If I should have gone...

The other day, I got to see my friend David Coates, and he proved me wrong on something I had been long convicted on. We went to see a play in Kincardine with my sister; a strange play where my old high school substitute teacher played a transvestite (Honestly, there are not many stranger things to be seen than your old substitute teacher, who is a 50-60 year old man... with... breasts. He came and said hi to Dave and me afterwards. It was surprisingly hard to keep from staring at his fake breasts. That sounds really bad.) But that's not the point. Viva La Vida by Coldplay is one of my favorite songs, and since the first time I listened to it, I was convinced, with my Perfect Pitch (the rare ability to identify notes and keys by listening to a song) that the song was in D major. We were talking about this, and Dave was like, "No, man. It's in Db Major, and the second one, is Ebsus; it's not a clean Eb at all." So, my chord progression was right: I had heard it as D, E, (apparently Esus?) A, F#m. But as I played it over in my head, I thought to myself, "DARN! He's right! It's Db, Eb, Ab, Fm" I was half a semitone too high. David Coates has perfect pitch too... And I have listened to this song HUNDREDS of times, for months, and have driven my friends crazy because I like it so much. Only to be a semitone wrong this entire time...

This was a good week. I did a lot, saw a lot, and felt a lot. Highlights of the week involved getting into an argument with my friend over the most ridiculous thing that can be argued over, and then realizing later that the entirety of the argument involved a fundamental problem on both sides to properly communicate: he's a boy, I'm a girl. It's not often I realize that a problem exists in communication, simply because of your gender. Tim Chester once put it to me as, "Boys are like waffles. Girls are like pasta. They’re not the same!" I didn't understand why he was trying to compare people to food.
One point in the middle of the discourse, I was upset, and talking to my friend Jill about it. It was midnight, and I decided that I needed to do something big to get my mind off of everything. So we drove to Port Elgin to go to the beach, and I decided that skinny-dipping was the best way to make me feel better. And it's true. There's something about getting naked in a public area, and jumping into a frozen body of water that invigorates you, and makes you feel alive. I was chilled, feeling fresh and rejuvenated, and covered in sand, but it's a good feeling. Sometimes, I love the feeling of being cold, simply for the sake of cold alone. I love the feeling of being dirty, for the sake of being dirty. It's confirmation to me, that indeed I am alive, and taking full advantage of that gift given to me.

I had been going to the White Rose Cafe quite often over the course of the week. The combination of free wireless, and Josh is a very good combination, and keeps me coming back for more. Josh is the owner, and one of my favorite people in the entire world. In high school, I would skip class just so I could go and wash dishes with Josh. He’s extremely spiritual (he likes to meditate over the food he cooks so that customers will get good vibes!) and I honestly think that I became a Religious Studies student when I met Josh. This week, Nathan Bowman, the other owner of the place showed up. I have only a handful of memories spent interacting with him, but each time was starkingly memorable. Nathan taught me how to play chess. He taught me the Italian Defense (which my friends can NEVER overthrow, try as they might!). One time, I went to the White Rose, and I was extremely upset. At that point, Nathan intimidated me, so I avoided him, and went to the back to read, "Oh the Places you'll go!" by Dr. Seuss, and to cry. But he came back, and brought me a cup of peppermint tea, and shared stories. That discussion was unforgettable. This time around, Nathan and I painted the bathroom. My old torn jeans are now yellow. We talked about religion, going on adventures, and strangely enough, as we were talking, I felt very invigorated, and alive. The next day, he packed up and left this life, to wander and go on some more adventures. I may never see him again. I thought to myself when I bid him goodbye, "I see this individual, on average, once a year. So why am I going to miss him?"

And then, Saturday morning at 9:30, Heidi and Yorge phoned me.
"Jessie. Get up and be ready in fifteen minutes. We are going on an adventure of the highest caliber!"
45 minutes later, they showed up at the door, telling me to bring my camera, and my machete. I was so excited about the fact that I could bring my machete that I bought for a couple of dollars in Ghana in it's pink leather sheath with me. Usually I have a fear of getting arrested for carrying such an intense knife around. Yorge and Heidi refused to tell me where we were going. Three hours later, we arrived in Niagara Falls! I love spontaneous trips to exciting locations. We wandered around the Falls all day, and I took some terrific photos. Later, on the way back, Yorge took a wrong turn, and we found ourselves in the beautiful town of Lowville. And in the distance... Yorge saw a cliff...

Yorge has this, almost insane, cliff instinct. When he sees cliffs, he wants to climb them. When he sees stars, he wants to go outside. Yorge lives unlike any person I know. He zoomed up the mountain, and we climbed our way onto this incredible cliff. Better yet, we went at an incredible time: it was storming out. We raced to the cliff, practically jumping with excitement. When we got there, we sat, right at the very edge, and watched the lightning, from the top. We were so high, we could see the waves the rain fell in. The lightning painted itself across the sky in blinding flashes that moved us to awe. The thunder shook the mountain, and the rain was icy, instantly freezing me to the bone. Ice water mercilessly dropped on us, and we were soaked. We kept on climbing, and stumbled over to a bone-white cliff, when the rain let off. The sun shone a band of gold that hugged the earth and painted the forest the most vibrant green. Looking at this, I felt like I was above the earth, and connected to everything at the same time. I wondered if I would die, or vanish, and I would feel like this, so connected and a part of all that was taking place. The core of me was frozen, and I clung to my sweater for scraps of warmth. And then, at the end as we were leaving, a rainbow painted itself across the sky. I was praying that a rainbow would appear. It would be the perfect ending to an incredible sight. I wanted to cry it was so beautiful. Of course, at that exact moment, my camera ran out of batteries, and I had to coax every single scrap of life out of those batteries to get one last picture of it. I felt like, for an instance, I could see what exactly it was that God had intended for us in Paradise, and see the painted stains of humanity’s greed and sin that marred it. But Paradise continued to fight on, and I longed to be in it, and of it.

As we were driving out, Yorge suddenly looked at me, and said,
"Hey Jessie, I have no blinkers."
I looked at his dashboard. "Hey Yorge, you have no speedometer. Either that, or you're going at 0km/h."
We gradually began to realize we had no lights either, and all of a sudden, the car puttered out, and we coaxed the Silver Streak into the closest driveway. A very friendly gentleman gave us a charge, and we went off on our way. I was confused as to how the battery could run out while we were driving, as I was previously aware that running the motor charges the battery. But this was bordering on the limited extent of my knowledge of cars, so I didn't ask any questions. We went on our way, and again, we had no lights, no blinkers, and no dashboard. Soon after, the little clock on the dashboard faded out, and we made it to Guelph before we finally died and rolled into a parking lot. We were still frozen from the cliff, and obviously had no heat in the Silver Streak. In fact, we had to open the window to let air in to keep the window from fogging up. Some more friendly individuals gave us a charge, I pretended like I knew some sort of thing about cars, and we let it sit idle to charge up. But when the car ran out of batteries again, we were concerned. I found a CAA card in the glove compartment, and called those guys, and forty minutes later, a tow-truck showed up. We made it back to Hanover at one in the morning, but I was completely exhausted. I could barely brush my teeth properly, and I felt like I was drunk as I stumbled, and collapsed into my bed. I was asleep in minutes.

I keep on wondering if I should have gone with Nathan. He invited me to grab my backpack and go. But I said no, because I have no money, and I’m committed to this government grant, and I am most definitely enrolled in school next year, and I need to pay for next year. I do not like being trapped like this. I feel like society is already grabbing a hold of me, and giving me a schedule that I have to adhere to. And in the words of that computer-animated captain in the movie Wall-e, “I don’t want to survive, I WANT TO LIVE!” I always keep my clothes rolled up, ready to pack at a moment’s notice, for adventures exactly like this. But I try to convince myself, “It’s for the good in the long run”, even though a little voice tells me that I’m going against a deep conviction that I’ve long held to. Yes. I stay. I become an entrepreneur, and play that piano. I will buy a car (even though my parent’s keep on telling me it’s a bad idea. But I do like the fact that I can tell people that the government paid for my vehicle). I will make enough money, surely, and go to school next year. I will learn lots, and bring home frighteningly good grades like last year (I have never received high 80’s and 90’s as regular marks… I soak up university’s style of learning like a hungry sponge, and it shows. I’m afraid of it being bad for my ego.) I will probably do a similar thing next summer, and play more piano. Third year, I would like to go to another country. I was researching what going to school in Oxford would be like. To go to the same school as Lewis and Tolkien? Oi. Do my fourth year. Get my degree. Get my master’s (Mdiv?). Get a Phd. Be a prof. And somewhere in there, write books. I am a writer, after all.

But what concerns me, is that I’m going through a substantial dry spell in writing. I haven’t produced any literature that is noteworthy in ages. When I write, some strange thing consumes me, and I just… go. The stuff that is produced on paper, I do not know where it came from, and it is always incredibly beautiful, and powerful. Writing makes my heart pound. It makes me sweat. But I haven’t been able to do that in such a long time. It leads me to wonder if there’s something inherently wrong here… if my “plan” isn’t a good one, because I can no longer do something that is fundamental to my ability to live. This is why I keep on wondering, if I should have gone with Nathan. Sure, I saved my security, but I have forsaken the mountains.