The first time I heard a song by Halsey was in LA, appropriately enough. And since then, I've lived in her electronic bliss and lyrical genius; exercising my body to Gasoline and stretching my body to Colors.
You can't wake up; this is not a dream
You're part of a machine
You are not a human being
Sometimes, Skrillex would get me going in the morning, and Sufjan Stevens would sing me to sleep in the evening.
Tuesday night at the bible study,
we lift our hands and pray over your body
but nothing ever happens
In between the songs, though, exists the uncomfortable silence during which I had to address what my realities were. This post isn't meant to be about those realities, though, and it isn't really even an update. Instead, it's a gentle nod towards those who helped to ensure my survival during my time in California. A love letter, if you will, to Davis.
There are few better places, in my limited experience, that are better suited to a transient life than Davis. Resources, public parks, and an atmosphere of acceptance...movies in the park and film festivals on the weekends, book discussions and clubs, farmers markets twice a week. Something for everyone, easy on the pockets and delightful for my observing eyes and wandering feet.
But out of an entirely different necessity, I learned something else. I learned how to climb.
I feel closest to God when I'm in nature. My relationship with God grows when I grow my relationship with creation, and part of that, I'm realizing now, is fostering an awe and a love for myself as a valid member of that creation. When I started to learn how to climb, I was able to feel my body getting stronger and to use my body and my mind in ways I hadn't needed to before. That resulted in a deep appreciation for my body, and fostered some of that awe. And over the course of six weeks, I traded my state of vulnerability for a state of acceptance.
Even if this particular post falls largely on deaf ears, I'd like to go on record and say that every individual who climbs at Rocknasium in Davis is a wonderful person. So friendly, so encouraging, so outgoing, so adventurous, so easy-going, so accepting, so strong, so talented, and just so good at grilling pork. I miss you all, I love you all, and I'm more thankful for you than you'll ever know! I found my tribe there, and I found a safe space, and you all made the choice to welcome a vagabond into your lives.
Every day, you watched me grow. At a snails pace, maybe, but growth nonetheless. Every day, your smile felt like home to me. Every day, you asked how I was and offered kind words of complimentary encouragement. You memorized my shoe size, you fed me, you taught me, you cheered for me. Every day, you saved me a little bit. And a heart like mine can't forget hearts like yours.
In fact, I'm not too worried. Adventurers and wanderers like us? We have a way of finding each other. We'll see each other again.
So, until then, know that I'm thinking of you. I'm incredibly thankful for you and your energy, and I love you. I love you, Davis.