Out of the Wild - Part 1

I’m about to turn 30 years old, and I’ve been thinking a lot about Chris McCandless. 

The story of Chris McCandless and Into the Wild (the book and the film) have woven through my life for many years. 

In 1990, Chris graduated from Emory University.  He was born in California and raised in Virginia.  After graduating, Chris gave his savings to charity and started backpacking and hitchhiking around the US.  In April 1992 he hitchhiked to Alaska and backpacked into the Alaskan bush to try to live off the land.  In August 1992 he starved to death in the Magic Bus he was living in (toxic plants he ate may have contributed to his death).  He was 24 years old.

In 1996, Jon Krakauer wrote Into the Wild about Chris’s journey, and it became a national bestseller.  In 2007 the film Into the Wild was released, written and directed by Sean Penn, starring Emile Hirsch. 

In 2007, I took a year off from college and spent six months backpacking around Europe solo, sometimes staying with and traveling with friends.  I saw the film Into the Wild for the first time around 2008, and Chris McCandless reminded me a bit of myself, but more of my high school boyfriend.  I’d caught his attention because I’d read Jack Kerouac, he caught my attention because he was reading Sartre for fun.  He was an outdoorsman and (along with the tumult of young love) tapped into my sense of adventure.  We traveled to Alaska together one year for spring break, stayed in a hostel, slept in a park one night, and Alaska is still the only place I’ve hitchhiked.  We were long broken up by 2008, but I pined for years.  Seeing a character that reminded me of him dying alone in a bus in the Alaskan bush made me cry buckets.  

The second time I saw the film was in 2010, a lot had changed in just a few years.  I went to film school and graduated, and was in the midst of what I now call my Vagabond Years as I bounced around the country and worked on farms.  My ex was married and having kids.  I watched the movie on a laptop in the yurt I lived in, in a field with two llamas, part of an Intentional Community at an abandoned lumber mill that was often described as post-apocalyptic.  I realized that now I was the Chris McCandless of this story, and that was exciting and terrifying.  I had sought adventure and found it, but Chris’s story was a cautionary tale for me.  Dying alone in a bus in Alaska was not on my To Do list.  I did date two different guys who lived in busses (different busses, in different states!) around that time, but that’s a story for another time. 

In 2011 I was living in rural Montana as part of AmeriCorps, building a garden at a middle school in a town of 500 people.  I picked up a copy of Krakauer’s Into the Wild and read it as I meandered back to California, stopping in Yellowstone, camping an Intentional Community, and Couchsurfing.  I was 25, and in Part 2 of a 2-Part Quarter-Life Crisis.  While in Montana I realized that I needed to move back to LA and really give my career as a filmmaker a shot.  I’d been vagabonding around the country for three years following graduation, and it was bittersweet to know that chapter was coming to an end. 

As I read Into the Wild it stood out to me that as McCandless is dying in the bus, after working so hard to escape society, he realizes that connection with other people is what matters in life.  In a copy of Doctor Zhivago found with him in the bus he had written, “HAPPINESS ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED.”  I vowed to not be as stubborn as Chris McCandless, for it to not take starving in a bus in Alaska to teach me that connection with other people helps bring meaning to our lives.  For three years my challenge had been to push out of my comfort zone, to see how minimal my life could be.  My new challenge was to learn to stay in one place and let people into my life, to share my adventures. 

(Continued in Part 2) 

Out of the Wild - Part 2

(Continued from Part 1) 

In 2012 I moved into my own apartment in Los Angeles.  After subletting and staying in other people’s homes for years, I finally had a space I could make a home.  I got the keys to apartment 206 on my 26^th birthday, and it felt like I was in the right place at the right time.  It took a while for me to really unpack my things, and I still kept my camping gear in my car for a while.  Whenever I saw coyotes on my street it felt comforting, like I wasn’t the only wild animal in the city. 

Next week I'll turn 30 and will have lived in the same apartment for four years, the longest I’ve lived anywhere since I was in elementary school.  I made a list of 30 things I wanted to do before I turned 30 and a few weeks ago I crossed off “Visit the Salton Sea/Salvation Mountain/Slab City.”  The Salton Sea is a man-made lake south-east of Los Angeles (near Coachella), Salvation Mountain is a surreal monument to Universal Love and Jesus made by a man named Leonard Knight.  Slab City is a makeshift community of snowbirds, hippies and squatters nicknamed “The Last Free Place.”  Salvation Mountain and Slab City are featured in the film Into the Wild, Chris really spent time there and met Leonard Knight.

I’d been trying to get to Slab City for years and thought I would really like it there, perhaps even feel at home.  I didn’t realize how strange it might seem that I expected to feel at home in a post-apocalyptic wasteland until I was there with a friend who well…didn’t know about that part of my life.  Slab City is like Burning Man (yes, I’ve been) all year round, except no one was friendly.  And I expected to feel at home there…?  We explored a sculpture garden in East Jesus (an artist community within Slab City) and dug the art, but after that we were pretty glad to leave.  We drove to Joshua Tree and thankfully found a spot to camp.

I tried to explain to my friend why I expected to feel a connection to Slab City, the Chris McCandless story and my post-apocalyptic past, but was struggling to understand all of it myself.  I had grown, I had changed.  I stayed in one place for four years, I’ve lived in a city for four years.  I am no longer that wild animal, I’ve been domesticated.  I’d often joked about my domestication, but now it was staring me in the face and I wasn’t laughing.  I love my apartment, I'm glad I've been able to stay in one place, but it’s strange to be able to see a chapter closing in your life.  I felt it at 25 in Montana, as I knew my Vagabond Years were coming to a close.  But now, turning 30 felt like turning a corner and I felt a bit afraid that I don’t know what is around that corner. 

When I got home I got out my copy of Into the Wild and was surprised the things that jumped out at me.  How many people cared about Chris, wanted to help him with money/gear/transportation/emotional support, how strongly he rejected all of it and how much that hurt the people who wanted to help.  The fact that I’m sort of sad I never hopped freight trains like Chris did (and Kerouac, and many others) but also that I’m probably very glad I never did.  And that after two months in the wild, Chris had decided to return to society but was unable to cross the Teklanika River and went back to the Magic Bus.  I realized that if Chris had been about to walk out of the wild at 24, at 29 he might have felt a lot of the same things I’m feeling now. 

I've sometimes worried that the adventures of my 20's made me less date-able.  Guys often say they want someone to go on adventures with, but they aren't necessarily excited about a woman who has had a many adventures of her own.  There's a long history of men vagabonding/adventuring to find themselves, far fewer stories of women doing the same (which is part of why I loved the movie Wild, about Cheryl Strayed's trek on the Pacific Crest Trail).  But especially as I'm getting into my 30's, I'm trying to own my stories.  If someone is going to take issue with adventures from my past, they're probably not someone I want in my future.  

During my Vagabond Years when I needed strength I would say to myself, I’m ten feet tall and made of steel, and would repeat it until I found the strength/calm/nerve I needed.  In 2010 I took a solo road trip around the Southern US, starting in Austin, TX where I was living at the time.  I was 24, my life had just imploded, and I was trying to figure out what direction to go in.  I spent a lot of that trip crying, driving through the tears, and chanting to myself: I’m ten feet tall and made of steel, I’m ten feet tall and made of steel. Some say that young people feel invincible, I don’t think I innately felt invincible but was trying to convince myself that I was.  Walking toward 30, I am no longer trying to be ten feet tall and made of steel.  I am human, imperfect, vulnerable, and wonderfully so. 

To Ghost or Not To Ghost (A Millennial Question)

I’m fascinated by language and how it evolves, especially when we feel the need to create a new word. Sometimes I see clear connections between events and the words they create: cameras on cell phones became the norm, making it easier to take/share self-portraits, and self-portraits became “selfies.” Self-portraits are nothing new, but when we started talking about them more frequently, we created a new (shorter) word.  But there are other additions to our language that are more puzzling to me. Was there an increase in older women dating younger men that prompted us to create the term “cougar”?  How did “Netflix and chill” become code for “Let’s hook up”?

And why did “ghosting” become a thing? If you’re not familiar with the term, “ghosting” is when someone suddenly disappears from a relationship. One day you’re dating/involved with someone, and the next they don’t respond to texts, phone calls, etc.  This isn't a new phenomenon, but I think in the past it was just called “rude.”  However, when I recently posted on Facebook about how I think ghosting is rude, I was surprised to find many people were pro-ghosting.

I get why people want to ghost.  To start 2016 off with a Clean Slate I had to have several breakup conversations and we all hate those conversations, right?  Also, there are so many gray areas of dating, and it can be tough to tell what level involvement requires what level of breakup conversation.  But being the person who is ghosted on can range from awkward to heartbreaking.  If it's someone you went on a mediocre first date with, meh.  But if you've been exclusively dating for months, WTF.  

I tried to ghost a guy I met on New Years Eve this year, and couldn't do it.  He was texting me and I felt bad not responding at all, so I texted him something along the lines of "Let's just leave it at New Years" and he was cool about it.  And honestly, I felt so much better being upfront about it.

Part of what's so strange about ghosting is that it can be hard to tell if the person is ghosting or not.  If someone doesn't respond to one text, is that ghosting?  Or if you make vague plans but never solid plans?  And I realized that ghosting leaves a lot of room to assume the worst, either about the other person ("He/she never meant anything they said") or yourself ("*insert insecurity* is totally why he/she isn't texting me").  To anyone who ghosts, if you need incentive not to ghost, just assume that if you ghost the other person will think you're an asshole.  If you want them to think you're an asshole, then ghost away I suppose.

I'm currently in one of those "Is he ghosting...?" situations, which I don't have much patience for.  Part of what's been strange to me is that I worked with this guy a while back (not Boyfriend, he's history) so we actually know each other as people/have mutual friends/might have to work together again at some point, so ghosting seems extra awkward.  Also, he gave me his number (without me asking) and said, "Hit me up."  Why would someone do that if they don't actually want the person to contact them?  *reaction* 

The more I've dated, the more I value honesty and clarity.  Really, the more I've lived and interacted with human beings, the more I value honesty and clarity.  I like people who mean what they say and say what they mean.  I know this is easier said than done, I struggle with it myself.  I'm not dishonest but I have a hard time expressing what I want, especially in relationships.  But I'm working on it!  

Real talk: there are 2 exes that I don't respond to calls/texts from because they were abusive/are mentally unstable, and I stand by the decision to cut them out of my life.  I didn't ghost them, I had conversations to end the relationships.  If someone is threatening, abusive, or anything like that, abso-fucking-lutely tell them never to contact you again and cut them off.  But if you're not feeling the chemistry, or are too busy to do anything other than work and sleep, or whatever reason there may be, in my opinion be a grownup and just let the person know.  Don't be an asshole but don't be a ghost, or you know who I'm gonna call??