Only The Curious

The last three days have gone by in a flourish of packing, lost wallets, and preparations… Here’s a brief summary of what shall now be known as “The Suitcase Fiasco,” “Why I HATE HATE HATE United Airlines,” and other stories:

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

I’ve been having anxiety attacks. For days. What’s weird is that though I’m a little nervous and very excited, in my conscious mind I don’t feel these things particularly strongly. But I’ve been getting stomach aches and have been having trouble sleeping, two things that happened all the time in college when I had anxiety problems but haven’t since I started meditating. I think my sub-conscious and my sympathetic nervous system know something I don’t. Or maybe they just have an inside joke. Either way, my body is telling me that I’m freaking out when, at least externally, I’m not.

I spent the day running around doing errands, got a massage (thank god), and BOUGHT MY iPHONE!!! I’ve been waiting months for this, and I’m sure it will be a godsend on the trip.

At 9:30 pm I am all packed. Well, my suitcase is. Unfortunately it’s crammed full, and there are no socks, underwear, or toiletries in there. I’m a light packer, but I need biking gear, regular clothes, rain clothes, and dress clothes to get me through 2.5 weeks. There will be laundry, but even 6 days’ worth of each of these is still a lot. I run to SuperTarget, thanking any divine force I can think of that they’re open until 10:00 pm on weeknights. I stand in the luggage aisle with no clue what to do, and end up taking home the cheapest suitcase that is bigger than mine without being what I think is ridiculous.

By 11:30 pm I am re-packed in my new but relatively flimsy suitcase. My friend Karl brings by cupcakes hugs, and is off. I sleep well, for the first time in days.

Wednesday, March 3

My friend Heather, who is a saint because I get to leave my things at her house for the next indefinite period of apartmentlessness, drives me to the airport. On the way she informs me that they probably won’t let me take my cupcake through security, since its not sealed. I think it’s funny that the TSA is afraid of cupcakes and flip-flops, but are apparently just fine with knitting needles, which I have carried on several planes in the past.

We drop by the bank so I can deposit and cash a few checks, and roll in to the airport right about 10:00 am. My flight departs at 10:53, so this is just perfect for checking in, rolling though security, and stepping onto the plane with little to no waiting at the gate.

Or so I think.

I very rarely check baggage when traveling. It has saved me many times when catching an earlier flight or having a short connection. It would have saved me this time. But remember that bag I ran out and bought at 10:00 last night? Not carry-on-able.

I get through the line and check in at a kiosk. It is now 10:10; 43 minutes before my flight. The computer informs me that, when checking baggage, you must check in 45 minutes in advance, so I am therefore too late. I talk to the attendants, but they shun me with a “those are the rules.” They take my bag and tell me I’m on standby for the next flight. At 1:30. I stand there with my mouth hanging open for a few minutes, and when they try to get me to move I ask “you seriously won’t let me get on my flight because I was standing in your line waiting for your check-in kiosk for two minutes too long?” Apparently so. Those are the rules.

I consider running to the gate and trying to get on the plane anyway, but decide against traveling before my suitcase. So I buy a latte and set up my mobile office at a coffee shop, and smile when I realize now I will be able to eat my cupcake before heading through security! That, and I’m feeling sheepish about being so angry when, in fact, this all could have been avoided if I’d gotten to the airport even ONE full hour in advance, like I know I’m supposed to. I’ve never been good at breaking rules. Though, somehow, I’m not terribly good at following them, either…

Most people hate sitting in airports, but aside from my joy of timing airports just perfectly to not wait around, when I do have to (particularly with layovers)  I actually find times like this great for work. You can’t go anywhere, you don’t know anyone. All you can do is open up the laptop and get to work. So I pop open a spreadsheet and… start emailing friends. Apparently the anonymity of the airport is no match for Gchat. I also manage to get cupcake ALL over myself; I am a two year old with chocolate everywhere.

Two hours later, I get on the flight with no problems save for hunger - cupcakes are NOT the food of champions. When the refreshment cart comes around I pull out my card and buy a snack box. I feel bad about eating chicken salad on the plane because of the smell, but at this point I’m so hungry I’m nauseous, so I go for it. An adorable baby peeks over the seat ahead of me. I smile, and settle in to composing some posts.

We safely arrive in Texas, and I head to baggage claim. When I arrive, a woman informs me that my suitcase arrived on an earlier flight. That’s right. They put my suitcase on the earlier flight and held me over anyway. Seriously? I question her about this, and get my second “That’s the rules” of the day. Okay, when did air travel become second grade?

But whatever. I head outside and see the Trek van pull up. They load my suitcase and compliment me on being a light packer. Indeed, I STILL have the smallest bag of anyone on the trip. I am so excited to finally be here that I can barely contain myself through the two hour ride from the airport in Houston to our hotel in Orange. Which, by the way, is terribly boring. The iPhone gets a lot of use during these two hours.

When we arrive, I open up my bag to get ready for dinner, and realize that my wallet is gone. Remember that snack box? Yeah. Well, since my tray was down with my laptop and food on it, I didn’t immediately put my wallet back into my bag. I didn’t later put it in my bag, either. I’m certain it fell off my lap and onto the plane seat, and in my haste to get off the plane I left it there.

We go to dinner and I take advantage of my brand new iPhone to start canceling credit cards and attempting to call the airport. This is basically what goes on for the rest of the night; no matter whether I call the airport or the airline, they keep directing me to the United Airlines’ Houston lost and found, which is a number that is not answered by a person. And the machine is a total bitch. All she can tell me is that the mailbox is full and to try again later. Around midnight, I give up.

Thursday, March 4

The first half of the day is relatively quiet, aside from my continued attempts to track down my wallet. I have at least one conversation that goes like this:

me: “I lost my wallet on the plane. I need to talk to someone who can tell me if it was found by the cleanup crew and if its at the airport”

guy in India: “I’m sorry, we can only help with checked baggage. For all carry-on items you must go to the airport and file a missing bag claim.”

me: “I’m two hours from the airport. I can’t get there. Who else can I call?”

guy in India: “I’m sorry ma’am I cannot help you with this situation. You must go to the airport.”

me: “So you’re saying that if I cannot physically go to the airport, that my lost item is just gone forever?”

guy in India: “I’m sorry ma’am but we cannot help you with your situation.”

Um, seriously? What. The. Hell.

I eventually get through to some superior folks at United Airlines, primarily by ignoring the auto-prompts and pretending that what I’ve lost is luggage, and repeatedly shouting “operator” at the automated thingy until it gives up and connects me with someone. They try to transfer me to the lost and found line. I quickly stop them and tell that story.

This gets a little bit of action. They put me on hold for nearly 25 minutes while they track down someone at the Houston airport to see if my wallet has been turned in. For some reason, they will not let me talk to anyone in Houston directly. When they come back all they can say is that it’s not there. They haven’t asked for a description, or my flight number, or anything. I’m pretty sure they just left me on hold, got some coffee, and came back and told me all hope is lost. Several more calls go like this. I spend nearly three hours of my morning on hold. I am never able to directly speak to anyone in Houston. I give up.

ONE phone call later, a new emergency credit card is being sent to me overnight. It will be at my hotel tomorrow. Two phone calls and one fax later, and I’ve got everything I need to have my driver’s license replaced from out of state. The only challenge with this one is getting the fee to them; I obviously have no way of sending a check. Luckily, my Dad happens to be passing by the DMV in Wisconsin as I call to ask for help, and he is able to stop in. Lori, the amazing angel of a woman who was helping me on the phone, runs down to the lobby so my Dad can give her the fee directly. This is not protocol. In fact, its probably against some rule somewhere. But Lori is amazing and goddamn do I miss the lovely, helpful people in Wisconsin.

I cannot believe what can be accomplished with a few phone calls and an email. (Okay, and an $80 overnight mailing, yikes!) And how amazingly, spectacularly unhelpful United Airlines’ customer service is. And how many friends offered to wire me money (and in some cases, cookies) to help me out. You all are amazing and I’m lucky to have your support. And, apparently, rapt attention on Facebook.

Throughout all of this I am worried, because the whole point of working on this tour, for me, is to demonstrate how awesome I’d be as a Trek Travel Guide. I’m thinking “well, now I’ve definitely demonstrated my high levels of responsibility and organization.” I’m just hoping I showed grace under fire; I never once freaked out or got outwardly stressed about the situation. And I resolved it, relatively quickly. And now I’ll know exactly what to do if a guest loses their I.D. or money. Right?

Oh, and did I mention that one of the other therapists made dinner for nine out of a rice cooker in her hotel bathroom and IT WAS AMAZING?

Tara made us an amazing brown rice and tofu curry dinner. For nine. In a rice cooker. In a hotel bathroom.

And yes, I tried some Shiner Bock.

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I’m moving to Colorado.
The following is a re-post from my other blog about my upcoming move to Colorado, originally posted on 5/27/09.

Anyone who has known me at any point over the last 12 years has heard me say this about a bajillion times. But this time, I mean it. For reals.

I’m moving to Colorado in August.

The first question everyone I tell about my move asks me is: “what are you going to do in Colorado?” It is, after all, the most sensible and polite question to ask.

I usually respond with a blank look while my internal monologue does the following: “I have no idea. I have no idea what I am going to do in Colorado. What am I going to do? What am I going to say to this person? Quick brain, come up with SOMETHING!” Unfortunately, I think my blank look comes across as “why are you asking me such a stupid question?” Which I feel bad about, because I don’t want to make people feel bad for asking me questions, even if they are stupid. Really it’s more that because I don’t have a good answer for the question, I hate it when people ask that. Which they do. Every time.

So now my response, accompanied by said blank stare, is “um, live there.”

Which, of course, gets followed up by more questions I don’t really have answers to:

“Well do you have a job lined up or anything?”

Most sensible people do not pick up and move across the country if it’s not for a job or a great love or family. I am leaving my family and my great love (more about that in a minute) and I don’t have a job lined up; I don’t even know what kind of job I want.

Part of me is really hoping to find a full-time job with an innovative company where I can make a decent paycheck and have health insurance and work with people and occasionally do interesting, creative things. The other part of me wants to “wing it” as a freelancer or start my own business as an event planner, so that I can still travel all the time, because now I will have 3 cities I want to visit all of the time instead of one. But that’s a terrible idea, because Boulder is way more expensive than Madison and I’m not making my living as a freelancer now.

So I’ve settled on setting an intention for whatever would be best for me to show up. I’m going to go out there and just see what happens. I can always serve coffee or do massages if I need to stretch my savings until Mr. Right in job form comes along.

Now befuddled at my apparently random decision making process, the person asks “so why are you going to Colorado?”

I grew up in Colorado, and I decided the day I left that someday I’d go back. So it’s just this ingrained psychological thing about returning home, even though Madison feels way more like home at this point. In some ways, I need to go just so I can cross it off my “life list” and get on to whatever I want to do next.

But the important part isn’t that I’m going to Colorado, it’s that I’m going. The best reasons I can give are that I am moving because I am 27 and not married and have no real reason not to.

I will concede that I have plenty of reasons to stay. My family’s here. Ian’s here. Madison is a fabulous place to live. I have a lot of friends I really care about, and my local professional network is pretty solid. I often wish I could just be happy to stay here and get married and start my own business. It would be great.

But as Ian said once, staying would slowly kill me from the inside. I need to go do this just because I’ve always wanted to, and I would always wonder what would’ve happened if I’d done it. And I do not want to be one of those senior citizens who says “oh I wish I’d done that when I was your age, but then I got married…”

Speaking of marriage, the last question they ask is “So is Ian going with you?”

I am always caught off-guard by this one, just because I’m surprised at how many people know that I’m in a relationship, that it’s a serious relationship, and that they care about my business that much. And I know that they care, because they are usually devastated when I say “no.”

This is followed up by a lengthy explanation about how Ian’s not coming with me because I have always wanted to just go and strike it out on my own and he loves me enough not to deprive me of that. More to the point, he and I have been together for two years and we’re really happy and we’ve talked about getting married and while everyone else in the world thinks this is exactly why I should plant myself here and marry him, I think that means it’s the perfect time for us to be apart for a bit. I don’t want to get married because I happened to be in a good relationship around the time that most people get married. I want to get married because I go to Colorado and I date other people and I realize I can’t possibly live without him.

Or its possible that I get out there and realize I can live without him and then I will have avoided marrying someone I’m later going to leave because I’m still wondering what would’ve happened if I’d gone to Colorado and if I was supposed to meet someone there instead.

You know, pretending there’s “the one” and that romance is fated and all that stuff that I don’t really belive in but romanticize anyway.

But back to the point:  I’m moving to Colorado. In August. To live there. No, I don’t have a job lined up, and I don’t know what kind of job I’m looking for, if any. Ian is not coming with me. Yes, I will miss you all. I promise to visit. And yes, you better come visit me because I will be living in the land of awesome.

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I used to have anxiety attacks. All the time.

Walking to class, talking on the phone with my mother, sitting alone in my dorm room, I’d be thinking about my day, or my plans, or my life, and it would crash over me like a wave. My hands would sweat, my stomach would feel knotted, I’d get lightheaded.

There were lots of reasons for this anxiety. But I think it really came down to one thing: I wasn’t living my life the way I wanted it.

I wasn’t living my life the way I wanted it, because I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know myself well. I had lived most of my life doing what other people had told me to, assuming the great mystery of why would reveal itself at some point.

For the first 23 years of my life I went to school, worked hard, got good grades. I was president of student councils, wrote for school papers, sang in choir and even tried a sport or two. I was working hard to do what everyone told me to.

But I had no idea why, or what I was trying to accomplish. Just this vague concept that if I worked hard and went to a good college and had a solid resume, things would fall into place. I figured that sometime during college I would find something I loved, and that would be my career, and I would be successful at it.

But the great epiphany never came. There was no life-changing professor to steer me in the right direction. There hadn’t even been an advisor with a decent recommendation on hand. People would ask what kind of work I was looking for, and I didn’t have a good answer. I didn’t have any answer.

All I knew was that, now that I had a degree, it was not acceptable to work as a barista indefinitely. And secretly, I also knew that I did not want a traditional office job; something I learned during a fabulous internship my freshman year – I knew that if I hated just interning at what should have been a fantastic place to work, there was no way I’d ever love any office job. But somehow, if I told people that I didn’t want a “real” job, it made overachiever, overambitious me into a slacker in their eyes.

So I job hopped, which I now like to think of as conducting field research into how I like to work. For the first time since I was able to respond to the question “what do you want to do with your life” with “be a ballerina-rockstar-astronaut-anthropologist-writer-butterfly” I have an answer.

It’s taken a lot of introspection. My meditation practice has helped with that immensely. So has doing a lot of reading and writing, attending workshops, and finding like-minded people who are doing what I want to do.

My answer is that I don’t want to do any one thing. I love variety. I like moving around. I like interacting with and helping people. I also like writing. I don’t like limitations. I don’t want to be limited to doing one thing, every day. I don’t want to be limited to staying in one place for 8 hours at a time. And I definitely don’t want to have the number of days I can travel decided for me.

So it has been amazing me to discover the likes of Chris Gillebeau, Lea Woodward, Barbara Winter, and many others who have made it okay to not want a traditional office job. I feel like I’ve “found my lost tribe” as my mother would put it  – people who are their own bosses, who are location independent, who realize that working and living your life shouldn’t be on opposite sides of the coin. People who make their money from lots of different sources, and who value experiences over objects. People who realize that true ambition is living life the way you really want to, rather than putting in your face time and calling it a day.

I look forward to sharing my experiences as I work to transition out of the traditional workforce and into a life of adventure and fulfillment.

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