Homecomings of Sorts

I spent another beautiful, albeit relatively sleepless night last night tenting next to the Rogue River, just inland from Gold Beach into the Siskiyou National Forest. A pretty awesome compromise, scenery wise anyway. I am beginning to loath my tent, as every night lately that I've used it I'm kept awake by incessant flapping. I usually just throw the rain fly over pretty halfheartedly and call it good in the name of mosquito killing. But I got up three separate times last night to secure the damn thing. Bivy-ing is so much quieter, but I'd forgotten that the magical land of ferns and 64 shades of green is also the magical land of insects. So flapping, plus the first round of lumber trucks and boats at about 5:30 made it another early/late morning. I wake early then argue with myself/doze for five minute increments for another couple of hours and its halfway to lunch time all of a sudden.

It always fascinates me how returning home, wherever and whichever home that may be, brings up all this desperate need to project myself and appear different than when I left. Bigger, more advanced, more mature, more together. Most definitely with better clothes and a stronger sense of self. Today this meant sitting in the car and plucking my eyebrows in the rear view (as it often does with impending arrival for some reason). Only a wee bit horrifying because I am sitting in such a beautiful place surrounded by hundreds of miles of more beautiful places on my way to a supremely beautiful place where people love me. That my insecurity can be so profound that this shall be how I shape what they think of me. Not the books that I've read and loved or the places I have seen or the shape of my adventures and my heart--but the shape of my eyebrows. It makes me wonder what I am trying to hide, and whats the worst that can happen.

I think deeply forget everything that I've accomplished and witnessed as time passes and the space between widens. I forget so easily what I learn--I think that's a big reason why I cling so steadfastly to writing down my days in my bones. In the last year since I left Portland I learned about being afraid. I learned that my fear is perpetual, and sometimes I manage better then others. I learned that it can be a good measure of my inspiration and spontaneity--being outside of my comfort zone so necessary and so counter--intuitive. My fear can also be a great measure for exhaustion and complacency--when my stomach stop twinging I get into trouble like at Birch Trail. I learned I can stick to a dream even if I'm not instantly good at it, that some things can click on the 378 try instead of the first or second. I learned a lot about communicating directly, and about how conflict avoidant I am. I learned about how much it rattles me when things go unresolved. I learned I love been a dirtbag but I'm probably not destined to live out of my car anytime soon. I learned to say and instead of but. I've learned to love the desert, and smalltown living, and that I crave big water and culture all the more and even still. I've learned that people will surprise you infinitely, and most often the ones who you thought would be in your life will run the other direction, and the ones who you mourned may just stick around for awhile.

Shit, shit shit shit shit too much coffee makes me feel like my heart is going to combust. Silly buy one get one free mocha-deals, why yes, don't mind if I do. Oregon is making me feel sort of sensory overloaded anyway, I mean they have MOSS here, like grow from the ground green cushy fungusy moss. And old-man's-beard. I had forgotten such things even existed. So strange.

I'm almost to Lincoln City, chilling out at some highway wayside and taking a quick breather. The closer I get to Portland the more overwhelming it suddenly seems. I kind of want to stay another night by the coast and postpone more people time. I really like stopping wherever I fancy and staying and exploring as long or as short as I like. Being in charge and responsible to and for no one is a great and long dreamt about experience. I think I may come back out and spend another couple nights on the water at the end of the week.