dear boyfriend in a jar

dear boyfriend in a jar,

i have to break up with you. this is kind of awkward. its just that you've outgrown the jar. and frankly, i really wasn't planning for this kind of long-term commitment. when i read the package, it said you would become full-sized after 72 hours, and here we are, almost a week later, and you're still growing.

things about you that also kind of bug me are that you don't wear a shirt. you do have nice abs i guess. but that is really only a novelty. and your pants are flesh-colored, giving the illusion that you are naked. i can't see how i could introduce you to my friends or family and keep a straight face.

its not me, its really you actually.

please let me know where i can dispose of you, because i am starting to see mold form around your ankles.

best,

karin

xoxo

meh.

"Freedom does not always mean going.” -- David L. Goetz

I’m chewing on that one. Chewing on it as I stare at the unpacked suitcase on my living room floor, folding laundry which will return itself to that very suitcase, which will then be thrown into the back of my car tomorrow, and hauled up Hwy 101 to Discovery Bay, where I will spend a much-needed weekend reconnecting with my family.

And also, I have started and stopped this blog entry upwards of a hundred times in some sad attempt to capture the last few days in London as well as the trips to Brooklyn and Southern Cali – each no longer really than a blink of an eye. I have given up on eloquence this week, but here’s a few things:

• I only took a total of eight pictures
• The only souvenirs I brought back were a Wispa candy bar and what seems like a large amount of Huntington Beach - as evidenced by the sand that spilled out of my running shoes and seems to have migrated to every room in my apartment
• I left behind more than a few articles of clothing
• New York is still as awful and brilliant as I remembered it
• L.A. still bugs me
• San Diego is starting to become way too familiar
• It is quite possible to run a half-marathon solo – possible to run three in fact. But braving it with someone else is so much sweeter
• My trusty boots, which while a little worse for wear, look quite happy after having seen the other side of the world

the last days in london

a few days have passed. most of which have been spent working from our London office; another at a PR conference on social media and blogging. here’s a few thoughts, snapshots and random bits:

- i passed a good twenty-some runners this morning with backpacks and intent looks. after musing about the backpacks for some time i realized that they were commuting. brilliant really.
- i wonder how long i would have to stay in london before the phrase (spoken with the lovelist british accent over the tube station’s loudspeaker) – “this is the picadilly line to cockfosters” ceased to make me giggle; how long i would have to stay in london before i became disenchanted with the tube all together. i’m still quite enamored with the ability to commute by public transportation at the moment.
- i find it quite bizarre that despite our being packed like sardines in the tube (i’ve had more intimate moments with strangers on the tube this week that i have had with those more familiar at home) that passengers rarely make eye contact or smile. it is the same posture people have in the cars next to me on my commute to and from work – blank stares aimed straight ahead. i wonder what we’re all thinking about.
- buckingham palace was quite disappointing at 7:30am on a thursday morning (i had expected quite a bit more fanfare or something – but it is really just a very large building, quite similar in my opinion to other very large buildings nearby. perhaps i was missing something?); however, the lamb tandoori i ordered for take-away from the indian restaurant on buckingham palace road the night previous? – awe inspiring.
- amazing cup of european coffee – followed by great run through the park – followed by leisurely breakfast at my b&b – followed by being squished up against a man on the tube i am almost certain was beck – followed by sunny walk to work through covent garden = me beaming all the way up the elevator to my office, saying to myself aloud, so as to not forget when things go south (as they inevitably do) – “I love my life, I love my life, I love my life.”

three days in london

*note - the below is purely a brief attempt to recount the "what i did on my summer vacation" kind of stuff. my apologies for the lack of personal commentary - i hope that will come later - but its trapped in my head at the moment.

day three in London: the sun is shining. had the loveliest commute to work this morning on the tube. i am loving public transportation – there is an entire novel i could write on that experience alone – i had no idea what commuting to work solo in the comfort of my own car has shaped my interaction with the world I live in – both with the landscape and the people in it. i like being on the street and despite the stuffy/hot tube ride – like being around all those people – that energy, those stories. it’s really quite bizarre actually how much time we spend alone because of cars. i like the simplicity of just walking everywhere.

our office here is in a fantastic location – covent garden – and it is great to see colleagues i’ve worked with for years but rarely get to see – and even better to see them here, where they live and play and enjoy many a pint together after work. there is great energy here. i’m looking forward to a full week of post-work merriment with friends – and will savor the commute by public transport.

day two in London: the rains set in. i dragged a sore and jet-lagged me out of bed and onto the wet city streets for a 10 mile training run – which due to said soreness/tiredness – ended up being more like a 6 mile run, a 1 mile slow crawl, and a 3 mile stagger. the upside, however, was a tour through both hyde and regent’s parks - countless monuments and memorials and gardens - oh my. even in the rain it was lovely – and great to get to run through a good portion of the city.

i braved the tube alone in the afternoon to go to fortnum & mason to stare at the floors and floors of fancy food (literally floors and floors of fancy coffees, teas, candies, cheeses, meats, jams, etc.) – pretty much glazed over due to fatigue. the place is a total foodie's dream - i was particularly sucked in by the cheese - but because $15 is just a lot to spend on marmalade (and there is literally not one square inch in my bags to carry anything home) i left empty-handed.

finally moved from kate’s to my b&b (so great, but no lift + 4th floor room = hard work with luggage), grabbed a well-deserved burger and pint at a pub down the street, and happily crashed early.

day one in London: gorgeous blue sky, crisp cold. arrived around noon to kate’s (kate went to Princeton seminary with my friend mindy and is working as a youth pastor at the american church in london. mindy connected us, and lucky girl that I am – had a great tour guide and place to crash my first day/evening here).

fearing that if i sat down I’d never get up, we headed out to take in the city (more specifically the art of the city) – national gallery, tate modern, shakespeare’s globe theater, long walk along the thames with views of big ben, st. paul’s cathedral, the london eye…and it goes on. it was an amazing evening to be out walking and take in the city skyline as it was totally clear. and it was my favorite kind of “sight-seeing” – no big agenda, lots of good people-watching.

and oddly – my highlight of the day was getting to see this gem by american artist joseph cornell in the tate. i stared at it for a good fifteen minutes before i could force myself to move on. i am so fascinated by the order he creates out of the most complex ideas/dreams/thoughts. so brilliant.

capped off the day with the largest pour of red wine i’ve seen (outside my own home of course), great conversation with kate, and fantastic italian meal.

four hour layover in atlanta

in the next 10 days i will schlep my bags and my fabulous new boots through six different airports. i will attend one PR conference. sleep in three different hotels. take about a million subway rides. have more than a few pints with more than a few friends, in pubs in London and Brooklyn. i will run a total of 30 miles (including one half-marathon in Huntington Beach, CA). i will have more than a few dreams about relocating to the EMEA region. i may or may not sleep in a hammock. i will hear at least one really bad piano player/lounge singer in a hotel airport. i will attempt (with the best of intentions) to capture a few snapshots via the blog. and if – at the end of this 10 days – i am still alive? it may be a small miracle. but this, this is what i live for.

little things

the sun is coming up, i just poured my first cup of stumptown, deep purple "soldier of fortune" is playing in the background, and the coffee shop is rapidly filling up with portland's unemployed, artists, bartenders and businessmen.

###

my neighbor and i have taken to passing notes to one another under our doors. maintaining alternate schedules, yet sharing a natural affinity for one another, it is the way we remain connected. those little scraps of paper remind us that there is another person that cares about our comings and goings.

his notes to me are often prayers or assertions of God's goodness ("He is mighty. Be brilliant today."). sometimes they are accompanied by a CD he's burned - of which a compilation of "travis" has been my favorite. sometimes the notes are more like little riddles - puzzle peices of conversations we had - most of which i partially forgot, and when i see reference to them on paper i am astonished that he remembered.

late last night i heard the scraping of paper sliding under my door and three feet across the hardwood floor into my living room. it read: "thank you for the peace. i hope he is the one."

Why do you travel so much?

“Why do you travel so much?” he asked.

And when he posed the question he looked directly into my eyes, sly little smile on his face, as if he already knew the answer, and would now skillfully expose with one penetrating glance, what he had already theorized on his own: I have a fear of commitment and of being known, and I travel out of a need to escape and of a desire to hide. I am (he believes) lost.

I felt trapped into explaining my constant wandering as if it was a psychological problem that we were now going to face bravely together, hand in hand, here in this very coffee shop. I think he half-expected tears – a breakdown – rather a breakthrough to mark the beginning of healing in this particular area of my life.

My response, I’m quite certain, was a great disappointment.

“Why not?”

****

You know what? I travel because I can – and because the world feels infinite. And because I wilt without change. I travel outside the country and on other continents. I travel within my own city when I feel like it. I travel to meet people, to experience new things, to see different kinds of trees; to get lost, to get found. To be myself; to be someone else. I travel because I am a storyteller. I travel because I am looking to find my place in the world – which I have a sneaking suspicion is as much in a village in Northern Uganda as it is in a hipster bar in New York City.

And I blame my parents. I blame them for exploring the world before I was even a thought - and for taking photos of their adventures and hanging them in our house. I blame them for putting me on planes. For shoving me in cars. For leaving the safety of their hometown Chicago to embark on their own grand adventure to the NW. For reading me books about far off places. Geez, for teaching me to read in general. I blame my mom for giving me a passion for the written word and encouraging me to write, because I can’t stop looking for the next story; my dad for continuing to praise me for being tough, as it’s given me entirely too much courage to travel alone. Sure, let’s blame my parents.

And if you prefer to believe that I travel so much because I am running away – sometimes you will be right. Because 8-12 hours a day sitting in a cubicle can force a free-spirit into a funk deep enough to make the Grand Canyon envious. And sometimes running away for a bit is the only thing making me stay.