mother had always given me everything I needed. She must have a reason not to tell me about my father. She’d always been a straight shooter with me. If she wouldn’t tell me anything, maybe she just couldn’t. I had to let it go and figure out my own path. Don’t get me wrong, it took more than a few years to reach the ‘letting go’ path, but I got there.
At that point, I decided it was easier to believe that my dad was likely a shiftless drifter she was too embarrassed to tell me about, so I threw up my hands and spent the next few years drifting around from place to place.
Always seeking, trying to find something that would make me feel settled. Grounded. Part of the world. Part of something. Anything . Nothing ever felt right, even when I flung myself into silly things.
The summer I spent as a regional wrestling championship ring girl was the most random, and the thing my mother liked the least. It lasted until someone tried to get a little too handsy and I welded his car doors shut.
It was pure luck that I didn't get caught up in some cult. I was too angry at the world and my absent father to fall for dudes with blazing eyes who promised to make the hurt go away. That and the pitches were always shockingly boring ways of trying to get into girls pants. I did almost fall for one very charismatic guy with deliciously blue eyes. But it just ended in more welded doors.
But the insatiable drive to find the something I was missing never went away. And that is how I found myself spending the night hallucinating about boning a lizard-man in the desert, a few bucks poorer and no closer to any answers.
Although I realized, for once, the hum that danced along my bones, driving me to the next thing and the next thing and the next thing, was gone. I wanted to shower and to sleep in a real bed, but I didn’t feel the insane pressure to keep moving.
I sipped my tepid water and held my throbbing head. I felt like the bottom of an old shoe. Crunchy, dirty and cracked down the middle. The heat smacked me around and a line of sweat slid down my back. No way was I doing this shit two nights in a row. It was a profoundly stupid idea in the first place.
Hilariously, it was one my mother had set in motion. She's a total hippie so, on my last visit home, I talked about how totally lost I still felt yet how driven I was to keep. She hesitated, and then told me to see a friend of hers who lived on the edge of the desert.
He was another hippie who lived out of time. He called himself a shaman who bridged worlds, connecting people to their missing peace. He was dedicated to sending people on vision quests to find themselves.
I walked into his lodge and introduced myself. The air was heavy with burning herbs and incense. I was surprised at how clean it smelled. I guess I expected patchouli and body odor. I’d met plenty of my mom’s hippie friends, it wasn’t so strange to imagine that his house might smell like a Phish concert. But as I took a deep sniff, it was mostly sage, with a touch of pine.
He gestured at a stool next to him and I sat down. He held my hands and stared into my eyes for a very long time. I saw a kindness in his and the nest of crinkles around them made me want to smile back at him. Even if I thought it was all a bit silly, looking into his eyes made me trust him.
He hummed softly and time stood still. It was so new age-y I expected him to cover me in feathers and make me drape crystals all over myself. But he just patted my hand and stood up.
He puttered around the room, pulling together a random assortment of ingredients that mostly looked like scrapings from the floor of a forest. He asked me to meditate while he brewed the tea. Then he gave me directions to this campsite with the incredibly nasty drink in two bottles.
That’s how I found myself miserably ill in the desert. I still wasn’t going to do the second night. Just thinking about trying
At that point, I decided it was easier to believe that my dad was likely a shiftless drifter she was too embarrassed to tell me about, so I threw up my hands and spent the next few years drifting around from place to place.
Always seeking, trying to find something that would make me feel settled. Grounded. Part of the world. Part of something. Anything . Nothing ever felt right, even when I flung myself into silly things.
The summer I spent as a regional wrestling championship ring girl was the most random, and the thing my mother liked the least. It lasted until someone tried to get a little too handsy and I welded his car doors shut.
It was pure luck that I didn't get caught up in some cult. I was too angry at the world and my absent father to fall for dudes with blazing eyes who promised to make the hurt go away. That and the pitches were always shockingly boring ways of trying to get into girls pants. I did almost fall for one very charismatic guy with deliciously blue eyes. But it just ended in more welded doors.
But the insatiable drive to find the something I was missing never went away. And that is how I found myself spending the night hallucinating about boning a lizard-man in the desert, a few bucks poorer and no closer to any answers.
Although I realized, for once, the hum that danced along my bones, driving me to the next thing and the next thing and the next thing, was gone. I wanted to shower and to sleep in a real bed, but I didn’t feel the insane pressure to keep moving.
I sipped my tepid water and held my throbbing head. I felt like the bottom of an old shoe. Crunchy, dirty and cracked down the middle. The heat smacked me around and a line of sweat slid down my back. No way was I doing this shit two nights in a row. It was a profoundly stupid idea in the first place.
Hilariously, it was one my mother had set in motion. She's a total hippie so, on my last visit home, I talked about how totally lost I still felt yet how driven I was to keep. She hesitated, and then told me to see a friend of hers who lived on the edge of the desert.
He was another hippie who lived out of time. He called himself a shaman who bridged worlds, connecting people to their missing peace. He was dedicated to sending people on vision quests to find themselves.
I walked into his lodge and introduced myself. The air was heavy with burning herbs and incense. I was surprised at how clean it smelled. I guess I expected patchouli and body odor. I’d met plenty of my mom’s hippie friends, it wasn’t so strange to imagine that his house might smell like a Phish concert. But as I took a deep sniff, it was mostly sage, with a touch of pine.
He gestured at a stool next to him and I sat down. He held my hands and stared into my eyes for a very long time. I saw a kindness in his and the nest of crinkles around them made me want to smile back at him. Even if I thought it was all a bit silly, looking into his eyes made me trust him.
He hummed softly and time stood still. It was so new age-y I expected him to cover me in feathers and make me drape crystals all over myself. But he just patted my hand and stood up.
He puttered around the room, pulling together a random assortment of ingredients that mostly looked like scrapings from the floor of a forest. He asked me to meditate while he brewed the tea. Then he gave me directions to this campsite with the incredibly nasty drink in two bottles.
That’s how I found myself miserably ill in the desert. I still wasn’t going to do the second night. Just thinking about trying
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