Goals -- Grand Junction, CO

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Songbirds chatter. Drills rumble and squeal in angry protest. Lawnmowers chug and jerk and clatter as they reduce grass to its standardized, culturally appropriate length. The same orange stray trots by, eagerly sniffs circles about a forlorn looking tree, and relieves himself at its roots. As he is in a habit of doing. Bikers whir past on the sidewalk, and I feel indignant and ashamed that my fellow cyclists have not only abandoned the roads, they've appropriated the wrong side of the sidewalk. May the stray dog piss upon their tires.

The throaty cooing of doves seems to tie together the morning cacophony the way a steady left hand might ground the seemingly haphazard right on a piano. The dove repeats its contralto chord and the songbirds contribute their soprano trill. The drill drives home its garish bass and the cars speeding by overwhelm the morning music with applause.

The black cat quietly glares, and her probing yellow eyes with snakelike slits make her appear far more intelligent than she actually is. She thinks I am ridiculous for sitting so long in the sun without curling up and taking a nap. She is angry that my feet are on her rocking chair, jerking it back and forth whenever I twitch. Releasing me from her gaze, she begins to lick her crotch, jerking her head alert whenever a songbird chirps a bit too close.

I’m starting this post from the front porch of the Miller/Kelleher household. Dried chili peppers hang in front of the yellow framed window, a smiling clay sun hangs on the dusty green wall, and a rust door is poised within its late 1880s mustard frame. The black cat has commandeered the rocking chair with the cushion, so I have sulkily sat myself down in the wooden chair and passive aggressively placed my feet next to the cat’s head. She has reluctantly accepted their invasive presence and has drifted off to sleep – although her ears still twitch at the barking of dogs. Between the two chairs sits a table, littered with empty beer bottles and glasses with telltale alcohol residue sticking stubbornly to the bottom. Janet and Dave must have had a chat on the porch last night. The traces people leave behind enchant me. I enjoy reading into the faint suggestions and making up stories about the events that transpired, regardless of how mundane the marks of a person’s presence may be.  The chairs were scooted fairly close together on the porch. I wonder if Janet curled up in the chair with the cushion and Dave took the wooden rocker upon which I sit. I imagine her unwinding, stretching out her legs, rocking her chair closer to Dave's, and relaxing her legs onto his lap.  Her eyes twinkle (they generally do). David’s dimple flashes (it generally does). I imagine them sipping beer and discussing plans for their trip to the Bahamas this summer, Grand Canyon dreams, and sharing the beautiful little moments of their days with all the excitement of a new couple head-over-heels in love, but with all the understanding of a couple who've been loving each other for years.

Of course, they could have been sitting in opposite chairs, the event could have transpired sans twinkles, legs, and dimples, and they could have merely discussed how excessively stinky Stinky the cat has become. 

I am quite smitten with the quirky old house.

All the same, I think it’s important to notice the traces you leave and the stories people may make of them. Rudy pointed out chocolate marks I was leaving all over the kitchen the other day. I don’t believe I would have noticed at all, had he not mentioned my damning Ghirardelli fingerprints laying siege to the refrigerator, multiple cabinets, and speckling the dishwasher door. I believe that awareness of how you are affecting your space and how your traces are being read is integral to successful volunteer/couchsurfing travel.  With couchsurfing, you generally stay for a day or two. The way in which you leave the space will probably last longer than your actual presence. A friend extended a challenge to me the other day.

“Aimee, I think it would be good for you to spend more time thinking about how you begin things and how you end them.”

For me, beginnings are either impulsive or driven by guilt. Ends have a nasty tendency to be drawn out, painful, and tedious. Rank with miscommunication, angsty poetry, in retrospect grimaces, and embarrassed “I have no idea” shoulder shrugs.

One of the primary reasons for my last trip was to force myself into situations wherein I’d have no choice but to change the aspects of my personality I didn’t like. My awkwardness around new people. How panicky I became when lost. How much control I needed over my life in order to feel safe.

I think that one of my primary goals for this trip will be to learn how to begin and end challenges, situations, and relationships with a sort of mindful elegance.

The dirty pan in the sink downstairs might be a good place to start... I did not end my roasted eggplant with lamb and pine nuts very elegantly.

Another goal will be related to a concept my philosophy professor calls, “moral accounting”.  I want to be able to give without expecting to receive and to receive without feeling obligated to give. I was searching for flowers with Kenton this weekend, and besides learning how to identify different varieties of cacti and desert parsley, I jotted down two ideas that will help shape my trip. 

I love the adoration with which he is looking at this unassuming roadside flower.

Mormon tea

Desert parsley

I feel like this cactus belongs in a Pixar film.

“A gift ceases to be a gift when you put it in the ledgers”.

I want to travel with empty ledgers. I want to give and accept gifts as single events of goodness without strings attached.

Kenton’s other contribution was,

“Aimee, you can’t sacrifice your dignity.”

My dignity is something I’m very fond of sacrificing. I am Prometheus and my dignity is my liver and I purposefully expose myself to eagles with admirable consistency. I sacrifice my dignity because I fear confrontation. I sacrifice my dignity because I fear judgment. I sacrifice my dignity because I feel like I can learn best from the situations wherein my dignity is sacrificed.

Yeah. SO not going to do that anymore.

Thus, my three personal goals for this trip are:

Enter and exit situations and relationships with mindful elegance

No moral accounting

Don’t sacrifice my dignity

Voila. 

Of course, I hope to become conversational in French, learn how to make fine cheeses, fine wines, roast coffee, make chocolate, dry my own sausage, study permaculture, grow figs, and deepen my yoga practice, but...

If I can discover a process that will help me to accomplish these three goals with a better success rate than my abysmal current rate, I shall consider this trip a resounding success. 

Of course, another favorite quote is: 

"Satisfaction does not come with achievement, but with effort. Full effort is full victory." 

-Gandhi

This trip will be about process and I will put forth a full effort. If I don't achieve my goals, I will not consider myself a failure. If I don't put forth the effort, then something needs to be reevaluated and priorities/worldviews shifted. Cela suffit. This is enough.