The Sound of Silence

I found myself sitting within the confines of a heavily windowed bakery in the midst of an afternoon lunch rush. Beigely tinted walls displaying paintings from various local artists and aromas of freshly created bread products accompanied a room buzzing with patrons. I had just received a generously portioned green salad and taken a corner seat along a community bar-style table looking outward into a patio dining area. Tall canvas umbrellas stood guard against bright curtans of yellow sunlight as diners enjoyed their meals.

Not quite knowing the exact reason, possibly out of forgetfulness or maybe out of a desire to be disconnected for a few moments, I had left my cell phone inside my car while taking in the flavors of the food in front of me. The immediate sensation was that of nakedness or slight self consciousness since this pocket-sized social crutch was rarely out of personal reach. There wasn´t even a book or piece of paper in my possession to serve as a slight layer of distracting comfort. Looking around to make sure the internal uncertainness was just an false element of imagination rather than an increasing reality, a calming fan of relaxation sprinkled the salad with a slightly more enjoyable taste. Rearranging the entrapped assortment of vegetables with the fork in my hand I found myself delaying the final bites of a now decreasing portion of lunch. 

A few millimeters of glass from the window directly in front of me was all that separated my presence from the wheel of people entering, exiting, and congregating within the outdoor patio. My attention became absorbed in the casual sites outside the window as an elderly woman stationed herself three seats to my left along the bar-style table. At first her presence wasn´t something that warranted much notice since the room was already filled with dozens of other feasting customers. However as time dwindled forward it became evident that oddly within this precise moment we by coincidence were sharing a great deal in common. She too was without a cell phone or book in hand and was simply watching the scores of tables filled with people through the looking window. She was silently observing the crowds with curious intent and I too was silent doing the exact same thing. The views were nothing special but the feeling of being fully present made them seem increasingly pleasant, even freeing.

I couldn´t remember the last time being physically next someone who was equally as concentrated on their surroundings without the influence of personal distractions nearby. This realization gave me an urge to get this random woman´s attention, to ask her questions about her life, to know what she was thinking, to even know how her meal was tasting. I simply wanted to know who she was. Yet at the same time the quietness was satisfyingly melodic, like a painting that didn´t warrant a further brush stroke, and despite the internal debating I let the moment ride itself to an abrupt conclusion when finally the woman stood up, left her empty plate on the table, and continued living the rest of her life. 

I looked up immediately and for a flicker of a second our eyes locked entirely, however within the same eclipsing of time our paths grew increasingly distant. Maybe similar thoughts were pacing through her mind but this is something I'll never know. 

The aftertaste of the green salad lingered as I stood up, folded napkin upon plate, and like the elderly woman before me, continued with the rest of my life. 

Sea Change

Note: Written yesterday


While writing this blog post it is becoming a late Tuesday evening and currently I am taking in the flavors of a short glass of red wine at a neighborhood bar while decompressing from a fairly uneventful night at work. The establishment is slowly trimming its occupancy and the echoes of underlying musical instrumentals humming from ceiling speakers are starting to overcome the fleeting murmurs of its remaining patrons.

It's been what feels like a lifetime since updating this blog and for that I am truly sorry, especially to those who have taken time out of their day to read it. It's hard to say if the effects of drinking this liquid inspiration as it sits effortlessly alongside my typing hands is the true influence for this current post or if there is something more important on my mind that is worth writing about. Despite the fact not a great deal of time has passed since the days of consistent blog updates I can sense brooming sweeps of frustration invading my mind as I struggle to decide whether this entry should just be deleted due to insoficient reader content. In the past there had always been an underlying reason for adding another chapter to this growing index of random life accounts but at this exact moment there sits a vacant mental block of absolutely nothing. A creeping urge to pay my tab and exit the bar lingers in the cold outside but my hands keep wanting to continue their seemingly hopeless romantic crusade of simply writing SOMETHING. 

Despite the internal wall of writer's block breathing over my literary shoulder the thumbs of my hands keep dancing on my phone's keyboard as if a familiar tune had just starting playing from the nearby stereo. Pausing for air to scan the horizon above my screen, I take a quick sip of my beverage sensing that the energy of the room is slowly escaping and the faint noises of keyboard clicks and wine glasses reconnecting upon bartop are the only two distinguishable elements computing within my consciousness. 

After a series of transitions from glass in hand to glass upon bartop I realize that I haven't been drinking any of my wine; the only thing I've been doing is staring at its miniature crimson tides as they swirl along the walls of their oval shaped confinement. My right hand keeps lifting and rotating the faintly transparent liquid in front of me then silently plummetting its container back to its location of origin, completely disrupting its circular motion. For being so peaceful and docile relative to everything else capable of grabbing my attention in the room the miniature swells rippling from side to side bring boisterous echoes of unpredictable change and my gaze is now fully trapped within its spheracle trap. Perhaps the instincts of my hands are aware of something that my mind can't sense, at least not yet. 

My body shivers as a slight breeze is beginning to whisper through the establishment and I suddenly realize that the place is fully vacant except for me and the practically unconsumed drink staring back at me. Its a cue to leave so I pay the bartender and make for the dimly illuminated exit sign. The faint hint of wine being freed into an unseen sink could be heard as I close the door behind me and blend into the blustery darkness. 

Where Dogs Stand On Rooftops

There is a place that I used to know, a far away land where for a sparkle of an instant used to be considered an address of residence or quite possibly a home. A destination where exotic scents and lush colors could be discovered on even the most regular of corners. The pace of living was slow but wonder effortlesly raced as if it were on a schedule. A place where curiosity became new friends with oddities such as cars chasing cars or even dogs standing on rooftops.

This place shall remain anonymous because merely typing its letters brings moisture to my eyelids and sensations of  vibrating bells to the walls of my heart. Since our unavoidable parting a few months ago its name has been hovering in my mind like a drifting wave of fog unaffected by the movements of oncoming breeze. Simply whispering the correct sequence of letters for this location will serve as a password for opening a well-encripted box of nostalgia.

This backwards yet strangely comfortable realm of hot mornings and refreshing afternoons welcomed me into its boundaries for the first time last November and undeniably I was a lost treasure seeker looking to fill my pockets with the invaluable bounties of memories, friendships, but maybe most importantly a hopeful sense of personal direction. 

Crisp and fluid ripples slicing through the massive ocean known as life haven't missed a rythmic beat as weeks have graduated into months since returning home from this far away land. Life has molded into a unpredictable sandcastle with friendships, asperations, and familiarity evolving or dissolving at the mercy of incoming water. However as the waves forming and crashing on all sides of me continue to break with sentiments of change, ghostly gusts of familiar breeze continue to whisper as I find myself staring out into the unknown horizon of the límitness body of water. 

The life ocean in front of me keeps molding and reforming and after months on this side of the shore I still find myself walking back onto the dock that cast me off into my previous journey. Looking from front to back it is apparent that so many things are changing but then so much feels exactly the same. I don't know why after this much time the siron like breeze keeps calling me back to the edge of the shore, maybe its to search for more answers but possibly its to find an entirely new list of questions. Looking down at the tide below there is one thing that has stayed the same since when this dock used to have a raft, Im lost. The hollow ringing in my ears doesnt sound like wind anymore, its becoming familiar, faintly like a car chasing a car.

Am I still looking for treasure? No. The truth is that I'm looking for the place where I entrusted my love, the place where dogs stand on rooftops. Its time to build another boat...

Que Sera Sera

Today is Saturday and there has been an extremely large gap of time between the previous blog post and the one that I am currently finishing. To those who have read any part of this blog I am extremely sorry for the lack of updates but sincerely hope that things have been going well for you during the past handful of weeks :) Inspiration comes in many different forms and the reason for this particular post comes from an event that took place last Wednesday.

Currently I am working two jobs, one as a bar-back at a relaxing British pub-style wine bar called Wellington's located in my hometown of Sausalito, and also as a part-time alternative taxi driver for a San Francisco based company called Lyft. Last Wednesday a paycheck was received from both employers and after paying off a large number of previous expenses, bills, and necessary obligations, I long awaited "first" finally took place. After balancing, budgeting, and some math crunching I realized that I had saved the first dollar that would be directed towards funding my next large trip.

 At this exact moment there is exactly one dollar in my savings account, hardly enough to buy a daily newspaper or even an apple, but in my heart this was the hardest dollar I've ever earned. After returning home from South America, having spent nearly everything except for a handful of Peruvian Soles, and being extremely fortunate to find work it was virtually unknown as to when any form saving would begin to take fruition. It could have been a month ago or it could have been three months from now, but it happened on Wednesday July 17, 2013.

 This might sound ridiculous to write about one dollar but every big thing in life must start as something little. Babies must crawl before they learn to walk, and this exact computer in which I am writing started originally as series of ideas inside someone's mind. A quote once stated that the journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step. It's very hard to say the direction where this "first" will be guided but whatever will be will undoubtably be. The only fact that reigns true in my heart and what is driving every ounce of motivation is that this "first" has one definite route: "Forward"

Where the Sky is Bigger

It has been a handful of weeks since writing in this blog and for those who have taken time in the past to read my previous entries I apologize for lag between updates. Inspiration to write can at times feel as illusive as an intense game of hide and seek but today a big event is sparking a previously watered kindling for motivation. At this very moment I am standing in line with a group of other travelers at the Oakland International Airport waiting to receive a boarding pass to a place that for seven years used to be called home: Missoula, Montana.

Ten months ago a house was emptied, a place of employment was given its notice, a series of "goodbyes" was shared among friends, and a life that was developed for seven years within the majestic horizon of one the world's most beautiful landscapes was placed on hold for an undetermined length of separation. For the first time since moving up to Missoula in the summer of 2005 this particular departure did not guarantee the timetable for a return voyage and an epilogue of answers was overshadowed with dense proceeding chapters of uncertain questions. 

Standing behind a growing queue of future destination seekers only the sensation of excitement runs laps around my consciousness. Artsy First Fridays, Dead Hipster stage dancing, hungover corned beef & hash, never ending river trails, pizza done Biga, Saturday markets, the world's best beer, and the some of greatest friends anyone can ask for are what sit only a short plane ride away. Its difficult to say what will be different and what will still be the same since last setting foot there but to have lived in such a wonderful place is a true blessing that I feel fortunate to have experienced. The Last Best Place hasn't been my home since last August but it will forever reserve a dorm bed on the 2nd Floor of Aber Hall for my heart. See you guys soon :)

I Reminisce Over You

Note: Written yesterday

Today is Wednesday and at this very moment I am enjoying a day off from work by running a handful of errands and taking in some much needed California sun. The sky is spotless, the breeze that whispers behind me has subtle undertones of necessary warmth, and a jumble of sounds ranging from soft conversation to passing traffic surround my senses as I finish a burrito prepared by a local establishment named "Lucinda's". This particular restaurant has become engrained as a staple eatery from my youth and today is the first reunion that we have made since embarking on my trip down south over eight months ago.

The dining experience that has just unwrapped itself is exactly how it was since leaving and more importantly is feels like a pulsing case of deja-vu from the first introduction I made with this restaurant many years ago. The aroma is savory and eat bite feels like a newly opened chapter from my internal book of memories. One soft epologue of Mexican style goodness brings a flash of just finishing an intense lacrosse practice, a second page break brings an image of getting ready to see a Giants game in San Francisco, a third editor's note invades my vision with a notion of going to an out-of-touch friend's house, and the list goes onward until the meal runs short on words. As time continues to pass and a rotating wheel of orders being taken by the clerk behind me goes from the process of verbal questions to physical product in hand the pages of recollections continue to race directly in front of me until at last there sits an empty remnant of tin foil wrapping, a satisfied stomach, and a shutter of incompleteness. Goosebumps send a chill through my body because each chapter in my mind springs attention with a proper build up of plot, character development, and ocassional conflict resolution but very shortly the final sentence gets cut off before I can see what happens next.

At this point the restaurant is filled with customers and it is time for me to yield my seat so someone else can open up their newly acquired and steaming book of memories. To fill the sudden void that has engulfed my consciousness I decide to stand on my now sleepy feet and aimlessly search my pockets as if something more interesting besides a wallet and keys is sitting within their confines. The sun blinds my eyes as I hop back in my car and realize that everything inside "Lucinda's" was exactly the same as the last time I ate there, everything except me. Will the next meal here have as good of a story line? My phone soon begins vibrating to attention as I pull away from the parking lot and the image of "Lucinda's" yellow engraved street sign fades away into the oblivion of my rear-view mirror. It's time to add more chapters.

A New Focus

Today is Tuesday and currently I am spending some free time with my Dad buying groceries and enjoying some very pleasant sun near Sausalito, California. It has been nearly a month since writing in this blog, a page that was originally intended to be a form of documentation for a recent trip of exploration down in various locations throughout a vibrant oracle of complexity known as South America.

Here is a very short summary of the life events that have unfolded since the last posting and since settling home from the seven month tour: After two days of being home with family I was extremely fortunate to be hired as a server in a Sausalito based wine bar named Wellington's and am currently located in this establishment four nights a week. Also some great friends from high school and myself just returned from an epic road trip down in dusty Indio, California to take part in a weekend of schinanigans alternatively known as Coachella 2013 and for the first time in my career as a CouchSurfer I hosted a really cool girl from the UK named Kelly for a handful of days. Overall life is good and a return visit to Missoula, Montana (a very special place) is currently in the works.

One month ago in my heart I felt that this blog had reached a climactic bridge and that it was time to hop back on shore towards life and leave the writing paddles nestled secretly under a watery sage brush. Since returning home, reconnecting with some very special people, and re-acclimating towards life in the working world I have come to the realization that writing in this blog was something that truly made me happy so to leave it stashed away in a spidery attic is something that would give me a sense of limitless shadowy guilt.

These points being said I have decided to continue updating this blog, perhaps not with the same degree of consistency as before, and write in it various experiences that seem like fun stories to share with the world. Since I am no longer traveling the future posts that will soon inhabit this site might not seem nearly as interesting as before (if they ever were) and there is by no means an obligation to read them. For everyone who has ever glanced at this blog in the past I sincerely thank you for your time and hope that the upcoming content will be something you enjoy! Have a great day and you look delightful :)

Dan