Passage O soul to India!

Passage O soul to India!

Passage, immediate passage! The blood burns in my veins!

Away O soul! Hoist instantly the anchor!

Cut the hawsers—haul out—shake out every sail!

Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough?

Have we not grovel’d here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes?

Have we not darken’d and dazed ourselves with books long enough?

Sail forth—steer for the deep waters only,

Reckless O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me,

For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go,

And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all.

O my brave soul!

O farther farther sail!

O daring joy, but safe! Are they not all the seas of God?

O farther, farther, farther sail!

--Walt Whitman

“Passage to India”

As fate would have it, I am called back to India. The place where my deepest transformations germinate. It’s not easy quitting a job in your field—with generous PTO, benefits, and a livable schedule—what the hell was I thinking? In this economy? With this much student-loan debt? It would be so much easier to play it safe. Oh but how security eats at my soul! Give me transformative challenge! Give me ecstasy and defeat that break my understanding of self on its backside—shedding another layer of ego and getting closer to the center. If I were to write a letter to my future generations, I would tell them to choose paths that feel right, even if they don’t make sense, even if you don’t have a back-up plan. We have to let go in order for the universe to send us something new. Whenever I feel stuck, it is up to me to break free—with choices, intention. There is a lot of deep work that still needs to be done. But Hopefully I am getting closer. There is no end point though. I have no plan.

The World Without Oil

With a sigh, I relieved my raw shoulders of the pack and propped it against a boulder. I hobbled a few steps to the river, kneeled and splashed some glacial runoff on my face--the sweat stings. I turned my head to gaze up at Hood and her skeleton--glacial valleys empty, like ribs, as once mighty rivers turned creeks trickle down to quench Portland’s thirst. It’s only July and these crossings should be impassable due to runoff, but it’s all dust and flies now.

With the opportunity to take a break, I pulled out my book, ‘The Year of the Flood,’ to compliment the foreboding landscape.

For the past few months, I have been in the throws of the MaddAddam trilogy, by Margaret Atwood. It is a dystopic emblem of the 'cli-fi' genre, set in a not-too-distant world where private corporations invest in the downfall of humanity for a bottom-line. It is a gripping and eery read--a hallmark trait of Atwood’s writing.

Atwood’s most recent essay, “It’s not Climate Change, It’s Everything Change,” starts out with a series of climate-scenerios that will be realized in the not-too-distant future if we do not radically change not only our behaviors, but our value-systems. It is a commentary on peak oil, the breadth of our dependence, and what could foreseeably happen within the next few decades.

Reading her piece brought me back to the bosom of Oregon’s most celebrated peak. Mt. Hood--perhaps the boasts of year-round skiing will soon come to an end, and I will remember with fondness having seen her awe-inspiring glaciers first hand, before they dissolved into the sea.  

Please read Atwood’s call to arms and be moved.

Dear People Who Don't Tip

Sometimes I spend all day trying to get inside your mind. Aimlessly scrolling a mental catacomb--searching for some psychological explanation from a college textbook, or some empathetic connection that would allow me to understand the nascence of your behavior.

Do you even see me--smiling at you while I pour your latte or bring you an extra side of chimmichurri or when you change your mind and need all the food togo? Am I just another body to you? Another pair of tits with a decent smile walking across the floor?

How does your lower-back feel after walking on a woodfloor nonstop for 8 hours? Do your feet enjoy those blistering worn-in clogs you’ve had for years because you can’t afford to invest in a new pair? How about the burns on your forearms-- the cuts on your fingers-- the smell of Rwandan coffee and tuna melts no amount of detergent can cleanse?

Why not add the daily objectification? Does it feel good when the father ordering snickerdoodles for his toddlers comments on the way your ass looks in those jeans? Or when someone tries to order ‘you’ to add sweetness to their coffee.

Have you ever gotten by on a minimum wage job? Have you ever had to decide whether to feed yourself or your dog? Has your income ever been dependent on the whims of those more privileged than yourself?

I am ever in your service. Day in and day out, I meet your needs with speed and a smile. I am in pain every day, but you’ll never see that. It’s the beauty of service. You will never understand unless you do it. And once you do, this is no longer an adage for your eyes to read, because you will know--with the scars and the residual customer frustration one may never shake.

I am a person, same as you. I need to exact same combination of elements to exist in this universe.

Next time you stop by, I hope you’ll keep this in mind. And I hope you tip accordingly.

Motivation, or lack thereof

Why is it that sometimes doing the things we know we love, and we know are good for us, is like pulling fucking teeth? Lately I’ve been struggling with motivation. Sometimes I like to blame it on the weather--its the rain! or the heat! but really, its me. Sometimes I feel the need to shame myself--like ‘goddammit kendall, kick it into gear!’ but what really needs to happen is some self-love and reflection. like why are you feeling so uninspired? why does everything feel like such a struggle? Why are simple choices met with such paralyzing anxiety? I feel such a pressure to ‘do something with my life.’ And yet I feel uninspired to ‘do’ anything.

Maybe it’s because I’ve spent the majority of my life with some illusory ‘grand plan.’ go to grad school, become a psychologist, make all the money, have all the babies. voila! But in a past few years these societally driven ideas about where I once thought my life should go now fell all wrong. It’s like one day I woke up and realized, “i’m drinkin the damn koolaid!” And I’ve never been able to turn back. I’ve tried to follow my heart, my intuition, but its not the most reassuring of tools when you have to pay rent and when your parents are wondering why you are going to india to study yoga instead of applying for the doctoral program.

why all this pressure to become people of importance? I feel like if I let that shit go I could lead a pretty contented life. Which is in essence all I want.

why this need to have a ‘calling?’ Do you think all people are born knowing what their calling is? this isnt reassuring in the present. and I dont know how many TED talks I have to watch about finding your passion (they don’t fucking help). but I do know that this, right here--this checking-in with myself is helpful. The consistent examination of the unfolding of my consciousness prioritizes a sense of being, as opposed to a sense of doing.

All the Dogs

This past week, I have been babysitting my sister’s puppy. He is a 9 week old German Shorthaired Pointer who is quite possibly the most dapper thing alive--sinewy legs, floppy ears, green eyes, and lion’s paws--yeah I’m in trouble.

I am what you could call a dog enthusiast. I grew up with Akitas as our family pets, but most recently adopted a dog of my own from the humane society. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into.

Raising a dog can be fucking hell. You basically have to tether them to your abdomen for months so they don’t eat your curtains or shit all over your hand-woven himalayan rug. You drag them to the yard at 4 in the morning grumbling commands they don’t understand, waiting for them to take their sweet ass time to lift a leg. You are optimistic and take them to brunch with your work friends (cause there’s a patio and he needs to be socialized….right?) only to end up walking him around the block when he lunges at a passing Goldendoodle. Or maybe you even wake up one morning, your bed filled with pills from a gnawed through ibuprofin bottle and a sleepy-ass puppy--$300 stomach pup later, you giggle as he swipes your grilled cheese off the counter because you’re so thankful his little tail is still wagging!

Dogs can be a pain in the ass, but somehow they’re worth it. And after adopting Koba, I couldn’t shake the fever to get another pup! I obsessively stalk the local shelter’s websites--even stopping by to meet a dog or two that catches my eye. I have become one of those people who swoon at dogs in public--even the shihtzus.

I kept telling my boyfriend, “Koba needs a buddy,” subtly hinting that he should get a dog to fulfill my crazy dreams. So when my sister called me to double check that I would look after their new addition, I replied,

“Of course I’ll watch Wally while you are in Canada! No problem. In fact, why don’t you bring him over a few days early? Just because I can’t wait to snuggle with him!”

Wrong!

Two young male pups under the same roof are a feisty combo--one that no amount of margaritas and 409 can remedy. The run laps like greyhounds in a living room obstacle course; they dig the same holes under the bushes, they urinate on the same tiles in the kitchen, and then bark like chained up pitbulls at passersby.

But having these two snuggling in bed with me while I write--belly-up and snoring--it seems worth it. Everything is a lesson. Sometimes it takes being overwhelmed to recognize what doesn’t belong.

These past few days has really made me appreciate Koba and the role he plays in my life. I can recognize my desire for wanting more as just a quick fix for somethings I’m avoiding in my present. How did my obsession with having all the dogs take me out of the present or allow me to not focus on patterns that weigh me down? It all comes back to satisfaction. I need to learn to be satisfied with what I have in the present, not look to adding more to my already packed life to fulfill some grumbling void. As for now, I will love on this pup while he is here, and simply be grateful for my own when he is gone.