Honey

Camping is fun because it is so very unpredictable.

All I knew, really, was that I wanted to go camping somewhere around Mt. Hood. I tried doing all kinds of research on the Internet (that usually knows so much, but sometimes knows so shockingly little) and came up with hardly any information. (Okay, there was information, and thanks to Barney, I finally found that information. The truth is that I could not find usefulness in the website’s arcane architecture. I need more than just the name of a campground to get excited about it. I want to see pictures, read campers’ reviews, and order my search results by user score.)

I gathered everything on the list I had excitedly, but neatly written. Everything fit snugly in the back of my pickup. I popped in my freshly burned compilation of Randy Travis country songs to warm my heart. Me and my doggies headed east.

There were two things on the list I had forgotten about as I rushed to get out of Portland. I headed out into the sticks and had traveled a far distance before I realized that I had forgotten those two last things - gas and a map. It crossed my mind to turn back, especially since I had less than a quarter tank of gas left in my truck and absolutely no idea of when I would reach the next town. I chided myself a bit for the mistake and kept driving. I hate turning back.

Luckily I met up with the main road before I ran out of gas. Fifty bucks and a nasty bathroom later, my truck carried me and my cargo up the mountain. We explored a few campgrounds before I found a site that appealed to my intentions. An hour later, my dogs and I were walking down the dirt road to the lake. (This was the very best part of my entire camping adventure.) We eventually found the lake and the dogs went swimming. I threw the stick for them to race for. We were all tired by the time we got back to the site.

That was it. That was the fun part. Well, finishing my book and drinking a soda was pretty good too, but by then the mosquitoes were attacking us relentlessly. (Finished The Time Traveler’s Wife: OMG I loved this book.) After I made myself a little dinner, I decided to build a fire. Me building a fire is like me making a bed. It’s painful, pathetic, and doesn’t work real well without a lot of help. I had thankfully taken Agent’s advice planning for this very situation, and brought our one remaining Duralog from over the winter.

The fire went out after an hour or so and I was ready to go to sleep anyway. I crawled into the tent with the dogs and got under the blanket with all my clothes still in use, including my baseball cap. Miso curled up to my feet and I went to sleep. I didn’t sleep very long, though. The main problem was that I am no longer able to successfully sleep on the surface of the hard earth. I didn’t know this about me; I thought for some reason that I could always make due.

The earth was hard and my body could not adjust appropriately. Also, I was cold and I don’t sleep very well when I’m cold. Then it started to thunder and rain. I’ve never heard thunder like this. It was really, really close and the sound it made was out of a horror movie. I wasn’t very frightened, but it kept waking me up. I checked the time a lot and stared out the screen window, begging for the sun to rise.

As soon as Miso started gacking like she does sometimes in the morning, I jumped off the hard, unyielding floor of the tent and unzipped the door (that is usually my favorite part of camping, the unzipping part). I set a new record for breaking down camp while the rain poured on my head. We jumped in the truck and got the hell out of there.

I listened to Randy all the way home, unloaded the truck, ate some oatmeal and jumped in bed. I slept the entire day away. It was all worth it.

I can barely admit it, but I must. I hold on to a lot of stereotypes that distort my experience in relationship to other people. As you may have been following in the last while through my blog, I am attempting to dissect and disseminate my own “outsider syndrome” (did I just coin a phrase?) and learn all over again how to connect with people in real and meaningful ways.

I went for a walk yesterday. It was blazing hot outside, but I was in desperate need of an adventure. I packed all the water I could carry without putting too much strain on my aching knee, collared up my trusty puppy, and headed out on one of those excursions that the young folks these days call “urban hiking”. I had a few possible destinations in mind, but mainly followed the instincts inherent to the part of myself who is free and innocent and trusting. I headed south.

Miso and I kept an easy pace through the neighborhoods of Northeast Portland. I know I teased her a little by walking through Irving Park, but it wasn’t too bad, seeing as how there were no other dogs playing on the hill. We stuck to the shade where we could find it. Miso spent most of her attention on the curved base of trees while I wondered at the lush, beautiful gardens embracing old Portland homes.

When we finally reached Broadway, it was like entering a whole other place entirely. The traffic was, as it is typically, commuter centric, cars on a mission. The sidewalks widened, making room for a homeless population that I rarely see from the outside of my car. A closed-up, out of business deli stood empty beside the goodwill and the Chinese buffet. Every corner held at least two of our poorest fellow humans, old folks in older clothing, sometimes yelling but mostly just looking forlorn and drawn.

I couldn’t help it. I gave money to whomever asked. (Side note: Every time I do something like this, I think that I can never, ever tell anyone, because that would mean that my intentions weren’t pure. Maybe it doesn’t matter how “pure” my intentions happen to be at any given moment and I was just brainwashed by the Catholic Church. Hmmm.)

I went to my favorite sushi place, Yuki on Broadway and 14th. My order was a little complicated and I had to sit outside with my dog, in the sweltering heat. I asked for a pitcher of water and the server who brought the water was so confused at my need for an entire pitcher that he almost took it away. Luckily, he granted my wish when I begged him to leave it.

I made a good sized puddle out of the ice water for Miso to lay her hot body in. We sat there together, observing the constant activity. It was then, looking around at the corner and the intersection full of people that I started to see myself making assumptions about the people who walked, rode, or drove by me. I noticed that the negative assumptions were aimed at the kind of people to whom I consider myself an outsider (there’s that “outsider syndrome” I was talking about).

As you may have been gathering in this endless search I’m on to find out what’s beneath the bullshit, I am tired of feeling like an outsider. Gazing at the strange and diverse pedestrians addle by me and my dog, I wondered if perhaps a way to help me stop thinking that I am separate than other people is to seek out the goodness in others rather than seeing what I have taught myself to see.

Unfortunately, this post serves to admit, most humbly, that I am a judgmental person. Did you already know that about me?

I would love more than anything to free myself of all that cynicism and rejection I’ve felt toward other people. I want to really care about everyone, not because I have to, but because I want to. Is it possible to recognize the person in every person, the thing(s) that make us more alike than we are different? Are we doomed to continue to lose touch with helping each other and taking care of each other until we crumble under the weight of our loneliness? Or will our evolution turn us toward the love and respect that will finally heal us? I don’t usually think about this question, since in it lies the greatest sadness that we share as human beings.

Back to how I was sitting outside with my dog in 94 degree weather on Broadway in Northeast Portland. (Have I told you that I love Portland?) Once I had finished my delicious veggie tempura roll (yum) I headed north with my hot dog. I had two interactions with people that were meaningful to me on the way home. They were meaningful because I am (astonishingly) growing out of my shyness and finding ways to genuinely relate to people. I’ve been afraid of people for a very long time.

With all that and a soy dream icecream sandwich under my belt, Miso and I made our way home. I was content and satisfied with my urban adventure.

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It’s been a little over a year since Agent and I (with the magnanimous help of our dear friend, Cole) packed up the U-Haul and headed north from San Francisco to Portland. I was very excited and very nervous about the whole thing, mostly because we didn’t have a car or a place to live when we got here. At least I had a job.

Agent and I had a good thing going in San Francisco, and likely would have stayed for a while longer if it hadn’t been for a job I couldn’t stand anymore and the lack of personal space they call an apartment. Agent was enjoying her Aikido school, me my T’ai Chi school. We loved riding our bikes, being close to the ocean, and singing our hearts out in the private karaoke rooms. But we’d been there a long time (for us). Two whole years had passed since we’d moved all our stuff down to the bay area, and we were getting restless. I had quit partying while we lived there and was experiencing a new kind of longing, for something real and stable, a community and maybe even a house I could call my own.

I wasn’t so sure about Portland when I got here. I couldn’t find any T’ai Chi, my commute was difficult by bike (being 24 miles one way and all), the rain was a serious bummer, and I just didn’t know what I was doing here. Agent and I talked often about regret, dissatisfaction, and longing. Portland felt like a foreign country for a long time.

Eventually, all those feelings changed for me. It was only a matter of time before the sweet magic of Portland had seeped into me and made me fall in love with this amazing city. As the streets, the people and the landmarks became more familiar, I started to understand the unique qualities of Portland that make it my most favorite place I’ve ever lived. Here are a few reasons I love it so much:

The People
First and foremost, the population of Portland makes this city what it is. You can ask anyone who’s lived here or even just visited, the people here are just plain nice. They’re real and open and welcoming and sincere and helpful. Portlanders love new friends and the small town nature means that you’ll run into the people you like over and over again, all over the place! Folks here are genuinely happy, they’re taking care of themselves and the community, they’re involved and present. Portland makes it possible for people to live their dreams, and so many have moved here to do just that. It’s really great to be around people who believe in themselves and their community and aren’t afraid to make change happen.

Bikes
Although you may have noticed we’ve been getting some press about the tension between bicycles and motorists in Portland, this is a far more bicycle friendly town than any I’ve lived in before. There are bike lanes everywhere, and new, innovative bicycle strategies being installed all the time. The best part is there are tons of other bikers, which makes me feel a million times safer in general. It’s so much better than when I’m the only bicyclist surrounded by a million giant, smelly cars, intent on me getting out of their way. Portland is not very hilly, and it’s easy to get to your destination by cruising through neighborhoods without any traffic at all.

Downtown (by Agent)
Portland’s downtown has big city features but it’s also just a place where people go to hang out. It’s accessible and the flow is good. You can easily get in and out of downtown in a car, on a bike, or a bus. There’s shopping but there’s also tons of public spaces to just sit. That, to me, is one of the most important features a city can have. It means that the city really cares about the people that live there. It actually wants people to congregate and socialize because it makes happier people. In a lot of cities, that is not a priority. Portland is just so alive, there’s always people downtown doing this and that and sitting on sidewalk patios, having dinner, drinking coffee. Downtown is just so awesome.

Other
There are lots of other reasons why I love Portland. Portland makes it easy to be vegan, to be queer, to be outside, and to be the nicest person I can be. I can’t really imagine living anywhere more fun than that.

It’s only been a few months since I packed up the cheese and waved a sad goodbye to scrambled eggs, since I consciously turned my back on all those assorted milk derivatives (and there are many of them), started diligently inspecting ingredient lists, and headed out on yet another adventure of self discipline and understanding.

For almost as long as I can remember, my favorite meal in the whole world included a grilled cheese sandwich, white bread toasted with plenty of butter, melted American cheese oozing out the sides. I never really thought I’d see a day when I would have to look for something else on the menu (and look really hard, for that matter). I’m a white bread girl who doesn’t particularly enjoy cooking and even after all these years, still feels a little suspicious of “healthy” food. When I was a kid, my mom would sneak crumbled tofu into my spaghetti and though I would eat it, I thought it was pretty weird.

So why am I vegan?
The number one reason that I am vegan is pure laziness. I don’t really like to think too much when it comes to my daily physical upkeep. I pretty much wear the same clothes, commute the same way, and enjoy the same meals. I am a habitual person who strives in a consistent environment. I feel comfortable in a rut, and will often wake up and realize that I’ve been doing the same thing (the same way) every day for weeks, months, or even years.

When it comes to my diet, I certainly prefer anything that is well outside the fruit and vegetable family. I’ve grown accustomed to tofu and quinoa, romaine and red peppers, but if the choice is between a big salad and a big bacon cheeseburger, I’d go for the tasty, meaty goodness every time.

And so I did. My consistent, habitual diet has always included more steak than vegetables, and certainly more candy than fruit. It’s been easy to eat this way, not only because it tastes so good, but also because I could walk into any restaurant or cafeteria and order anything off the menu. I didn’t have to think about it, and so I didn’t.

I began a life-changing process a few years ago that started with The Artist’s Way. As a result of writing consistently every day, parts of myself and my life opened up in a way I’d never seen before. So much of my denial fell away, and I was left staring at a reflection of someone who was stuck in a few too many addictive ruts. I didn’t like what I saw, and so I started (slowly) to change. Some changes were easier than others (the hardest by far was quitting smoking), and at times I’ve temporarily slipped on a majority of my addictions. These times of regression have only served to prove to me that it’s real and true: my life is better in a million ways as a result of being honest with myself and changing my behavior.

By choosing to be vegan, and continuing full awareness that I am a person who prefers a nice, deep rut, I have effectively placed myself on a self-piloting track. It’s true that I have to think a little more about what may be entering my digestive system, but for the most part, I can look back on the last few months and know that I have eaten more fresh produce than I have consumed (and enjoyed) processed foods.

What’s it like to be vegan?
At first, the novelty of the idea and the thrill of self denial kept me inspired to resist the salty, rich deliciousness that pervaded my daily diet, mostly in the form of cheese. As a vegetarian who was mostly intolerant to soy, cheese became a staple, spread generously over most of my standard meals. In retrospect, I realize that being vegetarian was far easier than being vegan, way easier than I thought it was at the time. I enjoyed a lot more options, especially when dining with family and friends at a typical restaurant.

As a white bread girl, my favorite dining establishments primarily serve American food. Unfortunately, as a vegan, I no longer enjoy the same experience. Settling into a comfortable booth at a laminated table with interesting artifacts of Americana staring down at me from the walls and the occasional (and welcome) game on a suspended TV, I excitedly pick up the menu, open it up, and begin to peruse the contents. I become a little more disappointed with every passed over item, if not section, of the menu. Dejectedly, I spiral down through the menu, checking and rechecking for anything that might possibly fit into the pigeon hole that is my diet, ending up inevitably at the same place every time. I stare at a limited list of salads, invariably requiring significant modifications that will make the iceberg lettuce even less appetizing.

Although I’ve learned to avoid my favorite restaurants and force myself to “try new things”, there are frequently times when this experience cannot be avoided. I would even proclaim that the majority of restaurants do not have a single, solitary vegan option on the menu. I’ve only begun to ponder what it really means that so many of us include an animal product or byproduct in every single meal we eat. Part of me observes this as a strange and alien cultural phenomenon, this unfailing, deep dependence on bovine and other gentle, caged creatures.

I might be one of the luckiest vegans on the planet because I live in an extremely vegan-friendly town. Hurray for Portland! A search for “vegan” on yelp.com comes back with 262 results. I would never have discovered the deliciousness of my favorite local restaurant, Papa G’s, if I hadn’t taken the big plunge into veganism. Places like the Paradox Palace Cafe, Nutshell, and Vita Cafe cater only to vegetarians and vegans. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else with these self-imposed limitations, that’s for sure.

I’ve felt amazing since going vegan. I have a ton of energy, my attitude has improved, and my body feels better. I’m eating a lot more fruit and vegetables, and my taste buds are adapting in order to enjoy these new and exotic foods, like apples and carrots. The most exciting new addition to my tasty palate is avocado. I’ve never liked avocado in any form, including guacamole, until eating more and more of it as a vegan with few alternative options. I am now an avocado convert. If you ever want to feed me anything that has an avocado element, I will be more than happy to oblige. (Now if only I could have even the slightest tolerance for mushrooms…)

My dietary strategy has changed somewhat as a result of the change. I find myself snacking more often, since a) I don’t like to cook elaborate meals, and b) I’m consistently hungry pretty much all the time. A lot more of my time is spent grazing, usually while doing other things as well. My most favorite snacks at the moment are avocado on toast (of course), vegan pizza, and fruit salad. Yum. I think I’m hungry right now, actually.

What’s next?
As a number of my friends already know, I’m fascinated by people who enjoy a raw food diet. Not willing to stay in place for too long, I’ve already begun to take steps toward realizing an all natural, all the time, eating experience. I’ve run out of cereal and rice milk, and have replaced my morning meal with fruit. It might take a minute to adjust the quantity and types of fruit I consume for breakfast in order to maintain maximum physical efficiency. I’m listening closely to my body and adjusting things accordingly. It is with great pleasure that I continue to discover my body’s desires in more and more subtle ways. This is yet another sweet joy of getting older (and wiser, I hope).

As excited as I felt about being tagged by Lelo to write about Bites for Rights (and flattered by the hot picture comment), I’m all the way across the country today and sadly missing the entire thing! If you’re in Portland today, or in another participating city in Oregon, I would encourage you to take part in this awesome opportunity to help raise money for Basic Rights Oregon.

Here’s a list of restaurants that are participating. Maybe you’ll see Lelo tonight!