Exploiting Emotions

Two weeks ago, in the wake of the supposed virus plaguing our country, I started writing an article attempting to address my concern that our compassion may make many of us vulnerable to ideological ploys.  Given we are in an election year and we were already in the trenches of information warfare, I was hoping to warn my close friends and family, the only people I share most of my writing with (if it even makes it out of my journal) to be ready for the next assault on our heartstrings.  I didn’t even finish the article, before the next bomb was dropped.     

Now the lines have been drawn.  Or have they?  While many want to see this as two-sided, my observations produce different results.  While it is very easy for me to see how all those who jump on the Black Lives Matter bandwagon, got there, I’m not so sure about the other “side”.  I'm unable to find anyone who does not think that black lives matter.  It seems to be a consensus that all lives matter and that the police officer who set this all off, should be held accountable.  Where the debate lies is how/why this issue is relevant now.  

The injustice that transpired isn’t new.  Nor is the exploitation of it.  If you were born yesterday, I will pardon your ignorance of the injustices in our country/world.  Otherwise I am baffled.  How are you still falling for this stuff?

Am I suggesting we just accept injustice?  Of course not.  If you are so moved, do something about it.  But be careful.  While I’ll avoid the systematic racism debate, the situation of black people is being used for political gain.  Lumping a whole race of people together is stereotyping.  The Black Lives Matter movement, is being used for politics, not justice.  Do you think it is a coincidence that the last surge of interest in the movement was in 2016, just prior to the previous presidential election?   

This is a reoccurring theme.  The very people trying to call out injustice, inadvertently become the ones grouping people by the color of their skin (or gender, or sexual preference…) and not on the content of their character.  Its tricky.  When blinded by righteousness, its hard to avoid hypocrisy.  An easy trap in the identity politics world.

Why am I saying all this?  I’m just asking that everyone be a little less easy. First the whole stay home/mask thing and now the immediate and unquestioning obedience to support this political ploy. Frightening.  Please don’t let your emotions be exploited by those who care nothing for the causes you feel so strongly about.  Not only will you fall short of helping others, but you risk doing the exact thing, you claim to be fighting against.  

Be vigilant.  The onslaught on your emotions will only intensify until November.  They want us divided.  We are all in this together.  

Nuance

Very little is black and white.  However, if I look at the news or social media, this doesn’t seem to be the case.  People talk as if everything is cut and dry.  You are either for or against vaccines.  You either believe in climate change or you deny it.  You are either a Democrat or a Republican.  You either hate Trump or you are a racist.  Really?  These are my only options? 

Of course not.  There is so much in between.  And most people, probably fall somewhere in between.  But, the loudest voices seem to come from those who stand strongly in one camp or the other, and try to project these narrow parameters onto everyone else.   

Everyone else dwells in the nuance sphere.  I trust these people.  People less sure of themselves.  People who are unsure of what to make of the plethora of information we have at our fingertips.  People who recognize that we don’t really know the truth about much.  People who are trying to discern for themselves what information to base their actions on. 

It's clear to me how people became so sure of themselves.  We have been made to believe everything is black and white.  Good and evil.  Right and left.  But, we have been deceived.  A fake divide has been imposed on us.  It is not accurate.  We mostly agree.  It is details we disagree on.  And those details have been exaggerated to such an extent, some are ready to die for their “side”.  Calm down.  You don’t have enough information to die for any cause.   

We can know things.  For yourself.  You know the truth, for you.  But that is only your truth.  Once you try to impose that which you know, for yourself, to be true, onto others, you cross the line.  When you do this, what you are saying is, “I know what is best for you, because you are too stupid to figure it out for yourself.  Let's legislate my truth.  It's for your own good.”   

No thanks.  While I cherish your right to share your OPINION, I reserve the right to judge your opinion.  I question your motives.  Mostly, people just want to be right.  Most of this is ego bullshit.  Check yourself.  Are you really doing any good by perpetuating the fake divide?  Is being right, closing your mind off from understanding that we are all perceiving differently?  Are you desperately grasping to an ideology because that’s just what you’ve always done and questioning it, or changing your opinion would mean you were wrong or misinformed in the past? 

Finally, the things that I have been most concerned with, for decades, are now the main topics of social discourse, but it really hard to talk to most people about it, because they refuse to have nuanced conversation.  The moment I don't echo back their opinion, the conversation is over.  It’s disappointing.  I know you are out there though.  The silent majority.  People too wise to open their mouth.  I get it.  I look forward to the day when we can engage in CIVIL, productive discourse.    

Dirty Van Hippie

If you know, my best friend, Gracie, you maybe surprised to learn, that she is an excellent van-dweller.  Her appearance, which clearly takes a lot of time and energy and the size of her wardrobe, let alone her shoe collection, would lead one to believe that she is too high-maintenance to live simply, off the grid.  It came as a shock to me, on our first trip together.  Even her dad noticed.  Around that time, he saw a picture of Gracie in her van garb, that I posted on Facebook, and commented, “you dirty van hippie”!

Gracie is a dirty van hippie.  While I take advantage of any opportunity to get clean, getting in ANY body of water, any time of year, Gracie would go weeks without bathing.  To her, clean, is redoing her makeup, which she would do, every couple of days, despite the non-existence of any human contact, besides me, who not only doesn’t care, but is actually turned off, by such things.  But that is her homeostasis, as mine, is being clean.

Another quirk I learned of Gracie’s, as we started traveling together, is how long she would hold her bladder.  This was not only in situations when it was inconvenient to go to the bathroom.  Out of sheer laziness she would wait hours to use the bathroom.  While this seems extremely uncomfortable and unhealthy to me, what could I do, besides make fun of her?  Which I did.

This all came to a head one day, long ago, on a frigid day in December, somewhere in Texas.  We woke up in my van to a completely frozen landscape.

We had already been traveling for a week.  A few of the nights were spent in below zero temperatures and we had already sat out a snow storm near Zion National Park.  Realizing more weather was impending we picked up our pace heading south.  When we got to interstate 10, in Tucson, and started heading east, it seemed like we were in the clear.  We were taking our dear old time to get to Longview, Texas, where Gracie’s parents live.

The day before waking up in the frozen nightmare, had been interesting.  After hitting up a Cracker Barrel in El Paso, we continued east, enjoying the sun and western Texas landscape, that was all new to me.  We smoked a bowl to settle our stomachs from the Cracker Barrel mistake.  That too, proved to be a mistake, as shortly after getting extremely high, we pass signs and cameras indicating we are about to be stopped at an immigration checkpoint.  We freeze because the cameras, and then scramble to put the paraphernalia away, without appearing to move, as we slow to a stop in the checkpoint.  Gracie, who is driving, puts down her window, and gives the border patrol agent her full southern accent, “Good afternoon, sir”.

“Is everyone in the vehicle, a US citizen,” he barks.

“Yes?”, Gracie answers with a question.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Texas?”, Gracie again asks instead of answers.

The border patrol agent looks at her, then looks at me.  I try to keep a straight face despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.  Before he can even figure out what to say (as we are already in Texas), Gracie tries again.

“My parent’s house?”  Another question.

The border patrol agent, cracks a smile, unsure what to make of this ditzy bitch, and backs away from the window and waves us through.  We bolt down the interstate without moving and talking without moving our lips, as if they can still see us.  After we can think and breathe again, I research these immigration checkpoints and learn there aren’t any more.  Holy shit.  Now we are really high.  The combination of smoking weed, the adrenaline of the surprise stop, and then the relief of getting through it, was intense.  We cruise on down the interstate with our new buzz on.

We enjoyed our high, and the easy interstate driving for a few hours before things got a bit ominous.  When I say got, I mean turned, in like 10 seconds.  Sure, the temperature had dropped a bit, as we arrived in some hillier territory, but with very little warning, moisture started to hit the windshield.  The wipers couldn’t keep up.  They seemed to be making it worse.  What the fuck is happening?

“Pull over,” Gracie yells.

With almost no visibility, I pull off the interstate, noticing I’m nearly to the onramp to a picnic area.  I pull in, up to a curb, and dozens of semis and other vehicles fill in, around my van.
We are safe now.  We can just stay here for the night.  Fully equipped with food, water, gas, movies, 4G, and weed, this was no different than our night would have been had we not been forced off the highway, by a flash freeze.  This likely wasn’t the case for others at the picnic area.  We could only imagine how unprepared anyone else was for this, as we were not going to be leaving the vehicle, at all.  I had tried to pee outside, but couldn’t even go, because it was so frigid and there was no place to go and not be seen by others.  This was just a picnic area, not a rest area, with restrooms.  Huh, I thought, as I relieved myself in a bucket, inside the van and threw it out the door.  What if its like this in the morning.  Where will I shit?

Where I shit, is not something I take lightly.  This is the main determining factor of where I park, to sleep.  If it is not somewhere, I can wake up, drink coffee, and immediately poop, arrangements will have to be made, as to where that is going to transpire, within a reasonable distance.  I set myself up for success.  My day will be ruined if I have the urge, but let it pass, as I am not in a position to make the deposit.  This isn’t just in vanlife, this is everyday shit for me. 

This brings us to waking in the completely frozen landscape.  We were still surrounded by semis, but many of the cars that had pulled off with us, were gone, likely having to brave the icy conditions as opposed to freezing at the picnic area.  We didn't need to risk it.  We were warm enough (if under the covers), had plenty of food and water, and enough gas to occasionally run the engine, as some trucks seemed to be dealing with a frozen engine.  The only discomfort was that there was no where to shit.  It was insanely cold out, but I would not have let that stopped me, if there was privacy.  That's all there was too it, I was not going to be able to shit today.  Drinking coffee was certainly out of the question.  This is not how any day, ever, starts for me.

I crawled back into bed and smoked some weed, as that inhibits me from pooping.  Wait a second.  What the hell?  Gracie hasn't peed since we got here the night before.  She isn't into peeing in the bucket, despite my exclamations at the conveniences that go with it.
At this time, I had only been peeing in a bucket for two years.  That isn't long, considering I'd been living and/or spending large amounts of time in vehicles for six years.  Once I started doing it, I wondered how had I not done this sooner.  It was a game changer.  Freedom.  I had started doing it, when staying in a city and had no options, but soon realized the myriad times this action was convenient.  I had known, and been a little jealous, of guys doing this, and often capping it, to throw out later.  When I figured out I just needed a much wider-mouth, container, I was good to go. 

Up until this point, Gracie had not only refused to pee in a bucket, she made fun of me for doing so.  “I will never do that,” she said.

Which brings us back to the dilemma of the moment.  It is definitely not convenient for her to relieve herself, outside, now.  In every moment her situation is becoming more dire.  She has to pee so bad, it hurts me.  Finally the realization sets in.  She either has to go outside and face peeing where all the truckers can see her and her pee will likely freeze mid-stream or she can go in the bucket.  She opts for the bucket.

Gracie pulls the curtain between the bed, where I am laying and the open space, that incidentally serves as kitchen, living room and bathroom.  I remain quiet, holding back my laughter, as she tries to relax and settle into the reality of the situation.  Finally the silence is broken with the sound of the stream hitting the inside of the bucket.  I feel just as relieved as she must be feeling.  I try to hold back and give her “privacy”, but unable, I mutter, “you dirty van hippie.”

“Stop it!”, she screams, as she begins to laugh.  “I’m going to miss.”

I am so proud.  This feels like a milepost of van-dwelling.   A whole new world.  Gracie had plenty of opportunities to put her new skillset to work in the days that followed.  We ended up being parked at that picnic area for 36 hours.  Finally when we woke the second morning, everything had thawed, and we felt safe, proceeding.  The sun was out, and we cruised on down the interstate.  Despite being relatively comfortable during the emergency situation, we were slightly perturbed when we learned that a couple miles down the road, was the fanciest fucking rest area, we encountered on our whole trip.  Oh well, Gracie had earned her van-dwelling badge.

I wish that was where the story ended, but it ended up getting way crazier, as far as driving conditions went.

To this day, I have still never had to shit inside the van.  Most van-dwellers, if not by choice, are forced to do so, one way or another, eventually.  I’m sure that day will come for me, but luckily, it hasn’t come to that….yet!

As for Gracie, you’d be unlikely to find a more stalwart van-dweller.  Aside from all the usual skills one acquires while living in a vehicles, Gracie has mastered van cooking and interior design.  She continues to take being a dirty van hippie to new levels.

Meet Glorious!

I am now fully integrated into my third vehicle/home...Glorious!  As a decade of part-time, vehicle-dwelling passes, I can think of no better way, in which I choose to exist.  Although, I aspire to continue upgrading the vehicles, I live in, this lifestyle is exactly what I want to be doing, currently.  It is awesome.  And getting more enjoyable everyday!  

While, the interior design of my home is a never-ending, on-going project, I'll give a tour of the inside, in its current, semi-disheveled, state.  I still need to do a bit of downsizing, after moving out of the condo, that was my van.  

First I ripped out the middle row of seats (the back bench was already gone).  This left a decent size well, which is now my kitchen and pantry.

I also got rid of the carpet and most of the paneling.  The carpet was gross and the paneling took up usable space.

I installed a sub-floor, which leveled the whole space out, and created the storage area, where the middle row of seats were.  The trap door, is where I cook.  The extra eight inches is integral, as without that, the stove would be too close to the ceiling.

Then came the laminate flooring.  

Next, some shelving.

Another view of the shelving.

With all my crap.

A wider view of the crap.

And finally...me cooking bacon and drinking coffee!  

The Nano-Season

In a sea of endless seasonal opportunities, how does one fit in all the fun living/working situation into this short tour of earth?  With a nano-season!

The idea to do partial seasons came to me, years ago, when I worked the last two months of a summer season, at the Park Cafe, near Glacier National Park.  Although that was a GREAT job, I realized, if I had been there the whole season, I might not have enjoyed it as much as I did.  Not because there was anything wrong with the situation, but because the nature of many of these living/working situations have a short shelf life, for my tastes...and attention span.

These situations can be intense.  Living and working in the same place, with the same people, can be really fun and really exhausting at the same time.  In addition, I pick the places I live/work based on their proximity to the recreation, I hope to have after work and on my weekends.  With built-in friends and easy access to fun (which for me, usually entails miles up and down mountains), on top of a full-time, usually manual labor, job, all this activity can really take it out of me, quickly.  I would much rather show up, knowing there is a short time left and give it my all, both with the job and fun, than try to stick out a whole season.  This is usually the state I find the rest of co-workers in, when I show up, towards the end of a season.  They are counting down the days and are no longer enchanted with the awesomeness of the place, they felt earlier in the season.  It has become like any other "real life" hustle to them.

Finishing out the ski season, at June Mountain in June Lake, California

There are other reasons, I would choose a nano-season.  In the past I have had a short window of time, so opted to fill it, with what I subsequently dubbed a nano-season or a "tweener".  This may take convincing an employer to hire me for such a short time and is why these are primarily for otherwise undesirable employers, such as ski resorts and National Park concessionaires. In a nutshell, these are undesirable employers, because they are so big and corporate. While, generally I find these to be undesirable employers, I find the location to be highly desirable. (This is so sad, but is the current state of affairs at most of these national treasures).  So, to reconcile...a nano-season.  Get in, explore, and take advantage of the good, and get out before I become disgruntled by the big, inefficient mess of (usually) crappy and/or desperate management and the (in large part) degenerate workers, these desperate employers seem to attract.  I used to not even bother at all, opting to only work at a small, private lodge or restaurant, near the attraction, until I figured out how to make it work for me (the nano-season!).

I consider my current situation, a nano-season.  I actually, planned on this nano-season, although I did not know where I would be.  Months ago, I foresaw wanting to be in the snow, this time of year.  Knowing that the nature and scope of ski resorts, requires perpetual hiring, I counted on working for a ski resort that had employee housing (as opposed to a small nearly lodge or living in a town, which, while preferable, isn't as easy to get into, spur of the moment), as I was not trying to commit to any exact plans ahead of time.  Success!  It was too easy.  I applied, interviewed and was on my way within a 48-hour period.

While the process of starting to work/live somewhere new, can be arduous, I have got it down.  I pride myself on being able to slip into a new role, effortlessly, and continue with my own daily routine, without too much interference from the new situation.  This the only way this lifestyle is sustainable to me.  This was the case with this job.  I jumped right in, with no problem or blip in my daily routines.  My current role, as a lift operator, does seem to have a bit of curve, for being fit enough to stand outside in the elements all day, while wearing 30-ish extra pounds of clothes, and dealing with the general public, especially lots of kids.  I have been pretty tired after work each day, but have been able to bounce back to fully take advantage of where I am, on my weekends.  As I start my fourth and second to last week here, I know opting for a nano-season, was the right call.  There is a time limit for my full engagement with this post, and it is dwindling as quickly as the snow here, in sunny California.  However, knowing the end is near, allows me to give it everything I have, the next week and a half.

This was a three week, nano-season, at Crater Lake National Park, a couple years ago.

Although most jobs in the seasonal work world, mirror the four seasons of this hemisphere, my internal clock, detects more like, 6-8 season, per calendar year.  Ideally, a mix of longer and shorter stints, seems like a healthy balance.  Adhering to my schedule, and not the arbitrary ones based around what the robotic tourists are doing, and therefore employers are on, allows for more fun, better work, living in new great places and feeds my insatiable need to continuously change my circumstances.

Addicted To Spectacular

Jagged, snow-capped, mountain peaks, crystal clear alpine lakes, centuries-old trees, raging streams, dry air, boulders.  Yes, these are a few of my favorite things.  But, just visiting this dramatic mountain scenery is not good enough for me, I need to live amongst it.  And …. It has to have a spectacular element, to it.

My addiction has currently led me to June Lake, nestled amongst the eastern Sierra, in California.  I find myself here rather suddenly, though I am not surprised.  I am a crack-head for this shit.  While finding myself in southern Oregon since returning from Europe, last September, with ample odd jobs to feed myself and keep busy, I could not resist getting into the snow, since it decided to grace the Sierra with its presence this year (this was not the case the last two years).  I had been loosely inquiring into finding a spot in the Cascades for the winter, but opted for the dry, sunny California, after being away from my home climate for nearly eight months.  It does feel like home.  And…it is spectacular.  I live right on June lake, with awesome views in all directions and work on the ski hill, where the spectacular-ness rises with each foot of elevation gained on the chairlifts. 

View from chairlift that gets me to work.

I am certainly getting my fix.  The drastic rise of the eastern Sierra from the high desert, is not only visually stunning, but lends itself to endless opportunities for recreation. Within a half an hour’s drive is, at least, five hot springs, that I know about and endless desert trails and roads to explore.  I wouldn’t even be able to scratch the surface with the immediate alpine-side of things, but now, have no doubts, that this is a place I will be spending much more time in the future.  Especially in the summer.  Everything I want in a place.  Paradise….for sure.

This addiction has steadily taken a hold on me over the past ten years.  It began when I was working in the high school in Leadville, Colorado and would stare out the window at the Sawatch Range that flanks the western side of Leadville.  There, I had a realization that jobs, that once seemed intolerable to me, are totally bearable when the location and benefits overshadow the job, itself. 

Is there a downside to this?  Do I not feel right, when I am not amongst the spectacular?  A little bit.  But all contrast is necessary.  Spectacular is relative.  And it can certainly be taken for granted, if in it, full-time.  I have lived plenty of places where my co-workers do not even seem to notice, that they are in a special place.  On the other hand, my eyes and other senses have been pried open.  I see beauty in things, that I used to gloss over.  Now, the Midwest seems enchanting to me, because everywhere else I usually am, is so much drier.  I can appreciate it, for the lush, insanely green, swamp, that it is. 

Glacier.  Crested Butte.  Fallen Leaf Lake.  Crater Lake.  Norway.  Switzerland.  Yeah, I might have a problem.  But, its my cross to bear.  I’m not ready to seek help for this compulsion.  I’ll make the best of it and continue to feed the addiction.  It is still serving me.  And, I can not wait to see where it leads me to next.  

NEXT!

What started as a bookmark folder on my internet browser, has become a mantra of my lifestyle.  Over the past 10 years, dozens, of what start, as ideas for potential places to live, get a subfolder, and house links, I come across, either by chance or while specifically looking for the next spot. When one of these potentials slides into manifested reality, the subfolder of that place, moves from “NEXT!” folder to the “And Now” folder. Some subfolders sit there for years, before they become an “And Now”, while others have little time between the hatching of the idea and finding myself in that actual location.

At this point, it is hard to say, if my organizational process mirrors my thought process or vice versa.  When it gets to be that time, I get a visual of “NEXT!” in my head.  I use it in conversation, although the other person does not know, that when I say "next", I mean "NEXT!", more than just a word, but a way of life.    

Because I move so often, usually migrating along with the change of seasons, if not, more frequently, maintaining this lifestyle, and continuously trying to figure out the NEXT!, could become a full-time job.  I have certainly met people, for which this seems to be the case.  For me, it seems to defeat the purpose of this path, I have carved out. If I am always thinking about what is NEXT!, I am not fully engaged in the And Now. I strive for the balance between eagerly anticipating what is coming next and being fully present and, hopefully, thrilled, about the And Now, I currently find myself in.  This is the sweet spot. I have found a direct correlation between what I am feeling now and what comes next. If my now is good, what is coming next will be good. If I am loathing my current situation, it is difficult to not bring some of that into the NEXT!.  So, as all the wise ones claim, all the power is in the now, but the excitement of this lifestyle is getting stoked for what is NEXT!.

My current, And Now, has been a subfolder, hiding in NEXT!, for seven or eight years.  This seems to be the pattern of many of my And Nows.  They are an exciting thought, when I first learn of these locations. They become long forgotten, hiding in the vast NEXT!s, then without much effort or warning become my current reality.  Often, I find myself in a long awaited NEXT!, when I was loosely planning on something else, for that particular season.This is precisely what happened with Switzerland last summer.  Five years as a NEXT! and then one day, I found myself there, without even trying or planning.  This proves to me that events will coordinate themselves better than I can orchestrate, and it is only my job to launch the idea, then sit back and let it unfold.  I have also learned there is, not only no harm, but part of the process, to launch an idea, although it might be years, before it fully plays out.  Other people seem to be critical of this process.  They tell me, that I said I was going to do, so and so, years ago, and never did.  Their shortsightedness is sad and limiting.  It is never done.  All those NEXT!s are lined up, waiting to pop into my reality at the perfect moment.  Attempting to force a particular NEXT! into place is a waste of energy and counterproductive.

Currently, I find myself in June Lake, California, finishing out the ski season, as a lift operator at June Mountain.  So, the Eastern Sierra subfolder, that so patiently sat in NEXT!, for nearly a decade, as moved into the And Now.  When I leave here, it will return to NEXT!, for it is never done.  This is likely to be the first of many stints, in this awesome stretch of earth.  In addition, a few new NEXT! subfolders have been created while here, as I receive ideas from fellow seasonal workers, about their past and future NEXT!s and And Nows.  The cycle continues….