I remember now why I started travelling; I need to be fear less.
I rented a bike in San Diego for two days running from a dude who's an Ocean Beach legend and a pickup artist (more on him later - he may even get his own post. He told me that I seemed lost as we smoked a couple of bowls, and it was painful to know that he was right).
Anyway, I rode this cruiser bike everywhere. I locked it up outside a place that was called "Cocktails: Home of the Semi-Live" as I went in for water, directions, and Long Islands (my new favorite drink; I've been drinking again, but I've been trying to be good... but not too good). I asked the grandfatherly bartender, who had many of his bottom teeth missing and a nicotine-stained moustache, what the "Semi-Live" meant. He gestured absentmindedly at me and the others seated at the bar. I choked on my water as the laughter came. Semi-Live is a huge improvement.
I got back on my bike (not a bike-of-the-apocalypse but still a decent cruiser that only struggled up hills) and headed for downtown. I started wobbling on the side of the road and dropped the bike in the gutter - the wobbling wasn't from the Long Islands, since I'd only had two. No, it was because of a sign - the sign said Cancer Survivors Park. I started crying, just bawling complete with gasps and runny nose. Luckily, there was no one else at the park. I must've spent 10 minutes in the park, but I can't remember any of the signs except for a blank or defaced sign that had "LIVE FREE" scrawled across it in black sharpie. The rest of that day along the harbor progressed in shockingly sweet slow-motion.
This round of travel has been different from the last. First off, I didn't start it alone. I buddied up with the Brazilian girl whom I'd met in NY. She wasn't the same person I remembered (although I had only known her for a day in NY), but she pushed me in a lot of good ways. All the same, we were sick of each other after three days and stopped hooking up by unspoken agreement. She had me take so many repeat, touristy pictures of her that I was silently grateful when my camera fell from my shirt pocket into the receding Venice beach tide as I attempted to play with burrowing sand crabs. There was nothing wrong with either one of us, but let me just say that travel is a very quick way to find out whether or not you're compatible with someone.
That last part about travel and compatibility I got from speaking for over an hour with a middle-aged Hawaiian lady named Deborah, whom I met on the Amtrak to San Diego. She was going to a conference and had traveled around when she was my age, living in different countries before settling on the Big Island - she said that she'd finally found the perfect place. She also told me about a brain injury that she is still recovering from. She was in a bad accident where a semi-truck turned and took her car with it. For two years, she had difficulty with sensations, slight touches on her arm would cause her pain; background sounds could not be filtered out from everyday conversation; any bright light would give her intense migraines. She used to be deadly organized, but now she must write everything down and take it slow. She tells me that her accident was a blessing - I believe her, since she also has this secret, relaxed smile that doesn't stop at her eyes and that I've come to associate with happiness.
I've conquered my slight fear of heights at the Stratosphere in Vegas and various cliffs in the Grand Canyon south rim. Vegas brought back mostly good memories of my ex - what a cool lady. We'd gone to Vegas for her birthday and had visited to the Stratosphere but didn't got to the top. My Brazilian buddy and I went there for the free saltwater pool (it turns out that all casino pools are free as long as you look like you're meeting someone and ignore the desk person asking you for your room key). Anyway, I convinced her to go to the top with me. There are three rides on top - my favorite was a spinning swing set that dangled riders over the edge, above the night-time Vegas Strip. At the Grand Canyon, I jumped over rocks thousands of feet above the valley floor (after she stopped shouting, the Brazilian girl took a good picture of me leaning over one, which I'll post if I ever get my waterlogged camera working again).
We drove to the Grand Canyon with a wonderful pair of travelers from Paris. We managed to find a free unregistered campground outside of the park that a couchsurfer in Vegas had told us about. The Frenchman and I spoke of the sunrise versus the sunset. We agreed that sunrise is better than sunset because it's like a beautiful woman exposing herself for the day rather than clothing herself and turning off all of the lights. I quickly found that I had a crush on the French girl (the accent didn't hurt), but it was more than that. She was much more than "Semi-Live" and is in love with this world.
The french girl told me that when she sees a shooting star, she holds her breath and makes as many wishes as possible before she lets her breath out. I asked her if this was French tradition, but she said that it was her tradition. Later that night, as the Frenchman (a traveling musician) sang and played guitar, I looked at three stars in a row that reminded me of me and my two brothers as I peed on a pine tree that the French girl had described a giant night cat warrior (she also argues that clouds are alive and can be blue) ... and I saw my shooting star. I gasped, trying to muster all of my wishes in one breath. The ones that weren't important left my mind, and I ended up with only two wishes. I think of them and what they mean when I need to calm myself.
In terms of calming myself, I have mild social anxiety (doesn't everyone?). I dread social interactions but want to meet people all the same. This anxiety becomes severe when I let it remain and don't do anything except think about it. I've taken to talking to people at every opportunity, like asking five different people for directions when I'm not lost, sometimes stopping to look at them and waiting for them to say something.
I realized that one repeating uncertainty in my life has been eating away at the new confidence and courage that I've been trying to build. For the last few years, I've been wondering if I'm sexually attracted to men but have done nothing about it but worry. The logical part of me realizes that it's an incredibly silly part of my life to be torturing myself with. I've taken to wearing a grey fedora and putting a different flower in it each day. One day, I had this marvelous purple flower (with 34 petals, a number in the Fibonacci sequence) in my hat and someone at a bar yelled "Gay Pride!" as I walked past. I felt like a stupid closet faggot, but I still wear the grey fedora.
Finally, after years of pointless indecision, I decided to go to a gay bar called The Hole last. I asked many different people for directions, and some asked me what kind of place it was. It felt empowering to say that it was a gay bar. I eventually found it, and it turned out that it was the night of their wet underwear contest. The contestants had very nice bodies, but it just wasn't my cup of tea.
But he drink specials were amazing (your own mini-pitcher for $4) and everyone was friendly and accepting... and gay (I mean the never-used sense of being happy). I talked to a guy with nice blue eyes and realized that he was very cute, yet I wasn't attracted to him. He chided me for getting distracted by a passing girl's ass as we were talking. We kissed each other on the cheeks before I left, and it felt like hugging a brother.
I know that one night of going to a gay bar doesn't solve years of worry, but I also know that I'm straight or mostly straight for now. I shared a cab with a guy who tried to french kiss me; it was unpleasant but funny (I suppose douches come in all different flavors). I also think that, considering some of the other stuff I've gone through these past few months, it was laughable how I had to screw up my courage for days to go to a gay bar. I see more of these bars in my future (probably in Austin, TX) - if only for the cool crowd and drink specials. Whatever I find, I absolutely refuse to worry about it or be ashamed. I deserve better than that... but for now I want find a girl and fuck the shit out of her.
I had this feeling as I explored San Diego's Sunset Cliffs for their fabled caves. I finally found a big cave on a deserted stretch of beach. The cave had several shelves for sitting or fucking - one of the shelves was lined with unlit candles. My new fantasy is to have a girl in that cave. I want to go down on her, not knowing if the salt I taste is hers or from the waves in the background - and kiss, suck, and lick her until she is sopping wet and quivering and then thrust inside her roughly. I'll pump faster and faster until I fill her up - no condoms allowed (in my fantasy at least). *Wow deep breath as I writing this post in my hostel hall filled with various Europeans and trying to fight my surging hard-on.
Anyway, before I made it to that cave, I found a sun-bleached carcass on the cliffs (I don't think that it belonged to a human... maybe a dog?). I yanked a rib bone from it, which I will carve into some instrument or other once I find the inspiration. I clutched this bone as I wondered, dehydrated, for a few more miles along the cliffs, looking for some place to climb up. I finally found some rubble that terminated into a broken barbed-wire fence. I stumbled past it and found myself in a unmanned robotic vehicle testing area - I saw no men but did see a few ominously motionless Humvees. I threw the rib bone over several intact barbed-wire fences, since that meant that I would have to climb over and follow. I made it past protected Government property and rattlesnake warning signs before entering a Christian campus on what must have been orientation day (college seems like so long ago to me now). The people I asked for directions were too polite to mention the smelly bone dangling from sweaty, dirty, cut-up fingers.
All I will say about Los Angeles for now is that I keep getting drawn back to one neighborhood (this is the third time now in the last several months). Perhaps this is a sign, but I'm still far from finishing my travels.
In Vegas, a withered cocktail waitress mistook me and the Brazilian girl for a couple and gave us gaming advice. Apparently, you have to know when to take your money and run, but you also have to know when to put more money down and stick it out. She was sweet, but I didn't follow this inane advice, instead stretching out a $1 on the gaming machines and getting free drinks (a 3 drink maximum for me to hopefully avoid past drinking problems). The cigarette smoke, flashing lights, clanging noises, and rush of people all blur together there after about a day. It's stupid but oddly endearing how easily we throw away our money. Perhaps it has something to do with learning how to lose gracefully.
I've been timid in countless ways throughout my life and haven't dealt with these insecurities before. The one idea that I call to mind during these moments of doubt and darkness is that life is too short; we're all a few misguided heartbeats or shuddering breaths away from the Big Zero. We can spend this time however we wish. We can waste it, wallow in fear and curse ourselves for being cowards, or we can relax, take risks, and be happy. I still feel like shaking those passing people with shining eyes and relaxed smiles - "Hey - hey! How did you get to be like this? Can you let me borrow some, please?" But no one can give it to me but me. There shouldn't be pressure to have fun or be happy, since it's such a simple fact.
I've been picking up talismans from all the places I visit. In the Grand Canyon, I was drawn to this tile with a painting on it - it turned out to be the Warrior at the End of the Trail picture (the outline at the top of this post). Anyway, this guy with the spear has been traveling this one path for so long. He's exhausted and asleep on his horse, so he doesn't know that the trail ends in a cliff. But the horse knows (you can see its rear legs arching back) - so the horse stops, and it's the only thing holding that warrior up. The horse stops and it waits for its rider to awake and find a new path.
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