All we need is a chicken...

Several years ago, I spent a week in Costa Rica with one of my closest and oldest friends.

Somewhere in our journey to the coast, we ended up on one of those buses. Anyone who's traveled in Central or South America knows exactly what I'm taking about. It wasn't quite as rickety as the quintessential latin-american bus, but it was packed to the gills with locals and their stuff, so we had to stand in the aisle with our largish backpacks until seats became available. Standing there, trying not to annoy the people sitting all around me as we traversed over bumps and turns, I said to my friend, "the only thing this bus is missing is a chicken."

You know the old adage, be careful what you wish for... well, it should be: be careful what you say, because sure as chicken-shit, the next stop boarded a man and his chicken. Said chicken was in an aerated box, but still, there was a real live chicken on my bus to Quepos, Costa Rica.

It made for a good laugh and a good memory, though.

And though this was years ago, it got me to thinking.

What would you do, if you were just a regular José in Costa Rica and you had to take your chicken to...

Where the hell would you be transporting your chicken to? 

Maybe you're selling it, or giving it as a gift to your would-be in-laws as a down-payment on their daughter (do they still do dowries in Costa Rica?), or maybe you just love your chicken and won't leave home without it. Nonetheless, how would you travel with your chicken from town-to-town in Costa Rica?

By Bus, of course.

So it's not so ridiculous that this guy would enter my bus with his chicken.

And it was quite considerate of him to give his chicken a portable coup in the form of a box. Thanks for that, José.

Until we meet again, Costa Rica and your busses, I say to you,

 BAWK, BAWK!

*

Optimistic Birds

I must be getting old, because I actually caught myself enjoying bird watching the other day.

Firstly, in case you don't know, I'm hanging in Minnesota for a bit. Marcus and I are finishing our book, What Women Never Tell You, without all the distractions that Los Angeles provides. Plus, we wanted to spend some time with my family.

Secondly, my awareness of birds in Los Angeles was limited to seagulls at the beach, crows outside my window (very early on a Sunday morning CAAAaaah! CAAAaaah!), and once in a while a nightingale, I think, in the evenings when I lived in Los Feliz. I've lived pretty much all over Los Angeles, and that's what I remember of the birds around me.

But here, we have bright-red cardinals and royal-blue blue-jays hanging outside the very large front window of my family home. The home where I grew up, actually.

Not only do they hang out for us to watch, munching on the bird-feeder my Dad put out. They sing and seem to be having a good time. The weather here isn't exactly balmy yet. In the last ten days, we've had sunny, 65° days, and we've had crisp, 40° days. More of the latter. Oh, and sometimes with rain. It actually snowed here in mid-April!

Even though I grew up in Minnesota, my blood thinned after all my years in Southern California. In other words, I'd put on a coat at 55° in LA.

But what struck me about these birds, is that they're so optimistic.

I realize I'm anthropomorphizing a bit.

And I'm sure the bird population here has nothing to do with their sunny outlook on life. Literally, sunny. They're trusting the sun will eventually come to northern Minnesota and stay, at least for a few months.

I'm sure it's some long-ingrained bird instinct, passed on and cultivated over many, many generations of aviary genetics.

But to me and my non-bird-brain, they just seem optimistic.

So, I'm taking a queue from the birds. Today, I'm going to just trust that the sun will come out tomorrow. I'm going to be optimistic that things will just work out. Optimistic that mother nature, father time, and sister christian actually know what they're doing and I can just follow my instincts.

Which is what, I guess, I'm doing here.

Know that I miss and love all my cherished friends in California (or wherever else my friends might be). I'm writing, singing, bird watching, and doing all I can to stay optimistic.

Making Decisions is Easy

Alright, sarcasm is hard to convey in written form. My title today is laced with sarcasm.

Making decisions, for me, is often not easy at all.

Until it is.

Let me explain. There is too much. Let me sum up.

You see, I realized something this morning.

I'm just pretending to be in charge of my own life/mind/choices. Something else is going on. How do I know? My big life decisions have never really been made by me.

You see, I'll spend days, sometimes weeks (or in one unfortunate relationship situation - years) agonizing over a decision. The agony usually correlates to my perception of how big the decision is - the bigger the perception of the thing in my life, the greater the agony.

But here's the kicker. Once I do make the actual decision, it never is about weighing the pros & cons, or about all the permutations I've looked at on paper or in my mind. It's always just a clarity, a feeling, an intuition that just washes over me, usually after a good night's sleep, and often after an experience that is unrelated to the decision!

Now I've studied enough about psychology, the subconscious, and spirituality to know that we don't know jack. But we do know that the subconscious mind uses sleep and dreams to vent and work things out.

So here I am, 98% clear on a decision that has been haunting me for weeks. The type of haunting where I wake up in the morning thinking about this. Oftentimes I didn't even have a breath between sleeping and waking before thinking about what I needed to do next to figure this out. The type of haunting where I've had emotional breakdowns on a weekly basis, like clockwork. (The decision is related to investments and land and things that might bore you if I went into the details.)

And now that I'm on the other side, I can't believe I didn't see this more clearly before. Argh, the agony of hindsight!

Let me back up a bit. Years ago I went to boarding school. Now that may sound all rulers-on-the-wrist and catholic school girly, but this is me folks. It was a very un-catholic school girl experience. It was closer to Fame, without all the singing and dancing in the cafeteria. (We sang and danced in our performance space, thank you very much.) It was a residential arts school in Minneapolis, about 3 hours from my home town. I had to apply and audition to get in and it was a two-year program. Junior & senior years of high school. Once I did get in for my junior year of high school, I knew I would go. But my first year was hard being away from family and friends and in a completely new environment. I knew without a doubt at the time that I wanted to be a professional musician/singer/songwriter, but I didn't know if continuing at this school was a) the best way to do that or b) for me.

During summer vacation between junior and senior years, I did all the figuring out I possibly could. I weighed the pros and cons. I talked to some trusted friends and family. I stewed and stewed and stewed some more.

Then one night, at a party, I found the guy I'd been dating off and on in his car with my good friend Tara. If memory serves, walking by the car, I saw a bare ass lit-up by the moon light.

It was not a pretty sight.

I walked away and knew, right in that moment, that I was going back to Arts High for my senior year.

From the outside, it might've looked like I was merely reacting to my friend fooling around with the guy I liked. But that wasn't it at all. Maybe that was the catalyst, but ultimately, that wasn't what really did it for me.

Something beyond me, something older and wiser and calmer than I was at that time, made me know, as sure as winter in Minnesota, that I didn't really belong here anymore.

I spent my first year at Arts High feeling like I didn't belong there, but it was exceptionally confusing and frustrating because I didn't feel I belonged anywhere - not in this new place, but not in my old place either.

That night with the moon-lit-bare-ass was the catalyst for me to realize that all the discomfort of my first year was me growing into belonging in this new place.

My senior year at Arts High went by in a blur, but it was one of the best times in my life. I bonded with friends there that I still have to this day. I had experiences that inspired songs, and grew into the woman I am now in large part because of that decision.

What's it like for you? How do you come to your most life-altering decisions? At what point is it easy?

I do believe in following your gut. Problem is, I'm notoriously too impatient for my gut to chime in.

Guess I still need to learn more patience.