All Good Things Must Come to an End

All Good Things Must Come to an End

So I’m sure you’re wondering how the heck this story got switched around. My boss? Really?

What about Sam?! My dream guy?!?

It’s funny because I remember my best friend telling me a couple of years ago that despite what I may’ve believed I wanted in a boyfriend, she thought that a hippie guy wouldn’t actually be right for me. Anddd.. she was right.

Sam and I had some great adventures. We connected so quickly and I admired so many things about him as a person. Not only that, I loved him for what he did for me – he freed me from my stifling life and brought happiness into my world again. He inspired me. Being with him made me love myself in more ways than I had before. In fact, he treated me better than any boyfriend I’ve ever had.

Me ‘learning’ to play his accordion

But sometimes, all of that doesn’t matter. Sometimes, even if it’s hard to swallow, you begin to realize that sadly you just aren’t right for someone. At least not in a romantic sense.

And as tacky as the cliche may sound – the truth in it rings so clear; It’s not you, it’s me.

That’s something I’ve really started believing in – that breakups, as bad as they are – are often the only truly fair decision. And they shouldn’t have such a negative stigma around them. I’d argue that a-lot of us are unhealthily attached to certain ideals in modern relationships. It’s all about possession and our own wounded egos when things get sticky. And that’s proven with how we react to breakups. It seems like they’re always so filled with stories of betrayals and evil people, right? We are so stuck to the idea that “this person fucked me over!!!” “How could they do this to me?!” that we don’t stop to consider the fact that maybe we both already knew we aren’t right for each other. That this is the best decision for the well being of both partners. And maybe, we were holding onto something that just wasn’t there, as badly as we wanted it to be. Love and compatibility are not always the same thing.

Have you ever thought about the idea that if you’re in a relationship with someone who you know is not right for you, you might miss out on the one who is? And so will your current partner? Why keep them from true happiness & love when you know you just aren’t cutting it for them? In a perfect world, all breakups would be simple and rational. We would accept that paths diverge from each other and that’s part of life. But heartbreak isn’t easy. It’s not simple or rational. We all know that.

something I wrote in my journal during this experience

So after a whirlwind month and a half, Sam and I parted ways. It wasn’t that straightforward, but that’s what happened. He was on to bigger & better things, and I was on to…. different.

One thing he said stuck with me – that I had changed, like a chameleon. I was ‘changing’ to fit my new environment. But what he and most people don’t understand, is that just because someone isn’t who you thought they were, doesn’t mean they aren’t being themselves.

Things had switched up real quick for me. I left Arizona in August as a broke bitch, expecting to work on a hippie farm in Humboldt for a couple of weeks, singing kumbaya with my brothers and sisters of the earth, and maybe ending up saving a couple grand. And I was totally ready for that. Instead, I had ended up in the Pines with some random guys from Texas, driving a big ass truck, getting paid fat $$, and living a life that didn’t exactly fit my M.O. of free spirit little bird

But honestly,

I have to admit… damn it felt good to be a gangster. And this was only the beginning.

Leaving Everything to Live in a Van with a Guy from Instagram

Leaving Everything to Live in a Van with a Guy from Instagram

Instagram is a weird place. It’s a curated reel of people’s lives, it’s a medium of self expression that anyone can use, it’s a place you can easily get sucked into. Whether you love it or hate it, it’s a part of a lot of our modern lives. And it’s a place where I personally have connected with a lot of people from all over, some who I’ve met and others who I’ve yet to meet. It’s brought me some of my greatest friendships. And for that, I love it.

Well, this time, Instagram brought me my dream guy.

In August – I was not feeling fulfilled. To say the least. Broke as hell, while still working two or three jobs shift after shift after shift. All I could think about was money and how I was never going to have any extra no matter how hard I worked. Trips I had been planning had to be cancelled because I just couldn’t afford to go on them anymore. & then there was school. The struggles and failures of the past semester left me drained and defeated. My physical and emotional health was crashing. I couldn’t find the motivation to pick myself up. I became distant from most of my friends and family and was so lost as to what I even wanted to be happening in my life. But I knew that crying in my car everyday before work and then again when I got home to my dark little room was not working for me. So I started daydreaming (manifesting?) what other lives I could be living. One day I posted on instagram that I would be happy living in a van for a while.

And that’s about when I met Sam.

Background info – I get quite a few messages on Instagram asking me about the Volkswagen van that my dad and I have. A lot of times people love to chat about their vans with me. This was just another one of those times.

Sam messaged me asking about our van, and my travels. He said he had a van too, and he was planning on leaving on a long term adventure in her in a week or two. We decided that we should meet and hangout before he left! So, we did.

Sam was everything that my little hippie chick heart dreamed about. He was a world traveler, he was quirky , and funny, and kind, and creative and different. We got along instantly. We ended up spending the entire day together, and then the next few days.. it was the beginnings of something new.

& so Sam invited me to go to California with him.

He knew I wasn’t happy where I was and he was convinced that this would help me. He was going to go trim cannabis to make some cash and be able to live in his van. I’d heard about trimming before, and knew it was a way a lot of travelers made good chunks of money to help fund their adventures for the year. Last year, I knew people who were getting paid $200 for every pound they trimmed, and an average person would be trimming 1-2 pounds per day! But I thought you needed connections to get it on this. What I found out was that if you hang out in a few certain towns in Northern California at the right time of year, you can pretty easily find work.

But what would this mean? Leaving now would mean quitting my jobs, dropping out of school for the semester, and going against the advice of people I cared about and were trying to help me. All to go HOPEFULLY find seasonal work on a weed farm. How would I explain that to my family? Was this really the best decision? I thought about it for a few days.

I’ll be honest with you. At that point, I thought – “what have I got to lose?” When you’re so deeply unhappy with yourself and you’ve been struggling to see the point of it all for a while, you’ll do anything to find a glimpse of happiness again. So I decided that the risk was with it.

I quit both of my jobs, dropped the classes I had registered for, and packed up my bedroom in my roommates house the night before we left for California. I was only keeping what belongings I could fit into my Jeep Patriot. Everything else? Goodwill in the morning & whatever was snagged on offer up that night.

With 300 bucks to my name and no real plan, Sam, his good friend Will and I left Arizona in the van and headed on the long trek up to our intended destination – Humboldt County. The famous hippie-dippie weed town.

Within the first couple days we met a wacky drifter couple who tagged along & made camp with us, we picked up a hitchhiker or two, we got offered a free kitten, and we ate a lot of camp food.

But I can’t explain to you the freedom we felt – 3 young kids out in the WILD and untied from their dead end jobs – free to spend the day how we pleased, on the road, cooking on our little stove and meeting other transients. We were all three becoming great friends and bonding in our little living space. I was beginning to be reminded of how much I could love life.

Now we needed to find work, or the little money that we all had was going to run out fast. Like I said, it’s easy to find work on a farm if you’re in the right place. You just have to ask tons of strangers at gas stations and coffee shops if they know anyone. Casual right? Well.. it was inevitably not that easy. Our first official day job scouting the three of us made signs. Like…. the type of signs made out of cardboard that homeless people and hitchhikers fly. Yup. Let me just say, it’s crazy to see how much differently people look at you when you’re holding one of those.

About 5 days into our search for work, we stopped in a town called Hayfork. Some hitchhikers from Spain who had been hanging with us were headed to a town close by, but before going on we stopped for a break. We parked at the local gas station, put our signs on the windows of the van and sat around for a bit chatting, not really expecting that this was the town where we would be successful.

Not 20 minutes had passed before this tall lanky guy walked up with his friend, and asked if we were looking for work. He said they weren’t ready for trimming yet, but they did need help defanning the plants in their garden. And they could take all three of us!

We weren’t about to pass up the opportunity, so after a bit of pay negotiation we said yes. We waved a bitter sweet good bye to our Spanish friends, hopped in the van and followed the two guys in their huge truck. We stopped at the grocery store first, and I went in alone with the boss to pick out food for the three of his new employees for the next couple days. Here I am, in a ho-dunk grocery store in a weird little cracked out town, with a strange and intimidating man that wasn’t super interested in having a conversation with me. What a trip.

We packed up the groceries and followed the guys about 30 minutes outside of town. We drove up into the windy mountains half excited and half wondering if we were about to get murdered. Take a turn onto trinity pines road and through some rough back roads and here we are – our new home. Little did we know we had just entered the infamous ‘Pines’ – a lawless & infamous neighborhood of over 700 cannabis farms.

“Welcome to the Pines” they told us as we gazed in awe over their huge terraced garden.

What the fuck did we just get ourselves into?

To be continued!!!

let me know what you thought about the first part of this story and if you’re interested in hearing the rest… things are about to get crazy!! Thank you for reading ❤️

Love, Little Bird

**Some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals.**

Goodbye India

Goodbye India

A year ago I was getting ready to graduate and had just started planning for India. I was ready to get the hell out of what I thought was a town much too small for me. I wasn’t afraid of India at all. I was ready.

But things went a little bit unplanned. India was hard for me. I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I didn’t expect to be this kind of hard.

It wasn’t just homesickness. It was restlessness. And it wasn’t simple restlessness either. Yes, it was hard for me to in one place for so long when I wanted to be exploring more, but this time, I was in one place where everyday I was consistently facing a world that I’ve always underestimated. I knew India was a ‘third world country’.I’ve read about it and talked about it and criticized it but until I landed in India, I didn’t really know it.

I didn’t know what it felt like to be a rich white woman in a poverty stricken country. It’s uncomfortable to recognize all of the privilege you have. It’s uncomfortable to have your ‘I’m going to save the world’ mentality challenged. It’s uncomfortable to feel like a silly little white girl who is in way over her head.

It’s uncomfortable to sit in a rickshaw everyday with your headphones in, staring straight ahead, ignoring the little girl asking for money and food because you were told not to acknowledge “them”.

I did it all wrong in India.

I saw a handicapped and ill man begging on the sidewalk across from a McDonalds and then later that night I went drinking with my friends. I saw a shirtless and fatally skinny man scuffling from person to person begging, and continued on my way to Forever21.

I had imagined myself living with a big family in a low income neighborhood, but instead I lived in a spacious flat in the nice part of the city with marble floors, my own bathroom and three home cooked meals a day.

I was so conflicted and angry with myself and my situation, but I continued my patterns.

I didn’t feel like myself. I felt fake in so many ways. My stress radiated and I had trouble making connections with people because well I just wasn’t.. nice.

My hair started falling out. In clumps.

I’d shower and finish with a sizable chunk of hair in my hands. I didn’t know what it was from. Stress? My diet?

“But why are you so stressed?”

I’ve realized it wasn’t all personal stress. It wasn’t me worrying about college or my weight or my job. It was global stress, collective stress, it was me being distressed over the state of the world in general. It was me feeling guilty and overwhelmed and disappointed in myself.

I grew so much in the 6 months India and I lived together. I faced myself in ways that I never imagined. I questioned so much and I wrote so much and I dreamed so much and I cried so much and I smiled so much and I lived so much.

India was hard for me. I loved India in all of it’s wonder but the depth that I truly got to know India was just… something that I’ve never experienced before.

Many loves come in and out of our lives, but most never really know us. We may put on a mask with them or we may not even miss them when they leave because they never truly held a part of our soul. But India was a love that came crashing into my life with such force and passion that all of my masks were crushed by truth.

How do you ever say goodbye to a love like that? In your arms my soul found chaos, passion, inspiration, pain, and even some some sort of peace. Just know that I will never forget you, India, my love.

See you soon, little bird

Bat Shit Crazy

Bat Shit Crazy

A few weeks ago, we had an incident with a bat in our house. A little background info – my host mom is not so fond of animals (of any kind), in fact, she’s kind of afraid of them. It’s not abnormal for a bird or two to fly into the apartment searching for food, but it’s always pretty easy to shoo them outside through the windows. But, not always.
I came home one night after work and began having my normal evening conversation with my host mom. Casual right? Then something flew past my head.”Oh, it’s a bird!”, I thought.
My host mom screamed and crouched behind the kitchen counter and Continue reading “Bat Shit Crazy”

I got robbed but it’s okay it’s Karma

I got robbed but it’s okay it’s Karma

Last weekend I got my iPhone and about $150 dollars stolen.

It’s funny because I’ve been so calm about it.

When I realized that it was gone, I was so blank. I just said “I think I got my money stolen.” On the way to the police station I noticed that my phone was gone too.

I honestly think it was karma, a lesson from the universe, whatever you wanna call it – but let me explain Continue reading “I got robbed but it’s okay it’s Karma”

“Okay But Is it Really Pizza or is it Indian Pizza?” : The Homesick Girls Struggle for Food in India

“Okay But Is it Really Pizza or is it Indian Pizza?” : The Homesick Girls Struggle for Food in India

I LOVE Indian food. Let me tell you, it’s my favorite. At home, I can’t get enough. I love going to Indian restaurants as much as I can. That’s one reason I was so excited to come to India – the food! I thought “Hey, go have fun in Ecuador eating guinea pigs and rice, I’ll be in India with vegetarian food galore, naan bread and paneer and the best spices in the world!” I distinctly remember saying “No, you’re crazy, I’m never going to get sick of Indian food!”

Well, I think I was wrong. Continue reading ““Okay But Is it Really Pizza or is it Indian Pizza?” : The Homesick Girls Struggle for Food in India”