Tag Archives: going away

An Ode to Camping Gear. And finding the “Us” that holds.

I am willing to travel across the country just to show up at your door and tell you this: I’ve got camping gear.

Yes, that’s right. Camping Gear.

I know I have it somewhere cramped up in the attic. Wedged between a few lawn reindeer and some worthless pieces of junk that my father insists on classifying as antiques.

A tent. Two sleeping bags. That’s all we need right?

Can I have five minutes? I just need five minutes to find the dumb camping gear.

Wait for me, please? It won’t take too long.

You are shaking your head. Like that won’t do? Like we cant pitch a tent somewhere between my backyard and yours and, for once, let Distance slip away before your hand slips from mine?

Target then. There is a Target right down the road. We could pile into the car right this second and be there before that little hand on your watch even laps the bigger one twice.

An air mattress. We’ll buy one. Blow that sucker up. I’ll even let you take the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor. Does that sound better than the camping gear?

Please don’t turn.

Don’t walk away just yet. I have other ideas. Jeepers, I’ve been filling notebooks with all sorts of ideas.

You’re saying it won’t do any good to hear them. I know that. But could we just pretend for a moment that it might do us some good? That we might be capable of sticking our heads together and coming up with an excellent plan where Miles and Stones and Milestones wouldn’t get between us.

You know, it’s really easy to tap out how much I miss you over the phone. Tap. Tap. Tap. Done.

But I need 140 characters and then some kind of eternity to show you how it feels to know I won’t be seeing you soon. That it’s already been too long. That you have not even found the doorknob yet and I’m already stringing the syllables to beg, turn back around. I don’t think I like it very much, saying those kinds of things.

I. Won’t. Be. Seeing. You. Soon. It feels all kinds of awful rolling off the tongue.

This whole growing up thing, I don’t know how much I like that either. It would probably be easier–better– if the automobile had never been invented. Or buses. Or trains. Or any kind of thing that left us gripping a map and going separate ways.

Or cellphones. Or pens to write letters. Or stamps to mail them with. Or any kind of method that left us staying in touch without the touching. Or that life would be bearable on different sides of the country or in separate parts of the world. Our that the world was the kind of thing we needed to see, that arms couldn’t hold us here forever. That’d we’d be ok as pen pals or friends who only see each other once in a while. I’ll warn you right now: the Once shows up a lot more than the While.

I’ve been waiting for you by the door.

I mean, Boston is pretty on you. You make Chicago look damn good. You wear San Diego like a scarf.  & I’m just a girl who got New York to coo in her ear louder than any other set of skyscrapers but who never got over the fact that we cannot smack the cities together and play neighbors for a while.

I’d bring you sugar. You could borrow flour.

And we could stop talking about Growing Up as if he were a Lover, a tall and handsome Lover, who’s already broken our hearts six thousand times and yet we still take to crawling back to try it all over again.

You know, there are certain bones within me that want to see you fly. At least find your wings. & learn how it feels to flap them. I’ve always wanted that.

& those same parts of me want to find my own wings too. & feel the breeze on November mornings. & to know that if Life called me to live without you then I would somehow be ok with that.

And then there are other bones, the not-so-funny bones, that wish you and I could just find some moment to call our own.

A moment where we wouldn’t be leaving. Or walking. Or thinking at all.

No going. No planning. No growing at all.

It wouldn’t need to last long. A few seconds or so. Just long enough to believe that one day we’ll stop scratching this itch that tears the “You” from the “Me” and find ourselves sitting on some front porch with sweet tea in our hands saying things just like this:

It was good to see the world. The Whole Wide World. We learned quite a lot, wouldn’t you agree? From all those Miles and Stones and Milestones between us. But look, look, we have finally found an Us and I don’t want to see it go.  Us. It tastes sweet, sweeter than anything I’ve tasted in a while. It tastes like some kind of tomorrow that I’ve been looking for.

So I’ll tell you one more time, I’ve got camping gear somewhere in my attic.

It should  only take me five minutes to find it.

12 Comments

Filed under Disconnect, Uncategorized

I’d bring you sugar. You could borrow flour.

I am willing to travel across the country to show up at your door and tell you this: I’ve got camping gear.

Yes, that’s right. Camping Gear.

I know I have it somewhere cramped up in the attic. Wedged between a few lawn reindeer and some worthless pieces of junk that my father insists on classifying as antiques.

A tent. Two sleeping bags. That’s all we need right?

Can I have five minutes? I just need five minutes to find the dumb camping gear.

You are shaking your head. Like that won’t do? Like we cant pitch a tent somewhere between my backyard and yours and, for once, let Distance slip away before your hand slips from mine?

Target then. There is a Target right down the road. We could pile into the car right this second and be there before that little hand on your watch even laps the bigger one twice.

An air mattress. We’ll buy one. Blow that sucker up. I’ll even let you take the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor. Does that sound better than the camping gear?

Please don’t turn. Don’t walk away just yet. I have other ideas. Jeepers, I’ve been filling notebooks with all sorts of ideas.

You’re saying it won’t do any good to hear them. I know that. But could we just pretend for a moment that it might do us some good? That we might be capable of sticking our heads together and coming up with an excellent plan where Miles and Stones and Milestones wouldn’t get between us.

You know, it’s really easy to tap out how much I miss you over the phone. Tap. Tap. Tap. Done.

But I need 140 characters and then some kind of eternity to show you how it feels to know I won’t be seeing you soon. That it’s already been too long. I don’t think I like it very much, saying those kinds of things.

I. Won’t. Be. Seeing. You. Soon. It feels all kinds of awful rolling off the tongue.

This whole growing up thing, I don’t know how much I like that either. It would probably be easier, better, if the automobile had never been invented. Or buses. Or trains. Or any kind of thing that left us gripping a map and going separate ways.

Or cellphones. Or pens to write letters. Or stamps to mail them with. Or any kind of method that left us staying in touch without the touching.

If we never got the crazy idea that life would be bearable on different sides of the country or in separate parts of the world. That’d we’d be ok as pen pals or friends who only see each other once in a while. I’ll warn you right now: the Once shows up a lot more than the While. I’ve been waiting for you by the door.

I mean, Boston is pretty on you. You make Chicago look damn good. You wear San Diego like a scarf.  And I’m just a girl who got New York to coo in her ear louder than any other set of skyscrapers but I’m still not over the fact that we cannot just smack the cities together and play neighbors for a while.

I’d bring you sugar. You could borrow flour.

And we could stop talking about Growing Up as if he were a Lover, a tall and handsome Lover, who’s already broken our hearts six thousand times and yet we are still crawling back to try it out again.

You know, there are certain bones within me that want to see you fly, and find my wings too. And then there are other bones, the not so funny bones, that wish you and I could just find some moment to call our own.

A moment where we wouldn’t be leaving. Or walking. Or thinking at all.

No going. No planning. No growing at all.

It wouldn’t need to last long. A few seconds or so. Just long enough to believe that one day we’ll stop scratching this itch that tears the “You” from the “Me” and find ourselves sitting on some front porch with sweet tea in our hands saying things like this.

It was good to see the world. The Whole Wide World. We learned quite a lot, wouldn’t you agree? From all those Miles and Stones and Milestones between us. But look, look, we have finally found an Us and I don’t want to see it go.  Us. It tastes sweet, sweeter than anything I’ve tasted in a while. It tastes like some kind of tomorrow that I’ve been looking for.

So I’ll tell you one more time, I’ve got camping gear somewhere in my attic. It should  only take me five minutes to find it.

9 Comments

Filed under Best Friends, Big City, Disconnect, Girl meets Boy, Hunger

Best Friends: They live in our hearts but they always pay the rent.

It’s that map you can draw perfectly on the back of a napkin leading to exactly where they are.

It’s those seven digits that you know by heart and one of the few “home phone numbers” still stored in your memory.

It is the words that never take shape. You glance at one another and you realize, words are not necessary for this moment.

This is a best friend.Most of us have these people in our lives, the people we can call at a moment’s notice and they will be there without a second thought.To Sweep Up Our Broken Hearts. To Bottle Our Sobs. To Skip Through Life’s Wonders Alongside Us.

I believe in fate and if ever I begin to doubt it I only need to look to my best friends to reassure myself. Think for a moment of your best friends. Picture in your head where you first met them, that first encounter. Think about how that friendship grew and progressed to what it is now. My best friends came from all over, a retreat, my kindergarten class, freshman orientation. But what if I had chosen to skip the retreat that weekend or attend a different college? My life would be so drastically different and they would not be a part of it. It is this: I was somewhere. They were too. We both collided. The world looked different from that moment forward.

I woke up this morning with swollen eyes because I spent all last night sobbing. It was a final farewell to my best friend as she made her way to Prague for five months. I know it is not over, that we will see each other again, but I still felt my heart break as I watched her in the rear view mirror as our car pulled away. And She Stood There. And I Wanted To Turn Around.

We have talked a lot about how it doesn’t feel like it is time to say goodbye; we have been inseparable for the past few months that it feels like we should have longer. But We Shouldn’t. Why? Well, it is the simplest of life lessons. If we needed more time, we would be granted with it.

But this morning I awoke, puffy eyes and all, and I looked in the mirror and realized, “I am who I am because of her, because of all the people in my life who have come and gone. I would not be the same without them.” What a crazy, crazy thought: We undergo change and development because of the little fact that people are constantly coming and going in our lives. Makes me think twice about my every day interactions and potential that each person holds.

Take one minute of your Monday to think back on a single moment you have had with a best friend. Perhaps it was that time that you laughed until you had trouble breathing. Or maybe that time you ordered everything on a menu for the thrill of it but spent the rest of the day with belly aches together. And just let yourself go back to that moment and smile.

I will share the moment that is coming to my mind: A few nights ago, my best friend Celia and I were unpacking my room from winter break and I was so excited to use my new bed spread. I had bought this bed spread with my mother and it had been marked down from $160 at Urban Outfitters to $70, however, at the register it rang up as $21. SCORE! Well it was a very pretty patterned black and white bedspread and Celia helped me put it on the bed. We took a few steps back to look at it and realized that there was a giant deer on the bed spread. A big black and white deer, fawn, buck (whatever you want to call it), staring right back at me. I bought the bed spread without realizing that Bambi’s relative was on the front of it. Thankfully it was reversible but Celia and I sat on the floor laughing til we cried for a good 20 minutes over the hilarity of the purchase. And so I realize I am totally OK with the deer being there, I will let him stay for a while, because he brought about that moment.

What best friend moment comes to your mind?

7 Comments

Filed under Best Friends, Letting Go, Simply Living