Where the tree trunk meets the sidewalk
And other cheap thrills of city life
This is Clouds Form Over Land, weekly writing about life at sea and going ashore.
The last few weeks have been a flurry of moving worldly possessions into our new home base on land, calling everything back to us after years of living light and on the move. Boxes in friend’s basements, furniture and keepsakes from family, and all our other goodies tucked in place aboard our sailboat Azimuth for the big journey around the North American continent.
We are renting a four-bedroom house with two friends and two pets. Two rooms are ours, one for sleeping and one for computing and crafting and gathering. So far it’s been a delight to see how easy socializing and housekeeping can be with a larger crew.
All this motion and commotion have had me feeling clogged up when it comes to writing. Why is it sometimes so hard to open a browser tab and get to it? Today I have a timer ticking next to me, and even as I admit that this is tough, I think hmm, time for a water break? Would tea help? What if I do x,y, and z first to build momentum?
I am holding a greater appreciation for the effects that slow Wi-Fi and isolation had on my attention over the past couple of years.
This time of transition is ripe with cultural observations as I wash up on the shores of my home culture. It is also ragged from the time at sea and the effort of sending down roots. I often think of the imagery of a man emerging from years in the woods, but I don’t have a scraggly beard and dirty clothes to make my changes more visible. Perhaps a vacant stare would help communicate how unhinged our world seems to me after living outside the norm and in the wilderness of the ocean and its coasts.
Instead, I’m trying to hone my gaze on cheap thrills as we rebuild our bank accounts.
Last Sunday, we signed up for a gym a few blocks away from our place and then carried on to get library cards. Most days I walk to the James River and let myself be bowled over by how beautiful it is, especially viewed from one of the city’s bridges. Last night, we attended an old-time music gathering and by the end of the night, the cicadas had joined the jam session.
As I adjust to my new city, I’m amazed by how easy it is to walk and bike around, how the hours pass easily when spent outdoors, how prevalent fresh drinking water is, and the possibility of maxing out my library card at 100 books (don’t worry, I won’t!). There is some wacky, creative, life-affirming event happening every day and I can join in if I want to. There is space to have people over to my place and stay awhile. There is time to do it all because we don’t have to leave when the weather changes.
I’m continuously amazed at how nature is right at my doorstep, even in an urban neighborhood. Surely much has been crowded out by the big presence of humans, especially the higher-level consumers in the food web, but the bugs and plants and other little guys keep on keeping on in whatever space can be taken. I honed my eyes while in the jungles, reefs, and oceans of our voyage and they can still pick out little critters everywhere I go.
These days my life is back on the rails of Google Calendar and video calls and emails.
There’s a lot more noise and it’s harder to hear my observations.
A few times we’ve sprung for the convenient option and later thought, why were we in such a rush?
I’m moving faster and slower than I did before we embarked on our trip. It’ll take a long time to integrate what we experienced, but I’m excited to dance and infuse what I learned out there about community, resources, weather, resistance, accountability, and more.
My hope is that at least some of it makes sense and helps others as we all figure out how to live on land.
Reading: LA Weather by Maria Amparo Escandon (thanks public library!) and The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank by Erma Bombeck (thanks, Mom!).
Mending: holes in my socks and my roommate’s pillow.
Observing: the neighborhood cats and a storm rolling in.