Unabridged Version

With presents packed into leftover retail bags placed strategically in the trunk, and a homemade potato dish releasing its scent throughout the entire vehicle, we headed out for our traditional holiday travel destination. After several minutes of temperature control adjustments made solely through indirect comments from each traveler indicating an uncomfortable state, the radio's tunes and the repetitive sound of the tires on pavement began to lull me into an isolating fog. Although every now and then the voices in the front seat pulled me off my train of thought, I mostly found peace in my stare out the back seat window.

I have found that my travels in the back seat of a vehicle allow me to really see my surroundings. Not that I do not physically see the same things when in the front passenger seat, but I feel as though my obligation to the driver as a companion of sorts somewhat distracts me from the immediate environment's details. In addition, the front seat experience does not allow me adequate processing time to appreciate these details as I feel I could. This holiday was no different.

While riding along, I saw rearview windows blocked completely with beautifully wrapped presents; brightly colored paper and metallically shiny bows. I saw dogs of all kinds moving frantically back and forth in their spot of the vehicle, pacing almost with a curiosity of the excited energy spilling out onto the roads this very day. There was an older man and a boy walking alongside an outer road, bundled up from head to toe, holding hands and moving forward with intention. There were even other faces in the backseat of cars looking out into the world with expressions that, too, symbolized inner reflection and thought. With each passerby, I couldn't help but wonder about his or her story; who are these people, really? Even within my own traveling vehicle, I wondered this very question.

A couple weeks ago, during my visit to Barnes and Noble, I was meandering through the Bargain Books section of the store. It was then that I came across several unabridged collections, and the very notion of my own unabridged version; the unabridged version of Rachelle. Does anyone really know this version of me? Do I?

There are so many aspects of our life, while maybe not forgotten, are certainly edited…removing the raw experience and all the emotion and thought associated…so that we may move forward and focus on the now. It seems that holding on to each and every detail of the past would cloud the present and future; maybe making the ability to grow a struggle in itself, if not impossible. But even in the chance that we truly know and embrace the unabridged version of ourselves, is it even possible to share it with another? This then begs the question, "Do we really know each other?" I sometimes think I know just as much about my own family as I know about the stranger in the back seat of the vehicle passing by. Yet, somehow, the titles and frequency of exchange have convinced me otherwise…despite the lack of personal disclosure.

Birds on a Wire

Here it is; the official first day of winter. And, I can honestly say, I have spent an abnormal amount of time today trying to stay warm. According to the weather folks, it is negative-something degrees outside. And whenever the weatherman says, “Minus,” I automatically visualize my important limbs…minus fingers, toes and the tip of my nose. At one point today, I was actually wearing my stocking cap…INSIDE my apartment.

My heater is on. I stare at my fireplace imaging warmth since I ran out of heat-producing materials a couple days ago and have yet to acquire more. I have even placed a down comforter on my couch for cocoon-like preservation when in a non-movement state of being. None of this, however, has seemed to alleviate the arctic tundra that is now my living environment (and I’m pretty sure the Ben & Jerry’s I had for dinner didn’t help any either). Maybe I just have a cold? If so, I’d like to trade it in for a warm! All joking aside, the colder weather has definitely affected the behaviors of all living creatures near and far.

Every morning on my way to work, I can’t help but notice a flock…maybe a group…possibly a collection of birds that gather on a particular telephone wire. While I cannot be certain it is the same birds every day, I can be certain of their presence; same place, same time…approximately same amount. It might even be the exact same amount, although I have never taken the time to count.

Just last week, I noticed a slight change in the birds’ placement. They were closer together. It was as if they were snuggling to stay warm on their wire. I chuckled and thought to myself, in tough times even the birds stick together. They do what they have to for survival; for a better existence.

This thought just happened to coincide with a demanding time at work. With the help of a new computer software system, coupled with a traditionally busy time of year, our office staff was buried in task with little to no end in sight. It almost seemed hopeless. But just when emotions were running high, our leadership rallied the departmental troops. And with a couple days of cross-training, and a few more days of hard work, the office load was tackled. What would have taken weeks to finish, was completed in days.

Just like the birds gathering for warmth, this teamwork effort exhibited in a time of crisis brought me great joy. It truly is amazing what can be accomplished when living creatures work together for the greater good. Anything is possible. Although this time of year usually makes me overly sentimental, these kinds of actions make my heart sing year round. I truly believe that when we allow love and kindness to rule our actions, we leave less room for the stuff that prevents us from greatness. Collectively, our greatness is redefined.

My Cheatin' Heart

After I parked my car, I hesitated briefly before reaching for the door handle to exit. Was I really going to do this? Will I really be able to enjoy myself? The uneasy feeling, although subtle at first, was now penetrating my thoughts loud and clear. Surely the sensation I will experience after walking through those doors will be worth this initial guilt.

As I approached the doors, I found that the excuses I had made for my behavior in this moment during the walk from my car to the entryway were starting to work. I was getting excited. Once my feet crossed into the environment that brings me so much pleasure, I let go of all my worries. That is, until I was asked for my proof of commitment.

Almost instantly, my smile vanished. The excitement was replaced with shame. I glanced down into my wallet and saw my true companion staring back at me. It was in that moment, when my eyes looked longingly at my Borders Rewards Card, that I vowed to never step foot in Barnes and Noble again (no promises). I paid for my soy milk Chai Tea Latte with a simple debit card, knowing in my heart that refusing the acquisition of a Barnes and Noble Rewards Card was the right thing to do. This was a test of my loyalty, and I think I can confidently say that I passed with flying colors…minus the part of seeking another’s companionship, spending time and money happily.

While it is clear that I didn’t truly have hesitations about venturing into a Barnes and Noble, it IS true that I would have preferred a Border’s experience. And that got me thinking about the impact of our preferences on limiting new experiences. Is it possible that our preferences are formed more out of habit than pleasure, with pleasure deriving from comfort? Sure. Is it also possible that our preferences are formed strictly out of comparison of isolated experiences? Of course. In conclusion, as long as my preferences don’t falsely impact another experience negatively and are open to being replaced, I will continue to enjoy them as such.

Musical Chairs

She said our wait would be twenty to twenty-five minutes. I looked at her skeptically seeing as the journey for name submission, alone, took five. Nevertheless, I smiled thankfully and proceeded to use my compass to navigate through the Black Friday crowd to reach the spot where my parents were waiting (slight exaggeration). They had managed to find two seats on the cushioned booths that lined the entrance walls. I happily stood in front of them, as all other seats were taken, and observed those standing elsewhere.

Restaurant waiting-“room” time can be quite interesting. People-watching is heightened with dialogue that tends to amuse strictly out of intrigue, and minds start to wander, often out of hunger. Since we were waiting to dine for brunch, and I was focused on breakfast food, I found myself wandering more than watching. Just as I started thinking about all of the chickens it must take to produce all of the eggs being cooked and served in this particular restaurant on this particular day, I noticed movement to my right. Booth Vacancy Alert! As I looked around for the notables whose absence would give me seating clearance: elders, expectant mothers, children, etc, I was surprised to find myself in green-light status. Just as I was about to plant my rear next to my folks, two teenage girls swooped in for the kill. I laughed.

What did this remind me of? It only took a second before the childhood memories of circular movement and plotting came flooding into view. Of course! Musical Chairs. I should have known. All those years of training wrapped cleverly into an enjoyable activity. Adults have known about the limited restaurant-waiting-area seating since the beginning of time, right? What better way to communicate the vital skill of seat nabbing than in a “game” that can be played all throughout the formative years?!

To the girls’ credit, once they realized I had been contemplating filling one of the seat vacancies, an offer was made for exchange. Although I declined out of amusement for the moment, I was motivated by the gesture. It reminded me that while our competitive nature does tend to surface instinctually, it can be controlled for a better outcome.

Turkey Tradition

There are some things that should never change. The twenty-four hour availability of A Christmas Story during the holidays for cable and satellite television viewers (of which I, for better or worse, do not hold membership), apparently me in grade school (according to yearbook dedications which I can only assume meant nothing since most, if not all, of those instructing me to “never change” also informed me that they loved me like a sister “LYLAS”…which I am starting to seriously doubt, unless they secretly meant a Cinderella step-sister, seeing as I haven’t heard from them since), and my annual Thanksgiving celebration.

Since my cesarean debut onto this earth, I have spent Thanksgiving in or around the city of my birth, St. Louis. I truly believed Judy Garland said it best when she said, “Meet me in St. Louie”….fair or no fair. Whenever my mind would even dabble in the tradition of Thanksgiving and all of its warmth and merriment, it would picture the Gateway to the West. You can only imagine my disappointment, then, when my folks announced that they want to travel for bird consumption this year; they want to come to Springfield.

As if in a cinematic moment, flashes of Thanksgivings’ past ran quickly through my mind. Beautiful table settings, fireplaces, grandma’s pies, and laughing faces all danced across my vision bank waving goodbye. Granted, the fireplace was electric…grandma hasn’t baked pies for several years…and the laughing faces really haven’t gone anywhere. Nevertheless, my perception of tradition was about to change.

Surprisingly, after a brief adjustment period, I found myself getting excited about the opportunity to give back to those who have given for so long; to redefine the Thanksgiving experience. And, almost immediately, the change brought with it other doors of opportunity. As a result of my local presence for the holiday, I have been invited to join my friend and her family the morning of Thanksgiving for the city’s annual Turkey Day Trot. Already, these additional faces have enhanced my day of thanks.

Sheryl Crow once wrote that, “A change would do you good.” And, in most cases, I think she’s right. It’s quite possible that the race finish line on Thanksgiving morning may represent the start of a new tradition. And, for that possibility, I’m truly thankful.

Winterizing

It started about two weeks ago. Exhaustion replaced tired in the end-of-the-day-feeling department. Indoors replaced out of doors, and dark beer now rules Middle Earth. My Chaco sandals have been inching closer to storage space, and my freshly painted toe nails are being suffocated by cotton, polyester and wool material practically twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.

If it looks like seasonal change, acts like seasonal change, well…experience tells me it must be seasonal change. More precisely, winter…ish. The calendar that hangs on the cork board in my kitchen area declares that winter begins on December 21. But my nose tells me otherwise. Every year, there comes a time when the very tip of my nose becomes chilled on a regular basis. A chill so noticeable, and slightly alarming, that it encourages me to resolve its nature and my nose’s discomfort. I have worn scarves. I have cupped my nose with my hand to generate heat. I have buried my nose underneath blankets. I have even Googled “nose hat” in hopes of finding a solution. With the exception of the “nose mitten,” a sketchy looking contraption that I could not justify payment for, but found quite humorous, I have not found an adequate resolution to the Big Chill that does not involve relocation. My favorite season, to date, IS California.

Despite my literary aggravation for colder weather, however, I actually enjoy its challenge. It forces me to change my itinerary. Gone are the days of weekday outdoor activity until dark: thirty. Adjustments must be made to satisfy my activity level. While I could easily see myself taking naps after work, watching hours of mindless, albeit funny, television and creating an extra layer of insulation with starchy meals and dark beverage, I must resist this…what I can only assume…natural state of being. I mean, what’s not natural about hibernation, stagnation, and a “winter coat”? It’s instinctual, right?

With that being said, should a person surrender to the body’s reaction during seasonal change, or resist its needs for the sake of our own desires? And, in doing so, does that create a negative reaction from the body resulting, often, in illness? I am stubborn enough to force my exhausted body to attend an indoor cycling class after work because I am used to doing outdoor activity. But does the maintained fitness that is a result of the exertion truly benefit the body when done against its will? I’m not sure I’m willing to sacrifice my desires to test the theory.

Solo Travel

Fact: I did not use the duct tape during my travels to California and back. However, it would have been quite the visual display had I decided to use it on the massive crack that emerged on my windshield (that I still have not fixed) somewhere between Oklahoma and Arizona. While I am glad I did not pursue such a ridiculous remedy, I am thoroughly enjoying the laughter that is a result of the consideration.

Duct tape aside, I can confidently say, this trip was held together by other people…complete strangers. When I suited up the Honda two Thursday night’s ago to head out towards the land of tolls (Oklahoma)--not to be confused with trolls…although, I wouldn’t put it past the state to charge for meeting one at an advertised “Free Restroom”—I could have never predicted the remaining ten days of travel, regardless of “plans.” That first evening, as I pulled onto a street heading towards a woman on her cell phone waving her hands frantically to assist me with direction, I knew I was in for a good time.

Each night that I couch surfed—once in Oklahoma City, twice in Flagstaff, and once in Alamogordo—I was greeted with unique individuals with interesting life stories. The generosity displayed through food, drink, conversation and entertainment…not to mention a place to sleep and shower…was overwhelming and beautiful. Contrary to popular belief, one based primarily on fear, strangers can be kind and trustworthy. Granted, there are some legitimate fears associated with such an idea, but that brings us to individual responsibility and common sense. I did not put myself, I had hoped, in living situations that would require me to use my knife (yikes), the random screw driver in my car (that really wouldn’t have been useful unless I was in my car), or my magical roll of duct tape.

The only time I felt slightly nervous during this adventure was the drive from Flagstaff, Arizona to Alamogordo, New Mexico. While I did have some concerns about the bears in Yosemite slashing me or my vehicle to gourmet pieces, as well as the health of my knee on the downward slopes of the hikes I wanted to pursue, nothing compared to the isolating feeling of this commute. The uninhabited space engulfed my singing-Civic-driving self for hours without cell phone service or, for the most part, another vehicle. The towns I passed through were, indeed, ghost towns. The one gas station I stopped at, in Arizona, gave me a free Snickers bar just for visiting. That can’t be a good sign.

While I cannot minimize the moments of this trip, spent alone or in company, that moved my spirit and penetrated my soul…all occurring in the National Parks, of course…I cannot say enough about the power of solo travel. It, in my opinion, opens the door of opportunity. To approach and be approached is much easier for the self and others, and the time alone allows you to truly engage in your surroundings; a humble awareness of sorts. Surprises are inevitable.

In short, this trip was incredible. But, it was made even more so by all of the people in my life who weren’t able to physically accompany me. Knowing I had people who were following me on Twitter, who include me in their lives as a friend or loved one, who care about my journeys and expressions…made the experience better. It really wouldn’t be the same without people to share it with…before, during and after. Here’s to friends and family…who, at one time, were complete strangers.