“There was nowhere to go but everywhere, so just keep on rolling under the stars.”

When I left St John on August 6, I knew I had chosen to be gone for too long.  Two months and change off the rock…My return seemed a like a lifetime away.  After months of looking forward to reconnecting with friends and family, eating great food for a reasonable price, LIVE MUSIC and revisiting my beloved Colorado, on that day in August, I regretted (Something I do not frequently do) my decision to leave a life of one foot in front of the other for a “vacation” where fast cars and tall buildings zoom past and tower over my existence.  I just wanted to stay on the beach and ride out the off season with the rest of my island misfit cohorts. 

Now, on October 15, I sit in the Miami airport, having already been on two other flights in the past 12 hours, ready to board my final plane to St.Thomas, and, for the first time in two months, pick up the hint of a West Indian dialect in one of the neighboring rows of passengers.  My heart leaps.  Home…I’ll be home soon.

The journey I have been on has been a transformative and reflective one.  For on this path, I have learned that there are places I have loved and to which I cannot return, there are places I wish to know better and there are places in my past to which I will always return to with the mentality of “I love you, but I can never date you/live here.”  In these past weeks, I have released my home of nearly ten years.  One of my reasons for returning to Colorado for a full month was to purge my earthly things…Sell my car, donate my things to thrift stores and distribute them to my friends and, all in all, close the door on my life there.  In the midst of boxes of clothing, photos, kitchen wares, ticket stubs and costumes, I sat weeping in the cold dark basement of a best friend that had housed my things when I had decided to take off for 6 months last fall.  Two months into my stint on STJ, I called to make sure it was okay if my things stayed for another 6 months…I was staying.  This time, as I sorted the important things, it was much harder.  I felt as if I was on a figurative island…not just the amazing literal one I actually reside on.  Everything I owned was being shipped or given away.  It’s liberating when it’s over.  But scary as shit when you’re actually doing it.

 

 In my time in Colorado, I had some great fun, spent quality time with some of the people I hold dearest in this world and, in doing so, discovered that while we may grow separately, we will never grow apart.  The laughter and love will bridge any gap between these people and myself for at one point or another, with each of them, I realized that our lives intertwined were a large part of our connection.  The rock has changed me, it has slowed me down, it has allowed me to see life for the miracle of each moment, and to not be caught up in the time that swirls around the present.  These are difficult things to do amidst fast cars and tall buildings.

“On the Road,” from Colorado, I discovered more of a vacation.  I was headed to Seattle and then Portland to spend a week in the North West with some of the most amazing beings I have been blessed to cross paths with.  Another circle of beautiful people whose lives will remain forever entangled with my own reside on the left coast and it was enchanting to be in their world, if only for a short time.  I was startled by the way it DID feel like home in Portland, even though I have never lived there…The sight of Mount Hood on a clear day, the amazing food, the subtle swing from Summer to Fall on the tip of every tree and temperature change and the comfort of my best friends’ newly purchased home, in addition to the outpouring of love and affection from each and every one of the friends I have been blessed with over the years of traveling for music, all sang to my heart.  I may find myself there one day, just maybe. 

I rode the breeze to Oakland next, leaving behind a new love interest and departing with a heavy heart.  My sister picked me up at the airport and we went to her new apartment where her new fiancé awaited us and congratulations were passed around over a bottle of wine.  As she completes her graduate work in forensic psychology, she also plans a wedding for the fall. Her energy amazes me.  As she went to class the next morning, I headed into the city…San Francisco, with flowers in her hair and the remnants of my favorite eras filled with music and madness and beatnik poetry and writing and art and intellect.  It was a picture perfect day and as I rode the BART to Union Station, I posted on facebook that I would be cocktail hopping in my favorite areas of the city, beginning at Magnolia on the corner of Haight and Ashbury.  This was a bar we had visited after the Earth Day festival in Golden Gate Park while on tour with Yonder Mountain String Band in 2007, specializing in craft beers and gastropub-type fare. 

My phone lit up with a text from a friend who had seen my facebook post and was also in the city for a few days from, of all places, Colorado.  This is ALSO the friend who connected me, again via facebook, with the amazing couple who put me up for my first weeks on island, strictly based on his “She’s cool,” recommendation.  This friend was also traveling with us in 2007 when we visited this same restaurant.  I think that Noah and I will always cross paths…another example of music bringing great people together for a lifetime of random adventures (Facebook helped too).

From the Haight, we cabbed it to North Beach, an area of the city known well for its “Little Italy” costume it adorns each evening as open air cafes and restaurants light up with candle light and the air fills with the smells of 100 pasta sauces simmering with sausage and meatballs.  However, this was not my reason for visiting this, my favorite, area of San Francisco.  For me, North Beach echoes a time that I only wish I could have known.  I have read every piece of literature written by Jack Kerouac and Neil Cassady is one of my favorite characters of all time.  While in Bowling Green, Ohio, I lived vicariously through their ramblings around the country and followed suit as soon as I finished college…While, maybe a little bit while I was still in college.  These late nights spent flipping the pages of Kerouac’s “On the Road,” are a large piece of the puzzle comprising my life and my own wanderings.

It is on the corner of Jack Kerouac Alley in North Beach that Vesuvio’s, a beautiful little hole in the wall bar that screams of a time of jazz music and literary geniuses, and the City Lights bookstore reside.  I will never understand the fascination with Kindles and Nooks, for it is in old, locally owned bookstores that I feel most calm and comfortable.  Browsing through the works of the Beat Generation, picking up books and reading a few pages here and there, breathing in the air of paper bound by decades of work, talent and perseverance, is one of the most inspiring things I can do for my writing.  While standing in the upstairs room of this tiny store, I can feel the presence of Allen Ginsberg, Kerouac, Cassady and the other characters who contributed to the weekly poetry readings in this little shack that literature built.  I picked up a book written by Neil’s wife entitled “Off the Road,” coincidentally….I was going home soon. 

Leaving Oakland by train the next day, a wave of memories and sentiment overwhelmed me as I sat in Jack London station, awaiting my ride to Fresno where I would visit my dear Aunt Sue, also a leader in teaching me that it’s okay to pick up and go;  that there is a big beautiful world out there worth exploring.  The last time I sat in that station was with my ex; the one who broke my heart into so many pieces that it sent me spiraling into the Caribbean.  He lived in Oakland, but now resides with his fiancé near Tahoe, and I would fly out from Denver and we would take the train to meet up with his band mates in Truckee for one show or one tour or another.  It was fitting that I had just fallen so hard for another man while in Portland and it softened the blow of the memories of photo shoots on the bench that I now sat on, of a time we had to pretend we were married to board the train because he had lost his wallet, of intellectual discussions of music and books and future plans.  Still though, it stung a little to think of those bittersweet moments in time with a person I loved so much that it hurt.  I pondered for a moment how far I had come, the strength I had developed and the leap of faith I had taken in moving to St. John under the cloud of momentary insanity that settles over a broken heart, and I thought to myself, “I wouldn’t trade my life now for a lifetime of those moments with him.”  And that felt amazing. 

The short of it is that I am now HOME.  On island.  Back on the rock.  When the plane landed on St. Thomas just last week, I was giddy with excitement to be reunited with my island family and the crystal clear waters of the most beautiful place on earth (in my opinion), a far cry from the anxiety and panic stricken discovery of the reality of my decision to move here when I landed in the USVI for the first time last fall.  It’s a beautiful thing to discover your true place in life.  Even if it’s just for a short moment in time…

Snorkeling is like Skiing Because….

I moved to Saint John after spending nearly ten years in Colorful Colorado, as many of you already know.  A number of you who either vacation on, or have lived on, “the rock” know that it is a requirement of service industry employees to tell the story of who we are, where we came from and how we wound up in paradise.

In a typical evening, during wine service, I will ask the question, “Where ya’ll from?” to break the silence as I present and open a bottle.  It directly leads to 20 questions about where I came from and how I uprooted from Ohio and, ten years later via Colorado, landed in the middle of the ocean.  I don’t mind telling my story, EVER. I enjoy sharing my story of misfortune that lead me to where I am now.  I also understand that people who are vacationing are often baffled at how someone could wind up living in a place so beautiful and so remote…If you don’t like sharing your story, don’t work in the front of the house in a restaurant in an amazing vacation destination.  Better yet, don’t go to happy hour or the beach either; someone is bound to ask eventually how you got there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Usually, the first 30 seconds of my interview goes like this:

Me:  “Where ya’ll from.”

Guest:  Dallas, Boston, New York, Greensboro, San Diego, etc.

Me:   Insert some kind of comment relating to said city (I worked a ski expo there once, I have a childhood friend that moved there, etc.)

Guest:  “Where did you come from?”

Me:  “I spent eight years in Colorado before moving here.”

Guest:  (Nine times out of Ten, unless they are also from Colorado or have frequently vacationed there themselves.)  “Wow, that’s a real change for you.”

Generally, this comment is also followed by something about how they have met a lot of Colorado transplants on the rock.  I would agree, there are a few of us.

Now, I just want to stop for a moment and say that I am not, BY ANY MEANS, making fun of someone for this response.  At first glimpse, Colorado is cold, and St. John is definitely not.  Colorado is known for snow and skiing and, well, there’s not much of either of those things on STJ.  Many people ask me if I traded my snow skis for water skis and I reply, “Ski Bum to Beach Bum.”  When you can do it all, why wouldn’t you?

I thought for a long while about this disassociation people make between Colorado and Saint John and, well, I actually came to the conclusion that, aside from the climate, the two places are very similar.  A large number of vibrant, young people with a lust for life and adventure flock to both destinations in order to set up shop in a beautiful place and enjoy the readily accessible outdoors, make a good living with easy hours, stay out late, wake up early and build a new life from the ground up.

When you meet someone in Colorado, you immediately ask them where they are from…Not many people are actually FROM Colorado.  Same with STJ…I can count on two hands how many people I have met who are born and raised on island.  Therefore, the phrases, “Where are you really from?” and “No one is FROM here,” ring true in both places, and, when you have a majority of people who have migrated to a place by choice, but not by necessity, you find a happier breed of humanity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The majority of the transplants in both places spend a lot of time supporting their local establishments, er, uh, watering holes.  Due to our rambling tendencies and our ineffaceable pull in the direction of bar and restaurant work, many of us are, sometimes to a fault, VERY socially inclined.  Therefore, we get done with a busy night at work…Are we going to go home and relax?  Probably not.  Are we going to wander into town to see who’s around, what the antics of the past 24 hours entail and wind up sitting at a bar, laughing hysterically at nothing until we need to be “evac’d” home?  Most likely.  This also applies to the daytime transplant workers in both arenas.  I have never known anyone in my life that abuses happy hour privileges more than folks living on Saint John, and in Colorado.

The biggest similarity?  Playing outside.  I promised myself that when I moved to Colorado, and again when I moved to STJ, that I would never not take advantage of the gifts of Mother Nature right outside my doorstep.  Both places have amazing hiking trails and constant sunshine.  A lot of people don’t realize that Colorado gets 300 plus days of sunshine a year.  Saint John probably does one better than that, but all in all, both places are high in the daily dose of Vitamin D and lend to both a happier and a more active existence.

There is, I suppose, a slight difference in the predominant extracurricular activities of the beaches of Saint John and the mountains of Colorado.  Skiing is very different than snorkeling….or is it?  Yes, yes, I suppose that speeding down the side of a mountain at knot speed wearing more clothing than I keep in my Cruz Bay closet with numb fingers and ice particles ripping through your cheeks could be quite a lot on the opposite end of the spectrum from sauntering to the beach in flops and a bathing suit, slipping your one piece of gear onto your head and immersing in a warm underwater world for hours on end.  I guess they’re not at all the same.  Or are they?

Riddle me this.  When you get off of the mountain, or out of the water, after a few hours of subconsciously working your body on overhaul, what do you want?  Me?  I want a bacon cheeseburger and a beer…And I want them now.  I realized a few weeks ago after a particularly lengthy swim at Jumbie that water and snow sports are the only physical activities that make me CRAVE calories.  I run, I hike, I do yoga…I don’t want a heavy meal after any of these things.  But, put me in the water or on the mountain enjoying myself in the sunshine for hours, and I go straight into fat kid mode.

Sunscreen is a necessity in both skiing and snorkeling, but you never remember that until after the fact.  How many times have you taken your goggles off and realized you would be rocking a pretty raging set of raccoon eyes for the better part of the next week?  With snorkeling, chances are you put sunscreen on your face, but the upper part of your back, which is exposed the entire time, remains neglected until you coat it with aloe hours later.

Both go better with drinks.  A nice mimosa, or three, is a great way to boost your confidence, therefore also your speed and agility, both in the big blue and on the big white.  During the experience, a pull of whiskey in Colorado is necessary to keep you warm from the inside on the icy slopes and a pull of rum in the Caribbean because, well, that’s just how we do.  To round this out, you’re lying if you say you don’t enjoy going to happy hour in your ski gear or in your bathing suit.

Skiing and snorkeling are both great bonding experiences with a small group of friends and a pain in the ass for a large group of people.  Admittedly, it is easier to “herd kittens” in the water than it is on the mountain, but rounding up a group of five people or more to do any kind of outdoor activity with both a start and an end point is no fun.  Pointedly, skiing is much worse due to the fact that there is a start and an end point at the beginning and the end of every run.  I’ll meet you on the beach and I’ll meet you at the lodge are two phrases with different intention, but parallel meanings.

In a nutshell, I had no idea that moving two time zones (three when daylight savings time is enacted) and several thousand miles from my home in landlocked Colorado to a small green dot in the middle of the ocean would equate to such a similar experience.  Granted there are MANY things that are VERY different between the two places, but to me, they are both home to amazing people, Mother Nature at her finest and some of the most wonderful memories I continue to create every day.

Looking Back Over my Shoulder….

I have landed here…In a space lucky enough to call this island home.  “The rock” was supposed to be a temporary resting place for me to heal my wounds and now I call it a permanent residence where I will grow.  Over the past year, I have made some incredible lifelong friends and created some new traditions.  I have experienced life as it should be, contemplative and slow…Living each moment for exactly that….the present.  I have learned myself and grown immensely in the emotional world and become addicted to outdoor activities that keep me physically strong and mentally happy.  I found myself questioning a few months ago, “If I CAN live here, why WOULDN’T I?”  Kind of a stupid question when “here” is a beautiful paradise filled with amazing people and constant sunshine, right?

At present, I’m back in Ohio, revisiting my roots and creating new memories with my original family.  In a few weeks’ time, I will return to my beloved Colorado to say farewell…To rid my life of many of the material things stowed in boxes in dear friends’ basements, to get rid of my Subaru which I love so much, to come together with the people and the places and the music that I will continue to love and hold close to my heart in years to come.  I will then turn my vacation to the West Coast, visiting Seattle, Portland, Oakland and Fresno, reuniting with friends and family along the way.  I will eat a lot of amazing food and do A LOT of much needed shopping, camp, hike, festivate, kayak, swim, run, bike…and marvel at the “real world,” the only world I knew for so long before St. John.

As excited as I am about the months to come, I must write now about how I was feeling in my weeks leading up to leaving island for over two months.  Two months.  I had only been there for a little under nine months.  Those months and those moments seemed to dwindle precariously into each Caribbean sunset, taking with them the memories of endless snorkels, volleyball games, day drinking marathons and the “responsible adult day” activities of checking mail at Connections, depositing checks at First Bank and going to the market.

These precious moments, filled with new faces coming and going through the revolving door of the Cruz Bay ferry dock, will never be recreated, nor will I try to do so.  Because you see, St. John is ALWAYS changing…and more apparently than most places in this world.  You can WATCH the plants grow…Life is ever blooming here on island.  When you fill your lungs with a deep breath and plunge beneath the surface of the sea, you will NEVER feel the same current twice; never see the same oceanic sights along the reef or the sea grass covered floor as at that current moment in time.  Even the sand between your toes changes from day to day, moment to moment.  Some days, when setting up the volleyball net at Cinnamon, the sand will be like champagne powder, others, it will be hard and packed down.  Ever changing, ever growing, moment to moment, day to day.

I have left a lot of things in my life.  Not in order to run FROM something, but more because I’m addicted to new horizons.  I am “desirous of everything around me at the same time.”  I want to live, live, live…because we only get one shot, and what if I miss something because I wasn’t paying attention or I didn’t follow the signs the universe presented to me?  I try not to push things in my life, I believe one’s actions, and the actions of others in one’s life, directly affect the outcome of the individual’s path.  And, once that path becomes clear, it should be followed, no matter how scary or unsure it may be.  In my experiences, it is always worth it.  That being said (Sorry about the rant, I got a bit off course there.), I think that when you leave something, even for just a few months, change for the better or for the worse is inevitable.  I am always changing, growing, learning, evolving…that’s what we are supposed to be doing as humans.  Therefore, perception can change in a few moments’ time.  With a change in perception, comes a change of heart many times.  I left a boyfriend behind to move on to Colorado when I was 24.  When I arrived in the Rocky Mountain State, I realized I didn’t want to be with him anymore.  Getting outside of that bubble allowed me to focus on what was really going on in the world and changed my perception…Therefore, putting me in a COMPLETELY different space than I had been just weeks earlier.

In my final weeks on St. John, I began to reassess this and several other similar situations.  I had called Colorado my home until I arrived on St. John and was immediately drawn into the Island therefore, the rock is home now.  Perception; changed.  I had come to love St. John so much over my first nine months there that I feared I would lose that when I got back to the states.  That when I hit Colorado again my perception would revert to the original notion of the Rockies being my home.  So, I became a little scared, nervous, anxious…Given the option of calling me one of these things, my closest friends would choose; D) None of the Above.

Then, about a week before I was taking off for my travels, I was walking down centerline road, heading to work on just another pristine St. John day.  I looked up at the Caribbean Sea and realized something.  I may never even make it back to the states, if I do, I might not make it back to the island.  If I do make it back to the island, I might not make it another six months.  Everything could end tomorrow.  Now, I know this is all kind of morbid, but have you ever had a moment of clarity like that?  Of TRULY being in the present and being okay with it?  Of being OKAY with the fact that this could be your last moment or your last day?  I did have that moment that beautifully warm and sunny day and it felt great.  At 32, I feel like I have done what I needed to do, said what I needed to say and been where I needed to be and the rest is all bonus time.  Time to dedicate to being the best I can be for right now, and not for some future moment that may never happen.

Living on St. John helped me to realize all of these things, because I have the time to contemplate.  Shedding the daily commute, the rat race of life, “keeping up with the Jones’’” has given me the time to dedicate to truly getting to know other people and myself for who we are; not what we were or what we will become.  This applies, not only to those living on island, but to those I left in the states as well.  I have spent more time on the phone with my mother, father and sisters in the last year than I have in many years combined.  I actually use WRITTEN correspondence. Yes, like letters and cards.  I have been able to be a strong and objective opinion for my friends back in Colorado.  I was ready to go to my other homes.  I had realized, changed or not, the rock will always be just that.  At its core, it will remain unchanged, just like me, at my core.  I will remain unchanged as well.

Having made these realizations, I decided to live it up during my last week on island.  Never mind the money saving mode I should have been in (It all worked out anyways, like it does.), I went on a BVI boat trip with two chartered boats filled with service industry employees (Always a doosey, but that is a story for later.).  A group of 15 of us privately chartered the Kekoa for a sunset sail.  I went snorkeling almost every day, except for two days filled with beach volleyball.  I went out late and woke up early.  I spent time with friends; spending days on the beach and evenings grilling and dining.  In a nutshell, I lived those last days as if they were the only days, and they tasted so good.

Now, in the states, I miss it every day.  I can’t wait to return.  I will spend some time in the coming months writing about my first nine months on the rock.  I know this was a little deep, but I needed to lay out my new found mentality in order for my up and coming tales to ring true.  Stay tuned for more light hearted tales from my new life…