Pursuitist
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness
Bam! Gold!
Bam! Two ounces of pure gold. And that was just the start of the conversation.After touring the Siberian stretches of downtown Fairbanks, I found myself in the Midnight Mine. The subterranean bar featured a working cavern waterfall and p/manties strewn across the trophy case.
The springs
Chena Hot Springs was “just down the road” from the Chandalar Ranch. In Alaska, much like in Texas, “just down the road” could mean over an hour on a desolate stretch of pavement.The Ford F-150 I had rented rambled down the well-salted road as the sun began to set. The truck was a beast to maneuver, as proved by the scratch/dent that thankfully went unnoticed by the rental company, but provided the mental stability to venture through the Alaskan wilderness well after dusk.
Northern Exposure
They were directly over me. Initially no more than a tinted cloud on the horizon, the Northern Lights now stretched from one end of the sky to the other. Wispy sinews of green waves slowly enveloped our field. I looked up to see towers of green lights circling directly overhead. It was more beautiful than I imagined.Seeing the Northern Lights had always been on my bucket list. With no guarantees on my time in Seattle, I took advantage of a long winter weekend and booked a trip to Fairbanks, Alaska. Light pollution caused by a full moon is something I could schedule around. Weather, clear skies, and activity in the thermosphere would be left to chance. For the most part, I got lucky.
When I grow up, I want to be...
I felt directionless. No goals. No career aspirations. I wanted to be passionate about something, anything, but I couldn't figure out what that something should be. So I wept that lonely July night while laying in bed.Later that week, a bum knee led me to make an appointment with a sports medicine doctor, Dr. John O'Kane. I read his bio, then watched his video. "I could do that," I thought to myself. The bulb flipped on. "I could do that." The eureka moment hit on July 29th. I slipped out of work for a long walk and a think.
Return
I fumbled with my keys at the front door. Wrong key. Or was it. A twist of the knob and I was home. Only, it didn’t feel like home.Two weeks. That’s all it took to put Seattle completely out of my mind. A pint at the Summit Pub brought back memories that felt years old. Cody was still cooking up toasty burritos. The Sunday crowd was still drinking far more than they should for a Sunday.Not even 12 hours after landing, I was back in the routine of work and emails and numbness.During an early morning commute, I caught myself asking “why are you here?” I don’t have any friends. I despise my job. I constantly dream of leaving this awkward fit that the West Coast offers. But I don’t. Why?
The Eyes of Texas are upon Chicago
“What are your feelings on sleeves?”With the sun shining down on Chicago, my sleeves became an afterthought for a weekend.There would be 10 of us, at least one of us sleeveless. We were in town for Texas vs Notre Dame. Throw in a Cubs baseball game for good effect.Our apartment: a bachelor pad with a patio overlooking Wrigley Field. With the smell of pizza continuously wafting up from the joint downstairs, it was the kind of place 20 year olds would wax poetically on as they cruised through college.A group of us arrived before the proverbial shit show got into town. We got in a touch of Chicago culture with the architecture tour and a warm-up beer (or three) on the river. It segued nicely into a round at the batting cages(!) in the local bar.
National Robertson's Family Vacation
Family time!Finally(!), Mom, Dad, AND Lindsay made a trip up to the Pacific Northwest. Sun and beer and UBER welcomed them to Seattle.The siren call of Whidbey Island called out on our first day. Packed in a Zipcar, we crossed the Sound onto the pristine wilderness. The town of Langley afforded more entertainment than anticipated, with their glassblowing factories and beergardens and eats and treats. Further down the road, Coupeville treated us to ice cream on the pier. Deception Pass awarded us with perfectly weathered rocks to skip across the strait of water. The local fishermen however, were unimpressed.
Great Expectations: Tacoma
Grit City. T-Town. City of Destiny. Tacompton.Grey skies greeted me as I stepped off the Tacoma-bound bus. My expectation level hovered around the bus fare amount: $2.00. I've always been a bargain thrill-seeker. Knowing adventure lies in all things, I confidently walked past the bus station and up to the Tacoma Dome. My $2.00 expectation fell just short. What is it about bus stations and their surrounding environs? As the clouds began to lift, I started my walk into the city.The Museum of Glass, Dale Chihuly's hometown showplace. The Bridge of Glass. Old Union Station. The Washington State History Museum. The former Thea Foss superfund site is now a thriving riverfront cultural center. I wandered around the red-bricked buildings, making note of what I would do on my return trip, then jumped on a light rail train that dropped me off in the city park.
I fought the law and I won
I got a call from Dad a few weeks back. The IRS sent me a letter to their home address; did he want me to open it. "Yeah, sure," I said. It was a proposed amendment to my 2013 return. $915. Fer fecks sake.The proposed change was related to Airbnb income Holly and I shared back in March 2013. There's a clause stating that home rentals are tax free so long as they are rented for fewer than 15 days in a calendar year. We had 11 days worth or "renters."I wrote the IRS a strongly-worded letter reminding them of Publication 527 Chapter 5 Page 19. They replied in kind with a re-amended letter, this one showing $0 due. Maybe I should be a lawyer(?).
Drink Wisconsinbly
"Meet the family."It's never easy per se. It doesn't have to be hard, but it's no walk in the park. Yet here was Denise, in Sheboygan, meeting not just Mom and Dad and Lindsay, but the entire family. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and sort-of cousins.An inflexible vacation schedule meant that Denise would fly solo on the red-eye to Chicago, then hitch a ride to Sheboygan with Lindsay and her boyfriend Brian, who happened to arrive in Chicago at the same time.We awaited their arrival on a patio overlooking Pine Hills Country Club and the tee box where Mom and Dad celebrated their wedding reception. It was one of those perfect, Midwest summer days, with blues and greens bathed in sunlight.
The Queen: Her first 90 years
For Gigi's 90th birthday, it wasn't enough to just get her out on the golf course. I wanted her to play.Mom, Dad, Dick, and Jason teed off earlier that morning. I stayed back at the house with Gigi. We could sleep in, take our time getting ready, then meet the crew for the back nine. When we got to the course, there was a cart waiting for us. Gigi insisted on driving. I wasn't about to get in the way of the birthday girl.Off we went, the cart cruising speedily through an unseasonably cool Texas breeze. Gigi talked about her love of the game and how happy she was on that golf course, though she hardly made it out any more. As the round ended and we cruised by the putting greens, I told her to stop the cart. It was time to properly celebrate her birthday.
"I'm Bob Jones and this is the Seattle Shooter Challenge"
There was a strange silence in my apartment when Bob and Elissa left. After a Memorial Day weekend that filled my place with half-opened suitcases and unfinished beer bottles, everything suddenly felt empty.They got in to town on Friday. We were determined to make that first evening chill. I think we were in bed by 4:00am. That pretty much set the tone for the weekend.We wandered the streets of Seattle. Capitol Hill. Belltown. Pike Place Market. If a beer wasn’t in hand, it wasn’t far off. Without intention, we also set upon a culinary tour of the world. Thai. Kenyan. Vietnamese. Masala dosa from my colleague's stand at the Broadway Farmers Market. A plate at the Himalayan restaurant Annapurna Cafe, which discouraged the use of utensils. Conspicuously, and to the (over-)amusement of our waiter, we were the only ones to engage in the suggested manners.
Medically Cleared
“You’re medically cleared.”After 14 months of nothing--no running, no hiking, no walking, no museums, no soccer, nothing--I was set free. My podiatrist declared an end to my battle with plantar fasciitis.The worst part about plantar fasciitis is you can’t do anything to fix it. Just rest. And swim. A lot of swimming.I first felt the “pebble in my shoe” on one of my last runs in Austin back in January 2014. A fine parting gift that left me with a dull heel pain. I took a few weeks off. The dull pain never really went away. Maybe it still hasn’t.Over the past year, I tested it a few times. A few runs around my birthday. A soccer game here or there. Some hiking. It never seemed to get better.
Here I am now entertain me
Day tripping.With a few days free from work around a weekend that coincided with my birthday, it was time for a daytrip. But where to? Something easy. Inexpensive.Olympia. The state capital. I was on the first bus out the next morning. Sleeping arrangements could be dealt with later.Stepping off the bus was like stepping out of a time machine to the year 1993. The kids on the street were rocking flannels and ripped jeans. The parents… I don’t recall seeing any. It was the home of Nirvana and Sleater-Kinney and always had been and always would be.
Rocking out on a Weeknight
“How young are you? / How old am I? / Let's count the rings around my eyes”I hadn’t planned on going to the Replacements show. For whatever reason--money, commitment, avoidance of “reunion tours”--I just never got a ticket. A last minute perusal of Craigslist led me to a seller who matched my price point. With that, I was going to the Replacements show!The show kicked off with “Seen Your Video,” followed by “hit” after hit in a way that didn’t feel like a “Greatest Hits Reunion Show.” They were loose. Energetic. Laughing. Nothing like the drug-infused ragers of the past, but certainly a touch of weird (including “Androgynous” being sung from an REI tent).I looked out at the crowd. A touch older than me, maybe by five to ten years. Fashion styles were mixed. Some had come directly from work and were still dressed in their corporate garb. Others never got around to trading in the t-shirt and tennis shoes. One guy was wearing a Ramones shirt with a collared button-up over it. That really bothered me for some reason.
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.