on Facebook that night: I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
I always try to appreciate everything I have. I never want to look back and think that I took anything for granted. I’m able to look back now and say that I took nothing that was lost for granted, and I’m proud of that. What a coincidence, though, that just a day later, I would have the chance to prove all of these words and new ideas of thankfulness, forgiveness, and love.
The next morning was Monday and I had a shift at work. While I was there, one of my coworkers asked if I could cover part of their shift that night. Of course I agreed. I never pass up hours. The shift was from 5:30p-6:30p… only an hour of work. After my morning shift I took a nap in my car, then went back inside to work for an hour. I came back after my shift and my purse was gone. Someone had reached in through the cracked window, unlocked the doors, and taken my bag. At first I didn’t believe it. I went back inside to check the store, thinking that I may have taken it in with me and just not remembered. No. I went back to the car, checked everywhere… it was gone. I went back to the store, to the back room, and started to cry. My wallet was in there. My green card was in there. My money was in there. Then, oh no! My CAMERA was in there! My iPod was in there! My music and my pictures! They took my music and my pictures! Of all the things they could have taken, they HAD to take my music and my pictures. I was devastated. I felt used and violated, I felt empty, I felt alone…
I did everything that I was supposed to do. I cancelled my credit cards and debit cards, went to the police station and filed a report, contacted immigration to get a new green card, etc. I eventually wrote down a list of everything that was in the purse for the insurance company and it totaled nearly $1500 in value. Seeing that number made my stomach churn. If I had realized that I had so much value invested in that purse, there is no way I would have let it out of my sight for a minute, let alone an hour (an hour in which, might I add, I earned $9 at work). For a few days at work I was depressed and angry. I cried once to Heather, I’ve been homeless for two months. Two whole months! I said. And I’m further indebted to my parents and worse off than when I first got here! I felt so lost, for those few days; I didn’t feel like I’d ever be happy again.
But I stayed strong. Instead of falling into my former patterns of depression and self-pity, I fell back on my new-found optimism. The lyrics to the song ‘Better’ by Jason Mraz rang in my head and helped to calm my depression. The chapter from that book that Dawn lent to me the week before rang in my head and helped to calm my anger. I thought to myself, ‘It always gets better, I know it gets better. Now what I have to do is try to understand why that person took my purse. I have to forgive them. I have to try to love them.’ It was hard until I remembered that I’ve shoplifted before. When I was finishing High School and I was friends with Amanda, I was deep in depression and felt I had no worth. I hated myself and wanted to feel accepted any way I could. I did a lot that I’m not proud of, though I wouldn’t be who I am today without my past. A few times, while out together, Amanda and I would steal things: small things usually, rings, jewelry, key chains. Usually they were presents for one another or for friends. When I stopped hanging out with Amanda, right around the time when I found Jason Mraz and started to discover my own worth, I stopped doing things like that. So I used that to try to figure this situation out. I stole because it helped me to fit in, because I felt cool and accepted. I felt like I wouldn’t be those things without it. I can’t imagine how badly this person must feel about themselves to steal something so valuable right out of my car. Whether they did it to impress someone, or even for the money, they must be in a desperate and seemingly hopeless situation. Even if they seem happy, I’m sure they have no self-respect and that makes me sad for them. I still hope that they’re caught and they are judged for what they did, but I also hope that they find a better way of looking for themselves than theft. I hope that one day, they can be happy with who they are and what they have. I’m trying to love them, and send out my good thoughts for them and their future.
I’m thankful for my parents, who are always there to help me back onto my feet, and who I will repay with more than just money, in time.
I’m thankful for Heather, who was a wonderful shoulder to cry on. She’s a true friend.
I’m thankful for the safety of my rats, Lily and Violet. They were in the car when it was broken into and a more sadistic criminal may have taken advantage of their vulnerability.
I’m thankful for my phone and my laptop. My phone and charger, which normally would have been in my purse, were safely in my possession during all of this. My laptop was in the trunk of my car, a place where the thief, thankfully, didn’t look.
I’m thankful to Officer Mehnert for being so sympathetic and kind during our encounter.
I’m thankful that my possessions were covered under my parents’ homeowners insurance and I can use the money we’ll get to pay them back for all of their kindness.
I’m thankful for my health, my car (which was undamaged), and my AUX cable, which they didn’t take and which allows me to use my phone as an MP3 player in my car in lieu of my iPod
All of this I’m thankful for, and more… so much more.
I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
It’s hotter in the sun than I’m used to. In Florida, I hardly felt the sun. Instead, I felt the oppressive wetness of the air and the coating, stifling heat of mere existence. Here, the sun is present and sharp. You crisp beneath it quickly, and shiver in the shadows that you pass through, as though the heat has clear boundaries and refuses to be possessed in darker places. It’s cold inside Starbucks, too. We never touch the thermostat except in desperate situations, and it remains set for the hottest summer days. If you’re working, the chill is pleasant, as you can become overheated easily with all of the machines pumping out warm air. If you’re lounging in the café, as I often do, it becomes necessary to wear a sweater. My feet long for socks, and in the evening I often contemplate getting the blanket from the trunk of my car.
I went, today, while reading one of the many books that I gather from the local library, to sit on the rock wall just outside the store. I found a patch of sunlight and curled within it. Immediately I was warm and could feel that I might burn if I stayed for the duration of the novel. The patch of sunlight grew larger as the morning wore on, and soon I was entirely immersed in light. I would look up from the bright pages and find the rest of the world dimmed in comparison to the gleaming light at which, up until then, I had been staring. As I felt my neck become just too warm, I picked up my purse and moved to the shade where I stayed comfortable under the blanket of an unusually warm breeze. I thought to myself about how warm the rest of the day inevitably would be, with a breeze like that. Here in the mountains, the air speaks of what the future holds. You can smell the rain as it approaches, and all of the weather must climb over the mountains before it reaches our little valley, therefore providing us with visual notice of its impending arrival.
The nights are growing warmer now. It’s a blessing and a curse. Hopefully it will stay cool enough that I can sleep in some mornings. In the chilly nights I stay warm enough, except for the tip of my nose. If I cover my head with the blanket, my nose warms nicely, but so does the air that I inhale. I’m never comfortable when I have to breathe warm air. I’m not sure how I ever really survived the Florida summers. So, what eventually happens is, once my nose is warm, I uncover my face and breathe deeply the frosty night air. This inevitably leads to a cold nose. I end up spending the whole night covering and uncovering my face and never really getting any rest. When the nights are warm, I’m comfortable. I sleep peacefully, as I did last night. In the morning, however, usually at first light, warm nights turn to hot days and the sunlight beats down, warming my bed to those deadly temperatures we read about- associated with supermarket parking lots and small children or pets. I don’t mind waking with the sun, really. But if I’m to have any semblance of a social life here (which may or may not happen), it would be nice to be able to go to bed long after sundown with the promise of sleeping in to look forward to. Luckily, the parking structure right next to my store stays cool and quiet, and keeps my rats safe and comfortable. It also provides nice napping grounds for hot afternoons, or lazy days off.
I’m not writing today to talk about my sleeping habits, though. Today I’d like to talk about Karma and Coincidence.
While on my latest excursion, a two thousand mile round-trip road trip to my beloved San Diego, I met Dawn Mitschele. She is one of the beautiful and wonderful women who performs with Billy on various songs including ‘Mayhem is Beautiful,’ and his new single ‘Grace of Love’ from his new album, ‘The Man Who Invented the Sky,’ in which she sings the haunting chorus of “They are us/ We are them/ Love is ours/ In the End.”
I met her though Johnny at Twiggs, the coffee shop that I frequent whenever I’m in town. She and Johnny were going over some songs that she was going to perform at her friend’s wedding. When they were through, Johnny pulled up the chair beside me to play chess all afternoon with his friend Jim, like they do nearly every day at the close-knit corner coffee shop. We struck up a conversation about music and he asked why I was in town. I confessed I had driven in for the concert the following evening and he asked who I was here to see. When I mentioned Bushwalla (a name I’m used to no one recognizing), he was stunned. Bushwalla? He asked. You drove all the way here for Billy? He told me that the girl he was just practicing was Dawn from the song off the last album, ‘Mayhem is Beautiful.’ He told me he was in it as well, playing the background music. *I realized just now that his business card was in my purse, and I had intended to get in touch with him to do carvings for his impending wedding. My heart has broken all over again* Dawn came back to the shop, having forgotten something, and Johnny introduced us. I was beside myself at the chance to meet the two of them. That song is one of my favorites. Dawn is happy and sweet, and seemed excited to hear of my travels. When we parted ways I felt that I was in exactly the place I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing. Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m taking the right path in my life, but I took it as a sign that everything was the way it was meant to be.
Over the next couple of days, I ran in to Dawn often, and each time was more pleasant than the last. The time that gives rise to this blog, however, was the day of the show, while I was sitting outside of the venue. I had spent the morning at Twiggs, the early afternoon at the beach, and lunch at a tiny half-hidden café right by the ocean which sold only natural foods. I felt fresh and calm, and ready for a day of relaxation and anticipation. Dawn emerged from the theatre after sound check and was only slightly surprised to find me there. She mentioned later that night that I had become a staple in her daily life for the last two days. We chatted a bit about the day before and the day to come. She didn’t seem to understand why I would like nothing better than to spend the entire day outside the venue when I could be exploring. I tried to explain that it was part of the experience that I love so much. I like to be there long enough to become part of the scenery. I watch the people that walk by, oblivious to me and my adventure, and imagine their daily lives. I listen to the sound check inside and become almost unbearably excited for the show to come. I never get bored, instead, I revel in each moment that I sit with anticipation, knowing that after the show, I’d give almost anything to be outside waiting for it to start all over again. I mentioned that I had finished the book that I had brought to occupy myself, and she insisted on lending me the one she keeps at the bottom of her purse, water stained and read on whims. I don’t remember what it was called, but I remember what I read. There were chapters called ‘Heart,’ ‘Relationships,’ and, most importantly, ‘Karma.’
I read it in passing. I didn’t really focus on it as I was trying to absorb all of the rest of the world. The chapter on Karma I found particularly interesting, however, and read from start to finish. I’m not a very spiritual person. I don’t have a religion. I don’t believe in a creator. I do believe, however, in the goodness of people, and I hold faith that everything in the world will right itself in the end, purely on the power of will and the variance of perception. If you can make the best of a bad situation, then you will live a happy life and everything will be alright in the end. What I believe is similar to the principles of Karma discussed in the book. The book takes it a step further that I do and takes into account reincarnation and the everlasting soul. It says that if you commit a transgression or wrong in your life, a parallel act will be committed toward you, to balance the Karma. It explains bad things happening to good people as transgressions those good people committed during a past life and have no memory of. It says that everything is balanced in this way. It also says that, if something happens to you, someone does something to hurt you, for example, and you get angry at them and wish them harm or punishment, really you’re just receiving what you deserve for a past incident (in this life or another) and by becoming angry and emitting negative will, you are just creating more bad Karma. The way to get around this, it says, is to try to understand what happened and why, and to forgive and love the person who hurt you. Only in this way, says the book, can the cycle be broken and balance be restored.
Now, as I already mentioned, I don’t exactly believe this; however, I do understand the principle behind it. It is the same message that Buddha, Jesus, and all those hippies were preaching: love, forgiveness, and peace. It was nice for me, sitting there in a peaceful environment, with all of my adventures past, and the exciting new adventures to come, to reaffirm my faith in goodness. I often think to myself, would a truly good person wish bad things on someone else. No. And, seeing as I would like to be as good of a person as I can, I can’t either. This counts toward everyone, including people who may hurt me in some way.
To clarify, this doesn’t mean that I don’t believe in punishment. I believe that if you hurt someone, you should be punished accordingly. If you do something wrong, you should be brought to justice. But I don’t see justice as ‘bad’ so I’m not contradicting myself. If a man robs a bank, for example, I think he should be imprisoned and fined accordingly. This is just. The people who were in the bank, who were taken advantage of and wronged, should seek that the thief should be caught and punished. Then, they should try to understand how insecure and desperate that person must have been. They should understand that now the transgressor is serving the punishment, and then try to forgive and love him. By love him, I don’t mean they should send gifts to the prison and welcome him back with open arms once his time is served. That’s ridiculous and foolish. I mean love him as if it had been a longtime friend who committed the crime. They should keep themselves distanced, don’t trust him or support his crime, but wish him relief from his insecurities or difficult lifestyle, wish him happier times and security, wish that he turns his life around and lives comfortably and without crime in the future. It may not actually help the criminal, but the victims will heal faster, and will know that they acted well: maturely and compassionately. By hating or wishing the criminal harm, all the victims are doing is hurting themselves and not letting themselves get over what happened. It’s in the past and all people can really do is forgive, love, and try to live their lives the best way they can.
Since my first trip to San Diego back in 2007, which feels like a lifetime ago, I have tried to live positively. I’m an optimistic person now, and I feel like I live the way I’ve always wanted to. I’m happy. When I got back to Denver after the 18 hour drive home, I was buzzing with excitement. The show had been fantastic. I took advantage of every opportunity that was presented to me (including hula-hooping for the first time since grade-school) and I made incredible new friends. I pranced around my Starbucks showing everyone the pictures of my new friends, my new adventures, and the men I had recently fallen in love with (there were a few… but then, there are always a few.) One of our regulars, Bernie, a nice and ever-smiling man with bright blue eyes that twinkle with joy, saw the photos and asked if I’d put them on the computer yet. You don’t want to lose all those memories, he said. I reassured him that I’d get them onto the computer and my Facebook within the next few days and that I would never want anything to happen to them. I put up a post on Facebook that night: I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
I always try to appreciate everything I have. I never want to look back and think that I took anything for granted. I’m able to look back now and say that I took nothing that was lost for granted, and I’m proud of that. What a coincidence, though, that just a day later, I would have the chance to prove all of these words and new ideas of thankfulness, forgiveness, and love.
The next morning was Monday and I had a shift at work. While I was there, one of my coworkers asked if I could cover part of their shift that night. Of course I agreed. I never pass up hours. The shift was from 5:30p-6:30p… only an hour of work. After my morning shift I took a nap in my car, then went back inside to work for an hour. I came back after my shift and my purse was gone. Someone had reached in through the cracked window, unlocked the doors, and taken my bag. At first I didn’t believe it. I went back inside to check the store, thinking that I may have taken it in with me and just not remembered. No. I went back to the car, checked everywhere… it was gone. I went back to the store, to the back room, and started to cry. My wallet was in there. My green card was in there. My money was in there. Then, oh no! My CAMERA was in there! My iPod was in there! My music and my pictures! They took my music and my pictures! Of all the things they could have taken, they HAD to take my music and my pictures. I was devastated. I felt used and violated, I felt empty, I felt alone…
I did everything that I was supposed to do. I cancelled my credit cards and debit cards, went to the police station and filed a report, contacted immigration to get a new green card, etc. I eventually wrote down a list of everything that was in the purse for the insurance company and it totaled nearly $1500 in value. Seeing that number made my stomach churn. If I had realized that I had so much value invested in that purse, there is no way I would have let it out of my sight for a minute, let alone an hour (an hour in which, might I add, I earned $9 at work). For a few days at work I was depressed and angry. I cried once to Heather, I’ve been homeless for two months. Two whole months! I said. And I’m further indebted to my parents and worse off than when I first got here! I felt so lost, for those few days; I didn’t feel like I’d ever be happy again.
But I stayed strong. Instead of falling into my former patterns of depression and self-pity, I fell back on my new-found optimism. The lyrics to the song ‘Better’ by Jason Mraz rang in my head and helped to calm my depression. The chapter from that book that Dawn lent to me the week before rang in my head and helped to calm my anger. I thought to myself, ‘It always gets better, I know it gets better. Now what I have to do is try to understand why that person took my purse. I have to forgive them. I have to try to love them.’ It was hard until I remembered that I’ve shoplifted before. When I was finishing High School and I was friends with Amanda, I was deep in depression and felt I had no worth. I hated myself and wanted to feel accepted any way I could. I did a lot that I’m not proud of, though I wouldn’t be who I am today without my past. A few times, while out together, Amanda and I would steal things: small things usually, rings, jewelry, key chains. Usually they were presents for one another or for friends. When I stopped hanging out with Amanda, right around the time when I found Jason Mraz and started to discover my own worth, I stopped doing things like that. So I used that to try to figure this situation out. I stole because it helped me to fit in, because I felt cool and accepted. I felt like I wouldn’t be those things without it. I can’t imagine how badly this person must feel about themselves to steal something so valuable right out of my car. Whether they did it to impress someone, or even for the money, they must be in a desperate and seemingly hopeless situation. Even if they seem happy, I’m sure they have no self-respect and that makes me sad for them. I still hope that they’re caught and they are judged for what they did, but I also hope that they find a better way of looking for themselves than theft. I hope that one day, they can be happy with who they are and what they have. I’m trying to love them, and send out my good thoughts for them and their future.
I’m thankful for my parents, who are always there to help me back onto my feet, and who I will repay with more than just money, in time.
I’m thankful for Heather, who was a wonderful shoulder to cry on. She’s a true friend.
I’m thankful for the safety of my rats, Lily and Violet. They were in the car when it was broken into and a more sadistic criminal may have taken advantage of their vulnerability.
I’m thankful for my phone and my laptop. My phone and charger, which normally would have been in my purse, were safely in my possession during all of this. My laptop was in the trunk of my car, a place where the thief, thankfully, didn’t look.
I’m thankful to Officer Mehnert for being so sympathetic and kind during our encounter.
I’m thankful that my possessions were covered under my parents’ homeowners insurance and I can use the money we’ll get to pay them back for all of their kindness.
I’m thankful for my health, my car (which was undamaged), and my AUX cable, which they didn’t take and which allows me to use my phone as an MP3 player in my car in lieu of my iPod
All of this I’m thankful for, and more… so much more.
I am so thankful for everything I have and everyone I know. You all give me so much... ♥ ♥ ♥ I love my life!
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