Change: A Defining Feature of the 20's

As I reflect upon 2012, I realize how truly remarkable the change that can occur in one year can be. At the beginning of this year I was days out of a 3 year relationship, an ending that was devastating and painful. After 10 years of being completely independent, I came knocking on my parents' door, needing a place to stay until I could muster the money for a deposit to a new apartment. I was back in the town I had grown up in. And I was only 4 months in to the first year of a doctorate program, part of which involved working at a community mental health agency in Marin.

It was one of those periods in life where everything shifts and is re-evaluated. It was time to take a good long look inside and figure out what I truly wanted out of life, and how I was going to get there. Although I was grieving, I felt something inside of me change, open up. A fire was lit in me. It was time to start over, start new again.

We hear about such change in the form of the "mid life crisis," but this kind of monumental shift can occur at any point in one's life. For me, this period served as a "light bulb moment," a realization of where I ultimately wanted to go in life. For years I had asserted my feminist opinions in the form of denying any interest in ultimately having a family one day. I wasn't sure I wanted to be married at all. I didn't know where I wanted to live, or what I wanted to do. I had always felt there was more to life, but I wasn't sure what it was.

I was months away from becoming engaged when I realized that I could not see one year in the future with this partner, let alone a lifetime. And as I packed up the last of my things from our shared apartment, sorting through our shared CD case of movies to find mine, I realized I no longer had the patience or the time to date frivolously anymore. I never wanted to sort through another CD case again.

Of course grieving is a process. So I began the year by reconnecting with old friends from my home town, a place that has always held me and supported me through many transitions. I like to think of it as a landing pad for my airplane to go when it needs a base point. I worked on my relationship with my parents. And I poured myself into my work at school.

Eventually I gathered the money and began to look into places to move closer to school. I fell in love with Oakland the first time I visited. It exemplified the kind of place I wanted to live in at this very moment in time: adapt to adversity, community-oriented, and full of life. I knew this place needed to be my new home.

I moved into my quaint Lake Merritt studio in April. I was finally in the land of public transportation and 2 hour parking (another change I had to figure out- luckily, it only took about 15 parking tickets before I got it). I started expanding upon newer friendships. Over the summer I allowed myself to relive my early 20's and get a bit reckless, staying out late and dancing. And in my free time I explored this new city, and discovered all it had to offer (secret parks and lakes, Friday art gallery crawls, wonderful food, to mention a few things).

At the end of the summer I met a new man. He was caring, intelligent, gentle. I felt safe with him. Still, I took my time getting to know him, cautiously resisting the urge to jump into something serious again. For the first time ever, I listened to my head as much as my heart in a romantic situation, and I consciously chose this partner. Suddenly the future didn't seem so far away any more. I was growing up.

In the fall I began my second year in the program. This year was to be the toughest academic year, and that was the case. I was assigned to work in the Mission district in San Francisco, quite a difference from my work in Marin the previous year. By the time school started I felt strong and ready to begin another chapter. So far, I'm charging through it.

In one year I lost a relationship, moved home with my parents, moved to a new city, ended a school year, found a new kind of relationship, and began a new school year and a new job. Lots of change. Change seems to be a defining feature of my 20's. But as I grow older, I feel myself longing to bury my feet in the soil somewhere. I can finally admit that I do, in fact, want a family one day.

And so I look forward to 2013, and maintain hope that perhaps in my 30's I will find more stability. Until then, I'll continue to roll with the changes ;)

Happy holidays everyone.

Love,
Your favorite twirty-something 

Thoughts on Newtown, Connecticut

In solidarity

 

I was working at a community mental health agency in a rough part of San Francisco when I received the news of the mass shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary in Newtown, Connecticut. This news is terrible...27 dead at an elementary school in Connecticut. I can't even imagine what this must be like for those families. I read my partner's text in horror and instantly thought of my sister, a sixth grade teacher working that day at an elementary school in a nearby community.

Tears began streaming down my face 5 minutes after turning on the news that night. The scene of the crime, a small town across the country, looked so familiar- once ranked "The safest town in the US," it could have been the town I grew up in. Pictures of innocent babies, horrified parents, and young school teachers flashed across the screen. I couldn't watch but a half hour of footage before having to turn it all off, overwhelmed. And then I thought about those who weren't going to be able to "turn it off," get away from the pain of these losses. I thought about the questions my sister was going to have to answer the following Monday when her students would return to school full of fear. I tried to imagine the sixth-grade version of the answers to their questions, and when I couldn't, I found myself thankful I am not a teacher right now. And then I thought about what I would do if I were a psychologist assigned to help one of these families deal with these losses, or help this community rebuild after this tragedy. All I could imagine was sitting in a room, crying in solidarity with a mother or father.

As a psychologist in training, I have a morbid fascination with making sense of these crimes. I so desperately want to know why they continue to happen, what the contributing factors are, how we can work to keep these unfathomable crimes from reoccurring. I am angry that the story is always the same: a white male, somewhere between the age of 18-25 kills innocent victims and then himself, ridding the world of the opportunity to know what led him to such a dark place. I am equally as obsessed with the reactions of others and myself, to such acts. Everyone is so terrified, so rageful, so deeply sad that we hopelessly defend whatever cause we feel will bring justice to such loss. We argue for stricter gun control, the death penalty, media censorship, while the answer to the question Why does this keep happening? remains unanswered.   

I personally do not believe that stricter gun control will keep crimes like these from happening. Don't get me wrong- I don't think it would hurt- but someone hell bent on wanting to kill others will find a way regardless of the means (you can easily find recipes for homemade bombs online, frighteningly). I am also not certain that media coverage of such events is to blame. In fact, I am hopeful that media coverage will inspire more people to react and become motivated to get involved in the solution. And I certainly don't believe that tougher sentencing for crimes is an answer either. Our prison system is broken and overcrowded. Call me an optimist or maybe even a dreamer, but I have a very hard time imagining a person- purely evil- who is capable of killing not one, but 20 babies under the age of 7. I have read of such "sociopaths" and "anti social personalities," and I am sure they are out there, but I am also aware that statistically this is a very small portion of our population. Someone who is capable of killing babies seems to me very, very ill.

Perhaps the most disheartening and unbelievable part of this story that keeps getting told are the folks who say "He was such a good boy...I can't believe he did this....there were no signs at all." And then the more and more I research the killer, I see all kinds of "signs": social dysfunction, withdrawal, isolation, a history of academic and occupational struggles, usually family discord. From what I have read, Adam Lanza exhibited all of these classic symptoms of mental illness. And it's not a hidden fact that the average age of onset for Schizophrenia in men is- gasp- between 18 and 25 (this information resides in our very own DSM-IV).

I'm not arguing that every person with Schizophrenia is a violent killer, or that I am able to diagnosis Lanza based on the media coverage. But I am struck by this story that keeps on repeating. The killer is always the same- age, race, class, personality features. How are we as a society failing to intervene, to end this story once and for all? I hold a serious responsibility and privilege as a psychologist to put forth my very best effort in thinking about mental illness, not just in treating those who struggle with it, but also in educating the public about the signs and symptoms of various illnesses. We have the knowledge, so where is it going? Why does this story continue to be told?

I offer my sincere condolences to the entire Newtown community. My heart hurts not only for the victims and their families, but also for our country-  we all suffer when something like this happens. We must continue to talk about mental illness, and strive to find ways to stop this story from being reproduced.

Rebranding of Single in the City

There comes a day in every woman's life where she puts away the Haagen Dazs ice cream, takes her first shower in a month, puts on her makeup, and gets back into the dating game...

After many failed attempts at online dating (see Houston, We Have a Problem and Cupid Suitor #1: The Lawyer for more details), I finally hit it big a few months ago. Unwritten Stories had me at first country song. His profile referenced Josh Turner's Why Don't We Just Dance, and, being an avid dancer, the name lured me in. In true Generation Y fashion, I Googled the song and low and behold, I found what is quite possibly the cutest music video ever made.

Click here to view the cutest music video ever made

I messaged him, and there began my conversation with The Writer. On our first date, I found out that while I had been blogging all summer about the trials and tribulations of online dating, he had been working on a novel about dating in the 21st century which included his many odd experiences with online dating. It was like fate had finally come knocking at my door. The first date lasted a record 5 hours- a true accomplishment in the cryptic world of OkCupid, the world where I had learned how to systematically annihilate anyone who couldn't satisfy the protocol (refer to Stupid Cupid: A Guide to Online Dating for protocol specifics). And so, a new romance was born.

This explains my hiatus for the past few months. I've been so busy honeymooning (okay, maybe I've been working a bit as well) that I haven't had time to write. But I'm back! And, after suffering from some serious writer's block, I finally know what to do with the challenge of rebranding Single in the City...Apparently Cupid wasn't so stupid after all ;)

From here on out this blog will focus on what it means to be a Twirty-something. What is 'twirty,' you ask? Urban Dictionary knows all. I hope you enjoy the new material ;)

50 Shades of Grey: Disturbing or Delicious?

Some day my prince will come
Some day we'll meet again
And away to his castle we'll go
To be happy forever I know
 

-from Disney's Snow White

When I first began reading the Twilight series, I was struck with and torn by an internal moral dilemma: This book is so offensive....and I can't stop reading it! The feminist inside of me was screaming about how Bella flippantly moved from one man to the next and seemed to lack any genuine emotional independence. It was the same story I'd been told over and over again as a young girl- the story that shows up in Disney films, fairy tales, and teen movies alike. Here's how it goes:

Codependent female character: Help me! I need rescuing from myself.

Domineering male character: I can do that; it's what I've been doing for years!

Codependent female character: Great! Please kiss me/bite me/ sexually release me from the repressive bonds of society. I need you.

Domineering male character: I can do that; it's what I've been doing for years!

Codependent female character: I need you. You complete me. Please save me.

Domineering male character: I can do that; it's what I've been doing for years!

Can he help her self actualize?

You get the picture. It's a repetitive tale involving a weak, incomplete female who lacks personal ambition, strength, and ability to cope with stress, but then magically meets the man of her dreams. He is: emotionally tortured, strong, good looking, wealthy, and overbearing...and he possesses the key to her soul. They meet and have a passionate romance, break up, get back together, and live happily ever after.

BORRRRRRING. OFFFFFFFENSIVE.

...And oh, so juicy.

Why, given the plot's repetitiveness and predictability, do we women continue to read these stories? It's a sociological phenomenon that I am trying to wrap my head around. Did the feminist movement teach us anything? Are we socialized so strongly to identify with these characters that we somehow begin to long for them, or even worse, to long to be them?


 

Is this really what I want?

Given my history of falling prey to literary horrors, it was no surprise that I came across this same dilemma while listening to the audio version of 50 Shades of Grey (that's right, folks- you can listen to this juicy tale as well). Perhaps I should have known what I was getting myself into- the book did, in fact, begin as Twilight fan fiction. However, I found myself particularly disturbed by this book.

50 Shades of Grey is Twilight on ecstasy. It's the soft porn version of an old Disney classic. It's....well, just plain twisted. The gender dynamics of this story are a complete throw back to the 1950's. Young college student Anastasia Steele meets Christian Grey, a powerful young entrepreneur, who is the first man who takes her breath away. He wants to make her his "submissive" in the sexual fantasy land that he has created as a result of being sexually abused by an older woman during his adolescence (this is the emotionally tortured piece). But first, he will gently take Anastasia's virginity as a way of softly preparing her for what is to come (no pun intended). He constructs a contract for her to follow involving rules such as: following a specific diet (dictated by him), sleeping a certain amount of hours (dictated by him), and wearing certain clothes (dictated by him). And, of course, all sexual contact will also be...dictated by him.

AND SHE ACTUALLY THINKS ABOUT SIGNING IT.

 

Sigh.

Have we not gotten past this part of our history? The last time I checked, we had moved beyond the Stepford Wives mentality. However, this book has topped best seller lists around the world, and even set the record as the fastest selling paperback of all time (faster than Harry Potter, people!) I'd like to hope that the appeal isn't as simple as the sex. But then that leaves the question...what is the appeal? Do heterosexual women worldwide secretly long to be dominated? Do we all long for a Christian Grey to come prancing in to our mundane lives to awaken our inner most sexual desires?

Out with the old...

...in with the new

I have admittedly been unable to get through this book. Some people hypothesize that listening to the book, rather than reading it, is likely affecting my reaction to it. I'm not totally convinced this is the case. What I will say is that this book has prompted me to have conversations with my female friends that I might otherwise not have- conversations involving our secret fantasies, our acceptance or rejection of female submission, and what male and female prototypes currently and historically look like in literature. And those conversations, at the very least, give this book some kind of value in my life.

Return to Goddess Lake: VC Trip Day 4

I wake up on Monday feeling like a new person. For the first time in 4 nights, I actually slept more than 2 hours. My sinuses are still not at their best, but at least I feel halfway human.

I feel like a new lady!

Unfortunately, my travelling companions all feel the opposite (apparently I am just not on the same schedule as the rest of the world this trip). Last night's bear scare kept everyone up with anxiousness.

Everyone else.

I decide today is the day I take care of everyone, and I make a great breakfast of bacon, eggs, and tortillas. I am starting to get used to this real-food-in-the-woods thing: yet another stark difference between luxury mule camping and backpacking- you can bring items like bacon. With a few cups of campfire coffee the ladies are good to go, eager to return to Goddess Lake. I am eager to finally cast my fishing pole and catch the big one.

The fish I will catch today, and how I will look doing it.

We embark on our epic hike crossing the creek, walking through forest, and pausing along the way to take cute photos. The Green Lady goes full hippie and makes a crown out of wild flowers, a beautiful creation that she proudly wears. Along the way we encounter more people than we have seen in all 3 other days collectively; something we find odd considering it's a Monday.

Cute photo

Deer Spirit taking a breather

The Green Lady creating her crown of flowers

We finally reach the last stretch of hike, which involves scaling up large granite boulders alongside a running waterfall to reach the lake. I'm winded climbing these rocks, but ever so determined to get to my fish. When we reach the lake, I feel like I've found the oasis in the middle of a desert. I immediately set up shop alongside the lake. South, however, feels compelled to keep hiking, and does so alone. Deer Spirit and the Green Lady stop to rest.

My version of heaven

Can you spot the sleeping Lady?

When South doesn't return within the hour, Deer Spirit goes to find her up the mountain. By this time I have fully planted myself on a large boulder surrounded by water about 30 feet off the shore. I decide someone has to watch the stuff, and remain there. When Deer Spirit doesn't return in another half hour, the Green Lady goes to find her.

Now, anyone who knows the first thing about wilderness safety would say that this is the perfect set up for a disastrous ending, and they would be right. However, none of us seemed to be thinking straight that day, and I was simply too content fishing to worry about much else. However, when the Green Lady didn't return promptly I began to get a bit worried. But I was getting so many bites on my pole that I just could not leave my station.

*cough, cough

Finally, Deer Spirit and South returned, with the Green Lady following closely behind. They all had wild tales of rocky terrain, and South admitted that it had not been a good idea to go exploring solo. By this time she began to feel pretty poorly as well, likely a combination of the altitude, the strenuous hike, and not enough food. She and Deer Spirit descended, and the Green Lady flagged me off my rock (with my giant fish, of course) to quickly follow behind them.

Well, I had to figure out a creative way to get my fish down the hill! I tried strapping it to my back, but when that didn't work, both of us had to carry it down.

It looked a lot like this, only on granite.

By the time we reached camp, we were expecting to see Deer Spirit and South. However, we arrived to find an empty camp with no notes. We waited a short while but then began to get worried.The sun was starting to set and we had left a half hour after our other two teammates. We began bird calling them (our standard form of communication in crisis woods situations), but got no replies. Finally, the two emerged. They had been having such a great time talking, that they didn't even notice that they had lost the trail...and then were followed and chased by a family of killer deer. They finally escaped and found their way back to us.



Bambi? I think not. These furry animals are ferocious!

After such an eventful day, we were ready for a very mellow evening. We enjoyed a lovely dinner, and all the ladies agreed that I had caught the best grey whale they had ever tasted (Stagg chili is pretty delicious as well ;) We hung out around the fire as South recovered from her minor bout of altitude sickness and rehydrated.

The event of the night was tarot card readings, which were supplied by Deer Spirit. I did two readings on myself, during which The Maiden card showed up both times. For those of you who care, this card represents new growth and creativity- pretty timely, considering I recently began writing this blog!



Discovering my fate

Embracing the Chaos that is the 20's

I read this article today:

21 Ways You Should Take Advantage Of Your 20s

So often I hear my peers talk about not being where they want to be in life, feeling the need to "get their shit together," feeling pressure to "get a real job," find their soul mate, start making money, etc. I'm not immune to these external pressures- I've certainly felt them myself. This article reminded me to embrace being just where I am: the chaotic, unsettled, and ambiguous world of the 20's. After all, if I don't embrace it now, when will I ever get the chance? Life only gets filled with more responsibility as time goes on.

We live in a culture that is inherently ageist. We often talk about how the elderly are discriminated against and the youth are glamorized, but what about the pressure that plagues middle-to-upper class suburbanites to go to college, graduate, and start working? Or the pressure that is put on young women to get married and have kids? (How many weddings have you attended where Aunt so-and-so says "And when are you going to cook a bun in that oven?") Now the pressure to accelerate the growing up process seems even greater, because the economy is in the hole and most of us are facing scary school debt. These pressures are placed on us from an early age, and by the time we arrive at a place where we have to face them, many of us have no earthly idea what we want to be when we get older, or whether we even want to have kids.

mmm, maybe in my 40's, Aunt Gertrude

...cause actually this is how I feel now about pregnancy now.

This summer, I've admittedly been acting a bit wild. And some internal voice has been nagging me to "reel it in," settle down and get focused, serious about life. The truth is, there is a freedom that comes with allowing yourself to let loose a bit, a spontaneity that can make one feel alive. This article reminded me that now is the time to allow this freedom. So I've decided to extend the party a bit longer- at least until I have to start school again in the Fall.

Tonight I plan to put on my Forever 21 dress, stay up late socializing with a new friend and eating from a late night diner, and maybe even enjoy a sex marathon ;)

My best Forever 21 dress, as displayed in Vegas with my 20 something friends

Down for the Count: VC Trip Day 3

I wake up Sunday morning feeling like a truck hit me in the middle of the night. On second thought, I'm not entirely sure I ever fell asleep the night before. Apparently that missing bandanna really did make a huge difference; my nose and throat are clogged like a bad plumbing problem.

The nearest lake is (we are told) a 40 minute hike, and South, the Green Lady, and Deer Spirit are eager to go exploring. While every part of me wants to go, my body is telling me to slooow down. Having previous experience with altitude sickness, I decide it is best to listen to it.

Sadly, Backpacking Girl must leave today in order to get back to her job (ha, the real world!) And, being hard core as she is- she did sleep outside the night before- she decides to hike the entire trail out on her own (if the mules take 4 hours, you can only imagine what the hike is for humans...) The 3 see her out to the main trail, where she leaves and they continue on in search of the lake.

South and Deer Spirit say goodbye to Backpacking Girl

I stay at camp, and surrender to the tent for a few more hours hoping to feel better. I make a Neti Pot out of a syringe that came with the med kit I brought. It makes for a decent, and if I do say so myself, rather ingenious substitute.

While it is hard to be disappointed when surrounded by great beauty, the fisherwoman inside of me is admittedly a bit sad that we are camped along a creek with only 4 inch trout. If I had my way, even in my sick and delirious state I would drop a line in a lake, fall asleep, and wake up to find dinner attached to my pole.

Dinner!

Sigh.


I quickly remind myself that, while I am the most avid fisherwoman you might ever meet, I am, sadly, also the least talented. One day I will catch the big one, I swear. For now I look more like a happy Charlie Brown when I fish.

This Big Sur creek did not yield any fish either, but man was I happy!

Reality

The ladies are gone for what seems like a long period of time. They return in time for dinner, bubbling with excitement and stories of "Goddess Lake." They describe an epic hike with a beautiful destination, and they share some colorful photos of their journey. We look on my map to find that "Goddess Lake" is actually called Return Lake, and is at 12,000 ft. These ladies climbed 3,000 ft today; not bad! I can't wait to see it.

The Green Lady along the trail to Goddess Lake

The explorers! South, Green Lady, and Deer Spirit

Goddess Lake

We go for an evening creek walk (I am still determined to find a lake closer, darn it!), and then settle in for a delicious dinner of chicken stir fry cooked by the Green Lady. More campfire silliness, and I am sure to medicate myself with Benadryl before heading to sleep for the night.

....Orrrr trying to. Just as the Benadryl sets in, I hear a distinguishable CRASH! outside the tent. Definitely metal hitting the dirt ground. My heart stops, and I convince myself that I must be hallucinating on these meds. Besides, I already had one embarrassing false alarm on this trip; I'm not about to have another. Then:

Green Lady: "Did anybody else hear that?"

Damn.

South: "Yeah."

It's so quiet in the tent you can hear the mosquitoes buzzing around outside. I sink down into my mummy bag.

Green Lady: "Did you hear that?"
South: "Yup."

Volleymeg: "What was it?"
Green Lady: "Footsteps."

You've got to be kidding me. A bear?!?!?

We wait anxiously. The Green Lady begins to tell us what we need to do in case of a bear. I want to pee my pants. Why do I have to be sleeping on the wall of the tent??? Somehow Deer Spirit is remarkably sleeping through all of this. Eventually the footsteps subside, and we breath a collective sigh of relief. We eventually laugh it off and decide we will find the tracks in the morning. And thankfully, the Benadryl still works.

John Wayne Worthy: VC Trip Day 2

One of the cowboys yells "Timmmmeeee to get uppppp!!!"

I wake after what was perhaps the shortest night of rest in my life. At one point, I was convinced I felt a bear (really it was just Spirit Deer trying to exit the tent for a bathroom break), and slithered over to the Green Lady's sleeping bag only to startle her awake. It turns out that after Kidd's warning, all 4 of us were less than thrilled with our night's rest.

We go outside, where we see mules lined up and saddled. In the distance we see a loading dock where workers are mounting our gear to more mules. Kidd makes us a quick breakfast of fried eggs & tortillas (which may just be the best breakfast I have ever eaten), and we get ready for our ride.

Kidd the sweetheart helps South get ready

A mean pack of cowgirls ready to ride

The 5 of us begin our ride following Lindsay, our guide for the day. She is a young cowgirl, confidently riding her horse as we trail behind her on mules (which I learn are sterile animals- a cross between a male donkey and a female horse). Mine is a calm spirited animal named Clyde, who, other than constantly bowing his head to eat grass, is rather easy to control. South does not have such luck. Her mule, "Siggy" is less than cooperative- bowing his head, moving off the trail, stopping at random spots and holding up the crowd.

We weave through what is some of the most beautiful country I have ever seen: forests of pines, lakes of crystal blue and green hues, snow capped mountainsides, meadows full of flowers that only high elevations could produce (delicate, soft, colorful flowers). We cross over an 11,300 ft pass, and descend using stone steps (perhaps the least favorite part of the journey for the mules). As a backpacker I am accustomed to looking down as I hike so as not to slip on any loose terrain; I soon discover that one of the great pleasures of mule riding is being able to look up and get the 360 degree view of everything. I am able to focus on the scenery more than ever; a true gift.

Some of the many lakes we pass

Entering Yosemite

South and Lindsay cut through a meadow

The ride is long (4.5 hours) and dusty, and I stupidly forget to bring a bandanna. It turns out these little garments actually serve a very important role in shielding allergens away from the face; not so great if one is prone to allergies and sinus infections. By the time we get to camp we are all exhausted, and I am feeling a bit under the weather.

We opt for the easiest meal possible- spaghetti with homemade sauce I made ahead of time. We are all delighted with the dinner that South so awesomely cooks (everything tastes better at 9,000 feet), and we set up what will be our home for the next 3 nights. A few silly games around the fire and some laughs, and we head to bed.



A Tribute to Oakland: My New Home

Lake Merritt

Ever since moving here in April, I have found myself continuously inspired by the town of Oakland. Inside a place often represented in the media in a negative light runs a creative energy that is palpable, and a sense of community and resiliency that is worthy of real recognition. It is the most diverse place I have ever lived.

Two nights ago I attended Art Murmur, an event that occurs on the first Friday of every month during which artists from all genres display their work through galleries, street side vendor booths, and musical events. There I listened to everything from live Punjabi hip hop, garage folk bands, and Motown hits blasting out of a drive-in burger joint. I weaved in and out of galleries full of colorful urban paintings, live mural drawings, and sculptures made from cut up books on feminism. I watched as people danced in the street, ate from various food trucks, and sold their crafts on the sidewalk.

She-Ra (my childhood hero) chalk art on the street at Art Murmur

It felt alive.

I woke up Saturday and walked 30 minutes along Lake Merritt to the Farmer's Market on Grand. The weekly market features produce that can hold a candle to the produce I grew accustomed to growing up in Sonoma County, and that's really saying something. I buy all of my produce for the week from local vendors, grab a coffee, and walk along the lake back to my apartment.

Later that day I walk 10 blocks to attend the "Art and Soul" festival in downtown. The annual event includes multiple stages with music from Gospel to heavy metal, arts and crafts booths, children's play areas, and food booths from every corner of the world. I spend the day listening to various types of live music while eating the fruit I purchased earlier at the market. At some point I find myself feeling so fortunate to be right where I am at that very moment.

Two beatboxers and a bboy at Art & Soul

Lyrics Born at Art & Soul

The night concludes with two DJs battling from the mayor's office balcony on City Hall as a laser light show illuminates the building with images of musical artists from Oakland.

I feel totally content, and totally at home.

DJs broadcasting from the mayor's office on City Hall

Real Cowboys Do Exist: VC Trip Day 1

For those of you who question the existence of real, live cowboys (I certainly did prior to this trip), I am here to tell you that they are in fact, not mythological creatures. No, no, I can now add to the cast of characters in my life story the men and women I met on my recent stop at the Virginia Lakes Pack Station.

Day 1 began like this: 4 women meeting up (mostly on time, yours truly may or may not have been a bit tardy for the occasion) for a long and hilly ride into the Hoover Wilderness. All 4 are therapists, so you can imagine that the content of our conversations provided a broad range of entertainment and depth.

All 4 are here for different reasons. The Green Lady, mother of 2, has not been away from her children since prior to giving birth to her 3 year old. South has never been in the wilderness quite like this before. And Spirit Deer has recently gone through a divorce. All 4 in very different places in life, and yet somehow have arrived at exactly the same place. This is sure to be a spiritual journey.

Much of the drive looks like this.

We drive on narrow, windy forested highways further and further away from civilization. We pass towns that features signs such as "Population: 110" (I joke that if we hit someone, we will wipe out 10% of the town), "Double D Extreme Sports" (the joke here is just too obvious), and other such gems that look like they stepped straight out of 1952.

California or Montana? You decide.

We must be getting close now...

Volleymeg, you aren't in Oakland anymore.

It is times like these that I fully appreciate my white privilege. Our cashier at the gas station may or may not have a full set of teeth, let alone a middle school diploma.

After a small detour (which resulted in the viewing of a breathtaking lake at sunset), we are feeling victorious when we finally arrive at Virginia Lake Pack Outfit. I feel like I am on the set of an old Western: a leather tent called the Taj Mahal (our home for the night), horses in the distance, and cabin-like buildings. Even the bathrooms are labelled "Cowboys" and "Cowgirls." We are greeted by the Green Lady's father-in-law Cool Hand, the cowboy in charge of the station, who states that we are "just in time for dinner."

We enter the main cabin to find a pack of about 5 cowboys- complete with hats on inside- sitting family style around platters of steaks, potatoes, and corn (would there be any more appropriate meal?) One may even be chewing tobacco; it's seriously debatable. We meet Backpacking Girl, the Green Lady's step sister-in-law, or something. She will be packing in with us and staying the first night at our camp.

We have a family dinner, which concludes with a warning:

Kidd (one of the cowboys): "Don't be afraid if you hear shot guns in the middle of the night- it's just us fighting off the bears."

For real?!?

The main cabin, home to family dinner.

The Taj Mahal