Pursuitist
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness
The Bluest Blues, the Greenest Greens
A 45 minute drive east will put you in such a smattering of green that you'd be pardoned for confusing it with a rainforest. Another 45 minutes takes you through snow-covered Stevens Pass as it cuts across the Cascade Mountains. An hour further leads out to the barren hills and apple orchards of Central Washington.It was my first visit to this part of the state. I was astounded by the diversity of the natural beauty. Streams and deserts and apple orchards and wineries...A hike followed a trail beside a clear river rambling with whitewater. I surveyed the scene, both within and without: Could this, Washington State, be my new/next home? It's a question my mind has grappled with to varying degrees of intensity over the past six months. While amazed at my surroundings and optimistic about life in Seattle, something within me simply can't fully embrace it. Not yet at least.It's not that I'm considering a move. Hardly. At least not realistically. I'm tired. It's been a very hard two years. And I'm tired. But I still harbor reservations. Quibbles, really. Comparisons to past places and previous lives. Unfortunately, like Lot's wife, I have a tendency to look back. It would be unfortunate to turn into a pillar of salt.
The Tables Have Turned
I looked across the table. Four applicants to the CBYX program, a year-long fellowship in Germany, eagerly, nervously looked back at us. I smiled, thinking back to my own application to the program over ten years ago. The tables had turned and it was my turn to ask the questions. I was volunteering as a member of the selection committee.The program sends 75 young Americans to Germany as part of a year-long work/study stipend. Candidates aren't chosen on intelligence or accomplishments, though that certainly plays a role. Instead, we were looking for the strongest cultural representatives of the United States.I prodded at their background. Would these kids thrive in a foreign and, at times, hostile environment? My questions led into the opportunity for them to provide concrete details and examples. Unfortunately, none came. Interview tip (and I'm emphasizing this for my own good): Always provide examples!
Where Streams of Whiskey are Flowing
So Ireland, we meet again. You're turning my passport green with all your entry stamps! What do you say you just give me that visa and we'll call it even.It was a wedding that brought me back this go-around. Specifically, DeVon Jackson's. Yes! That DeVon Jackson! Ninth grade, Geometry. Twelfth grade, Government (and a Wyclef Jean group project that rivaled anything Bill and Ted ever attempted). Late-20s/early 30s New York. Yes!He had recently moved to London to live with Ciara, his Irish girlfriend. In fact(!), it was DeVon I visited in London for World Cup. We were both so excited to live so close to each other again. And then I ended up 10,000 miles away in Seattle.I arrived in Dublin on December 30th, giving me enough time to settle in to... the sweetest digs in Dublin! As if the top floor apartment wasn't enough, I'd be sharing it with Sam the Jam Jackson! Yes! Two Jacksons for the price of one!!! He and his girlfriend Allie occupied one half of the swank. I took the other.With the crew together, we set out on those raucous Dublin nights. The Rehearsal/Welcoming Dinner doubled as a New Year's Eve celebration and involved more Jacksons than I could count. Brothers, half-sisters, cousins, moms, and step-moms. The last time I had seen some of them, they were unclothed toddlers blitzing through Sam and DeVon's high school home. Grandma Jackson had made the trip as well. At one point, she needled up beside me in the bar booth, imploring me to buy her three cigars for the evening. Three cigars, that would be it. After that she was quitting. Who am I to deny a wonderful woman like her?!
Holidays in Houston
It's no secret that Christmas just isn't my thing. Terrible music. Evergreen allergies. Travel stresses (ALWAYS travel stresses). And presents.Here's the deal with presents: I'm just not very good with them.I'm not good at receiving them: I never give a good reaction to surprises, even if it's something I like, and I can't hide my disdain if it's something I don't like. I'm a HUGE disappointment to gift givers.I'm also terrible at gift giving. I mean, have you seen what I wear? I'm a terrible shopper. I can't even shop for myself.All-in-all, stress.That said, I was looking forward to spending the holidays time in Houston. Forget the holiday circus. I just wanted to be out on the deck with the family, drink in hand. Sure enough, I was out in the yard with cousin Nick and a few beers by 11:00am on Christmas day.
Tour de Rightside
Seattle -> Austin -> Houston -> Dublin -> SeattleThree weeks. Twelve thousand miles. Three different Rightside offices. One exhausted traveler. Happy holidays!!!The travels coincided with different office locations. Things kicked off with a few days in the Rightside ATX office. My vacation days for 2014 were toast. This was a chance to get a little closer to holidays in Houston while also seeing some of the good people in Central Texas.It was my first time back in Austin since I left. The strain between me and the city had mellowed, yet the conviction that the city simply can't offer me what I'm looking for remained. The people though... Separate from my feelings towards the city are the feelings I have towards friends there. Very special people.
A Robertson Thanksgiving
It was a bit more eventful than necessary, but after about 19 hours of travel time, I was back in Texas for Thanksgiving. A weekend in Fredericksburg/Luckenbach with the parents was dashed due to US Airways' mechanical issues and their inability to properly fuel a jetliner. And their HAZMAT team. Long story...
Der Schicksaltag
I'd never been to a "Mauer Party" before. There though, from the Seattle German Language Meetup Group, was my invite. A celebration of 25 years without the Berlin Wall.Back in Berlin, we did what most Germans did on the 9th of November: we gathered as a small group for dinner, had a few beers, and watched Goodbye Lenin. During one of our evenings, Sabrina, who grew up in East Berlin, shouted at one of the opening scenes of the movie. "You can't do that!" as the Stasi interrogated a mother. The emotions behind the outburst, that's burned in my memory.
1,000 Pounds of Stuff
Finally, finally, after nearly four weeks of transit, my "stuff" arrived. The 1000 pound pallet was filled with everything from record albums to a queen sized mattress. It landed on my doorstep after a 2,300 mile journey from Houston. I looked up at it. It was at least 10 feet tall. I didn't know where to begin.It was a grey day. Dry, but that wouldn't last. I ripped at the protective plastic sheet, exposing the cardboard boxes to the elements. I'd need to make a quick decision on where to begin. This "stuff" wasn't waterproof.Just then, I noticed a toolbox and a friendly voice. My neighbor Lars watched the delivery from his room above mine. The pallet was so unbalanced, he was sure it would fall into the street. It didn't, so now he was asking if he could help carry things inside. Before I could answer, his girlfriend Wenting was propping open the gate and clearing a path inside. I smiled a smile of disbelief and offered them a beer. "Later," they said.
Sleeping in Seattle
My first night in Seattle was spent on a square of carpet. The sheets I nicked from the Irish hotel turned into the finest souvenir I brought back.It was a contentious evening. Freshly arrived, though feeling far from fresh, I met with the apartment manager to finalize the lease with an autograph. Up to this point, I had only submitted a deposit and given a verbal pledge, despite asking to see and sign the lease.Now the lease was in front of me, at 9:30pm on the tail end of international travels, and I noticed that several items that had been anticipated failed to come into fruition. I threatened to not sign. The apartment manager called my bluff. He was right too. What was I going to do, walk out? And go where? For how long?And with that, I was a Seattleite.A few nights later, I upgraded from the corner of carpet to a cot. My colleague Rich asked how I was getting on. When he heard of my sleeping situation, he immediately offered up his cot. Those nicked sheets provided the next layer of comfort.
Thank you Ireland
One last day in Dublin. With my stuff still in the city, I could still tell people I “lived” in Dublin. In 24 hours, it would all be different. I’d need to find a new place to call home.I worked that afternoon, but snuck in a good walk as a break. I said hi to Oscar Wilde in Merrion Square. Then strolled down Baggott Street and through St. Stephen’s Green. That green oasis was my reprieve during especially stressful work days. Funny how a simple loop around the lake could make everything better. While in Seattle, I’ve unsurprisingly had similarly stressful days and that park was always at the forefront of my mind. If only that walk was as accessible.
I took a stroll on the old long walk...
Too much driving. That’s the best way to sum up the end of the trip. There was just so much to see and do and I made the mistake of trying to see and do it all.Through Donegal Town and the river-side castle, over to Ballyshannon and its Rory Gallagher statue and microbrewery and discount Ireland jerseys, down to Sligo and its shut up abbeys and pedestrian-packed thoroughfares.I tried to watch the sunset in Westport, but it was another in a week-full of misses. That didn’t keep me from enjoying a can on the seawall before barhopping through the town square. Live acoustic sessions filled each of the bars as they seem to do across the island. The emphasis the Irish place on music and conversation is inspiring! Even Matt Molloy of the Chieftains was in his namesake bar filling the space with his flute.
Hup Donegal!
The sun was setting in (London)Derry. After walking the old city walls, I had it in me to check out the protest murals on the other side of town. Only, I didn’t. Northern Ireland was a wonderful host, but my mind was on the Republic. Like a star-crossed lover, I snuck out of the Kingdom after daylight and was in the warm embrace of Ireland and the “town” of Termon, County Donegal, two hours later.Termon consists of a gas station, a general store, a pub, and a bed and breakfast, all in one building. Convenience is king! I checked in to the room late, but Irish hospitality overruled the clock and I was immediately offered a room and dinner in the pub.My seat was next to Charlie, one of those guys where the light burned a little brighter in the heart than the head. We talked GAA. He watched the Donegal match there in the pub with the rest of the town, "shoulder to shoulder" he said. One of his friends might have had a few too many Guinness’ in celebration and ended up driving his TRACTOR into a ditch on the way home. Because people in Donegal don't drive cars, they drive tractors. The tiny rural community gathered the next day to help him pull it out. And that, that right there, that’s Donegal. We drank together into the night, unwilling to let the other drink alone.
Up through the North Country
Jaysus, what weather. Sunny. Warm. It’s like this year round, right Ireland?‘Jaysus.’ That’s one of those good Irish words. Jaaaysus. ‘Yer man,’ that’s another great one. Everyone is ‘yer man’ in Ireland. That guy? Yer man. The soccer player on TV? Yer man. You can’t know yer man. That’s what makes him yer man. ‘Craic’ is another one. Oh, and fer feck’s sake, can’t forget ‘feck,’ the polite way to swear.Within a week, the Irish accent was creeping back in me. There’s a vowel shift, especially with the o and the a. And the th- totally disappears. TANX! Monkey hear, monkey say: I spent six month mimicking everyone I heard. How quickly it goes. But how quickly it comes back.But Jaysus, that weather. I followed the sun up the coast to the northern reaches of Northern Ireland. There’s a stark beauty to the island. A rugged, isolated beauty. It’s not so much peaks and valleys, but expanses. Expanses of cliffs and seas and rolling hills and, if you get the right day, contrasts of blues and greens. Today was one of those days.
Turas Bóthair! Road Trip through Ireland!
Things were quickly coming together. The bike got sold off. The World Cup bet I made on the Yanks got cashed: 28 Euros!!! My stuff was (almost) consolidated. I even got my haircut. A road trip through the northern part of the island beckoned.The plan was to not get tied down with a plan. I knew the general route: Belfast by Friday night, then north along the coast, over to Donegal, down through Connemara, and a last evening in Galway before heading back to Dublin that next Friday. But sleeping arrangements? I’d figure that and everything else out on the road. After all, that’s what the road’s for, right? Figuring things out?As soon as I could get out of work on Friday, I rushed over to the car rental place. I’d be rolling in a black VW. Manual. Driving on the left side of the road. Shifting with my left hand. Yeah, go ahead and give me the full insurance policy.
Like I was Never Gone
Within thirty minutes of checking in to my Dublin hotel, I had a full Irish breakfast at O’Neill’s in front of me, Guinness in hand. Welcome back!To think, almost one year ago to the day, I was in Dublin interviewing for the job that would not only take me to Ireland, but also take me away. After that interview, I stopped in O’Neill’s for a drink but left thirsty. I simply didn’t have enough money to buy a beer! My how quickly time moves...But Ireland -- I was back! One week in Dublin to tie up loose ends followed by a week-long road trip. Adventures to be had and hangovers to be conquered!Hurricane Jeff blew in from Germany on the same day I arrived, leading to more drinks that first evening than would be usually be prescribed for jet lag. Waking up surprisingly refreshed on Sunday (relatively speaking), I set out to play tourist with a bucket list. Most memorable was a tour through the Kilmainham Gaol, final resting place of many of the leaders of the 1916 Uprising.
Embrace the Absurdity
Such a comically absurd picture.There I am, suspended in air. Am I moving up? Down? Sideways? Maybe I’m just hanging there.The scene is set with carnival rides and tents, yet a sense of isolation prevails. Where are all the people?Now listen. Do you hear how quiet that picture is? Even with the machine at the side, all there is to hear is suspension.That smile though, it’s still there. It’s a bemused smile, almost as if I understand and embrace the absurdity. I'm in on the joke too.