#my mom will literally judge people stuck in different parts of diet culture like you USED TO BE THEM

[a-walking-fandom-reference]

people on diets always have a superiority complex about it… like can you be normal?!

[theslayover]

A typical day at MIA

After a hectic 48 hours back in Miami to visit a sick relative, I have a 6:21 p.m. flight back to San Francisco. At 4pm my mother- who is stressed from work and having her mother-in-law in the hospital for a myriad of symptoms that could only make sense in an episode of House- decides the dishes in the sink need to be cleaned. And the counter cleaned. And the magazines arranged. I help where I can but try not to push the woman, whose (and I preface this with my mom is the best mom ever) fuse is so short when she’s stressed it’s almost mythical. 

We finally leave around 4:25pm.  The normally 20 minute journey is now between 30 and 40 minutes, apparently because they’ve closed one highway, there’s going to be a basketball game, and because Miami cannot go a day without at least 57 accidents. I wouldn’t generally care but in the back of my mind I’m slightly concerned as my roll-aboard is full of precious cargo: malanga and calabaza that I need for my abuela’s famous caldo recipe and that I cannot get in San Francisco. I can’t imagine I’m violating some random agricultural rule but #Florida. 

Using a combination of Waze, Google maps, my mother’s incorrect intuition and prayers we finally make it to the airport after 5:00pm and my flight boards at 5:40pm. On top of it all, I really wanted to get a cup of coffee before the flight. This sounds like a 1st world problem, however: 

1) I had a lot of work to do and needed to make the most of the 6-hour flight. 

2) Airplane coffee tastes like a young coffee who had all his hopes and dreams in front of him until his parents died and he ended up in the foster system, bounced around house to house cared for by people who only saw him as a paycheck, and then eventually turned to a life of gang violence and drugs. 

I try not to be too stressed, reminding myself that I have both CLEAR and TSA pre-check. 

I run to the security checkpoint and wiz through with CLEAR. No problem. Then the associate informs me that pre-check is closed. It’s 5 goddam pm. The airport is mobbed, why? I’m handed a blue card that allows me to keep my shoes on through security but for the most part I’m stuck in the long, regular security line with throngs of people, all whom from their behavior I can only assume have never flown before. I feel rage surge inside me and think how Miami is a 3rd world country when it comes to logistics. But no, Lauren. You meditated today. You practice A Course in Miracles. How can you judge this way? I breathe deeply and repeat today’s mantra and tell myself it’ll be ok. 

The gentleman next to go through the metal detector steps through. BEEP BEEP BEEP goes the machine. He forgot to take off his belt. For fuck’s sake. He strips it and steps through and BEEP BEEP BEEP I hear again. His wallet. Blessed be. He steps through once more and BEEP BEEP BEEP. The security guard lets him through. Wait what. A mixture of relief and alarm rush over me at once. Please tell me what they missed wasn’t a concealed weapon in his boxers. It’s 5:20pm.

The next gentleman goes through and BEEP BEEP BEEP. My metaphysical ears bleed. 

I finally make it past all the First Time Flying Club’s members and a Portuguese family of 4 who have every iPad and child electronic imaginable, set my bags on the x-ray, tear out my laptop- one of the cons of Diet Pre-check- and I go through the metal detector. I set the fucking thing off. Thanks Cartier Love bracelet. I tell the confused TSA associate the bracelet is literally screwed onto my wrist (I feel so stupid saying this aloud...this is why women make less) and make my way to the higher security machine. I make it through without a hitch and run to the conveyor with my bags in time to see the man running the X-Ray pull my roll-aboard to the side for a bag check. Of course. It’s just before 5:30pm and I stand in silent horror as the man who is to perform bag searches decides to pick up every bin off of the conveyors before conducting the search. But I know better than to rush him, as then he’ll also decide to go back to school and get a medical degree before helping me. 

He finally decides it’s time to actually make sure my bag doesn’t have a bomb in it. I walk over to the examination area and anxiously wait as he open my suitcase. He unzips the side area inside my Away bag and he pulls out a bag of coffee. Oh. That’s what set off the alarm. Of course. But as he’s pulling it out he sees the calabaza. I explain to him in Spanish “It’s calabaza and I need it for my grandmother’s caldo recipe,” have laughing half pleaing (please God not the calabaza). He seems pretty un-phased. He goes to search the other side of my bag, saying the machine saw something else solid. “Pan?” (bread) he asks. But then he finds the malanga. “You’re taking all of Miami back with you!” he says. “It’s for my grandmother’s recipe, I can’t find this in San Francisco, Mexicans don’t really cook with malanga!” I exclaim. He places the malanga back in my suitcase, looks at me seriously and says “I bet Mexicans have never seen a malanga.” I didn’t have time to contemplate the strange cultural burn. I thanked him profusely and dashed to my next stop. 5:35pm.

I get to the Starbucks line, which is blessedly short. Three people head of my and about 5 minutes till boarding. The next person approaches the register and places an order, and the cashier gives them the total. The person looks at the cashier, seemingly surprised that they have to pay and only then starts to rifle through their bags looking for a wallet. 

It’s always been pet peeve for my father and I when a person will stand in and go through an entire line and only after ordering do they start to look for money. I can’t stand wasting people’s time and you think at an airport this would be less common but this is MIA, and it’s clearly everyone’s first time flying. 

I make it to the gate just at the start of pre-boarding (because nothing is on time in Miami), at about 5:45. I walk onto the plane panting, coffee and bags in hand. I think of all those photos of celebrities and influencers who travel through airports looking so adorable. Do they actually look like that, or do they take stock photos at various airports and just load them when they go on a trip? 

The pilot’s voice on the PA interrupts my #lifehack idea: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are already to take off here but we’ve just been alerted that someone must have removed one of the covers of the floor emergency exit signs, and the bulb has also been destroyed. We are contacting Maintenance now and will be back to you shortly with a fix update. As you know with the latest airline incidents (thank Boeing) we are all being extra cautious.”

I’m overtaken by mixture of laughter and disbelief; thoughts raced through my head: 

“Of course after all that, we ‘d be delayed anyway.”

“This has got to be the craziest reason for a delay I’ve experienced”

“I’m pretty sure if we are going down, my inability to find one of the 40 emergency exit signs will not save us.”

“This might be the first time I could understand anything the pilot said over the PA.”

Passengers start to deplane, anxious to get on a different flight in hopes of making connections or at least to yell at gate agents, who will undoubtedly out IDGAF them 10:1. 

After texting and sharing a few laughs with family and friends via text, I decide I might as well start working so I can get most of it out of the way before I get too tired. I reach for my backpack to take out my laptop- and realize I’ve left it at security. 

Being a veteran of pre-check I NEVER take my laptop out of my bag anymore. With the scare of getting my roll-aboard searched, I forgot to replace it after it came out of the X-Ray. I run to the front of the plane and tell the flight attendants I don’t want to cancel this flight but only need to grab my laptop. Thankfully since people were deplaning anyway, I was able to get off.

I raced down the terminal, the sound of my flip flops drawing stares and snickers as they watched a small woman in a maxi dress race across a terminal. Of course my gate was the farthest. I got to security gasping for air. Through my lungs loudly fighting for life, I explained to the TSA agents my plight. They had my laptop and let it go before I managed to log into it, I suppose they figured no one would purposely steal a 12 pound, soiled HP. 

I raced back down the terminal and gasping even more loudly, got back onto the plane. My seatmate saw me and gave me a silent “yay!” as I walked down the aisle. I plopped myself ever so gracelessly onto the seat, breathing (panting) a sigh of relief. The pilot’s voice comes back over the PA: “ladies and gentlemen, I really apologize but we don’t know how long it’s going to be, so we are going to go ahead and deplane.” Motherfuck.

The rest of the evening consisted of other fun things like finding out that all the other United planes at the airport were some other type of Boeing, and our plane had a slightly different size of emergency exit cover, finally bumming one off an American Airlines plane (the one good thing that airline has ever done for me), and then taking off 2 and 1/2 hours later. 

This sounds like a crazy, stressful day and it kind of was. But in situations like these I’ve found that when you find yourself stressing and adamant that something has to work a certain way, and your actions become reactive, anxious and impatient, that’s when things really go wrong. Being worked up has made me forget things (like my laptop), gotten me into fender benders, arguments and in the end, nowhere. Even in times when I’ve gotten what I wanted after seemingly swimming against the universe’s current, it’s never been as good as I thought.

When you think of it, if the plane hadn’t been delayed, I would’ve realized the laptop was missing when we are already in the air. There was no WiFi on that flight (ah United), so I would’ve been fit to be tied for SIX HOURS not being able to work on the presentation for the next day, not being able to tell anyone, wondering if it was stolen etc. My mom’s and my drive to the airport was stressful navigating and we didn’t really get to enjoy our last moments together.

So if my crazy/ funny story can help you take a step back before your brain Hulk’s out, my job here is done. And when you feel ready to see how enlightened you are, make sure you fly out of Miami.  

[papermoth-bird-blog]

California Coast: Santa Cruz to San Francisco.

On our way down to Santa Cruz, we tried to take our time once again. That being said, we did take many of the look off’’s on the previous days’ trip. And, I will admit, there was growing antsiness in my inner world. I was about ready to be by myself again, and yet, I was still so far from that being logistically possible. 

We drove through Big Sur again towards Monterey, stopping to look at cows and flowers and water bodies. Gopala insisted he wanted to try to pet a cow- despite my “I don’t think they’d like that much”. As we rounded each bend, I imagined all the people who had ridden along these same roads. Kerouac, without a doubt, but so many more writers and artists & muses themselves. Not to mention all the people that had travelled this coastal highway that I’d never even heard of, and maybe wouldn’t ever. Each scattering their own thoughts into the wind as they passed along this road. Each of these people forming new parts of themselves here too. It did feel like a gateway of some sort to me. An unseen passageway- one that wasn’t so tangible, or perhaps concretely emotional, but one that I am strangely sure was there. 

The car climbed off the coast & towards the inland road. We came across a farm stand- one that had some of the best produce prices I’ve ever see- 3 avocados for a dollar! 7 kiwis for a dollar! I got myself a big bag of banana chips & a bunch of fresh stuff (including mangoes, blood oranges, avocados) all under 6 dollars. Gonna say that might be the bargain of the whole trip. I ate avocados & orange in the car as we eventually rolled into Santa Cruz. The thing about getting up at 5 is that your day complete already as you are still sitting in early afternoon. We waited for the Library to open so we could charge our devices. Gopala also wanted to print more photos of Gurus and Gods for his car. Once my phone was charged enough, I took the opportunity to taste independence again, if not for a short amount of time. I told Gopala I was going for a walk & vaguely waved that I’d be back in a bit. 

‘A bit’ turned out the be a couple hours later. Even that didn’t really feel like enough time alone. I knew what I really need, what I really wanted, was to be really truly alone & in control of my being- my schedule, my routine, my diet. Gopala had a bad tendency to judge absolutely everything I do. Only to follow up with some Vendatic reasoning if I showed any kind of indifference to the stuff he was telling me. What irritates me most about men, is that they seem to think “quiet & polite” means “weak & a push-over”, That alone really bubbles-up my inner demon. More then that though, I felt like my schedule wasn’t in my control either, I kept saying “I think I just need to get to San Fran and regroup”, but we found lots of reasons to delay.

Santa Cruz.

For what it’s worth, Santa Cruz is a really beautiful place and definitely has a really cool vibe about it. There were the most skaters I’ve ever seen in one area-- with the potential exception of Venice Beach. Driving down the streets you saw cool old cars with surf boards sticking out the windows or strapped onto the rook- waiting for the slightest bit of warmer weather. The beach was pretty nice, with a pier & bars like most Californian City Beaches. In addition to that, though, there is also a full blown carnival set up down there. Colourful rides & the like. Out of all the carnivals I’ve ever been to, this one genuinely had one of the best vibes about it- but maybe that’s because I walked through it alone (or rather on the phone with Kluane) due to it being the off season. The town is also filled with a lot of new-agey shops that smell like incense- although a little more gentrified than other places I’ve been. Overall Santa Cruz felt a little dream & half asleep. It’s a college town (a similar size to Kingston ON), that you can tell gets packed in summer with people seaking that iconic “California” experience. 

Like much of the coast, there are a lot of people in Santa Cruz living out of their vans, not by force, but by choice. At the library, we pulled up next to this guy with a long grey beard & dreads tucking into his trucker hat. The van had all kinds of sticker stuck to the sides- bands, places & funny sayings- but mostly bands. Later in the day, we struck up a conversation with him, when he heard us listening to Jerry Garcia as Gopala redecorated the inside of his mobile shrine. He passed us a flyer & invited us to a few shows for the following week. Gopala seemed interested, but The shows started at 9, which was definitely later than we were staying up at that point. Plus he might have seen the pleading “please let’s just leave” face I had on. The guy went on to talk about conspiracy theories of the California fires & about surfing & about the “hundred year bloom” that was about to happen in Death Valley. On another trip- perhaps with my sisters- I could really settle into the vibe & would have loved to stay and make friends like this, but this time, I knew, was not the time. 

Along with the distinctly laid back vibe, there is a really strong & healthy rebel vibe. We happened upon Subrosa (which, when I walked by before, drew me in too for whatever reason...maybe someone told me about & I forgot). Anyways, they were having a “Free Fair”, meaning everything there was Free- Nice clothing, massages, books, trinkets, homemade food, electronics & instruments. I myself, collected a t-shirt from an artist I think lives in New Orleans (because I recognize their work) & a couple ‘zines from their library which was about herbalism & making tincture. I kinda took a deep breath, because these people reminded me of my community back home. I overheard conversations like “oh, I’m teaching for two weeks at witch camp” & “yeah I was gathering a lot of pursulane recently”. I smiled to myself as the young girl whispered to her mom “look mom! There’s our farmer!” There was a guy also dressed up like a full blown pirate- like something out of Pirates of the Caribbean. I walked around the patio- looking a the lace & silk scarves hanging from the trees- talking myself down, because I knew I had absolutely no more room in my pack.

Gopala ended up getting into a Vendantic argument with that very same farmer not five minutes later. I snapped to attention- but there was nothing I could really do. The guy was pointing out that the bindi Gopala was wearing might be considered cultural appropriation, and Gopala went immediately into a schpeal about “well that only makes sense if you think you are the body”. To which the guy said “huh?” “you aren’t the body, you aren’t the mind, you are god”. You could tell the guy did not want to engage in that way and he about said as much, adding “I actually like being in my body & connecting to it” to which Gopala said something like “Well you are living in full ignorance then”. I wanted to scream out of embarrassment, but also on behalf of my allyship with this man. As we got into the car, I tried to explain to Gopala that he shouldn’t engage with people like that & why it might be inappropriate & how he is speaking from an opinion of the Truth, but that other people connect to Truth in a different way. He wasn’t interested in hearing me though, and pretty much accused me too of being “asleep”, to which he told me I’d feel better if I did some breathing excersizes. Instead I repacked my bag & held my breath (literally) for fear that if I let any of my breath out it would come tumbling out with curse words and further angry grumbles. He was reminding me more and more of a definite mixture of two of my least favourite ex-boyfriends and I was getting a huge urge to straight up run away. I was determined to get to San Fran, though and it was only an hour & a half away at that point. 

We paused again near the seashore- because Gopala suggested doing meditation at the beach- I think he was trying to do it for me partitally, but we couldn’t find cheap parking anywhere. Instead we found a lot further up & I hoped out the car & called a friend. And cried a little out of frustration. And then I cried a little more about Ellie- and what a hard ass she had been. And that she was the type of person to say exactly what she meant & what she wanted & stuck to her guns like no one else. If I learned anything from her, it was that. I felt better after that cry. I knew that I had all that in me too. And I was fully resolved to use those skills, I didn’t care about being sweet and fully polite at that point. 

San Francisco.

We got back in the car & finally drove onto the highway towards San Francisco. All the way, I was messaging friends who might have friends or contacts in San Fran- so I could ground with a friendly face of some sort. My friend Asa (who I stayed with in NOLA) used to live in Oakland (the city just across the bridge from san fran). He found a friend that I could stay with, which felt like a huge relief. She was out until late evening tho, so I decided to get a hostel for the night. I got Gopala to drop me off at the HI city centre & did my best not to full run out of the car. I didn’t think to look back though. 

The Hostel is huge- obviously an old hotel of apartment building or something. It’s old, but has all the charms that come along with creaky buildings- including an old-fashioned elevator & distinct architecture features. The walls are covered in Art that depicts witches & little gothic characters. The front desk people looked normal enough- except one girl who was a full blown goth, complete with pleather jacket with fur trim, shaved hair style & the most dramatic eyebrows I’ve seen in a long while. Gothy-girl band music played over the common areas. I felt immediately at home/calm. 

I went up to my room & decided the best thing I could do for myself was to re:group in simple ways- shower, meditate, read, check in with a few friends & write. I met my dorm mates- two girls from Germany on a road trip through the western part of America. We chatted for a while about travel & the Grand Canyon & the Coast of California. They leave today for the rest of their. I have to check out at 11 from the hostel & make my way to oakland with my big pack. Gopala already messaged me about coming to a Sivananda Vedanta thing, but I’m just gonna leave that message hanging a bit. I’ll have to get back to him eventually because I owe him gas money. For the mean time, I’m gonna take a breather & experience the city by myself. 

So far, it feels a lot like New York- tall buildings everywhere- the “never sleep” vibe. I’m in a district called the Tenderloin, near chinatown. There are lots of homeless people around, so I went low pressure about the walking-around-at-night-by-myself. I did do some research about things to do around here. I heard tell that the Mission district is home to the best Burritos in the country- which I read on trip advisor first. But as soon as I went back into the lobby, a few people came in talking loudly about them too. So you know I’m going to have to do that. Apparently the city is fairly walkable. The German girls told me three days would be plenty to feel like I’ve “seen San Francisco”. I’m looking forward to it, but already planning my trip back to LA so that I have some wiggle room for my trip to Mexico. I’m really looking forward to that & hoping to save as much money as I can here (ha! the most expensive city in the sates) so that I have more money to do exciting things with my friends in Tulum. Trying my best to be present though, with all that being said. I have a good feeling about today, and that’s all I really need.