Deciding to Leap

It has now been five months since I made the decision to take a year (or as long as required) off school to hit the 'refresh' button, clean the scratchy CD with the edge of a t-shirt, and compost the organic matter of my existence into something healthier, freer, and more like the person I want to be.

The decision was made on a couch in a dark room as I stared up at a spinning ceiling fan, crying and likely talking to myself out loud. I had once again returned from a bicycle tour both shaken and stirred.  I was in a miserable state of longing for the split-second of my lifetime that had taken me some five hundred miles to gorgeous Yosemite National Forest with beautiful souls in cycling shorts. I wanted nothing more than to feel the way I did on that, and every tour I have been on, for more than one meager week at a time.  Since the first tour, I have dreamed of where I might go "after I graduate", "some day" or "in the future," those imprecise deadlines that never come unless we insist they do.

But there on that couch, less than an hour after arriving home from my latest adventure, I gave myself permission to do it again, but without limits.  I gave myself permission to escape so that I might breathe properly again. To take a chance and do something that might teach me something not found in a text book.

A 3.83 GPA student for years, yet barely able to focus through the end of the semester, I clung with determination to the vision I began to dream for myself. I reluctantly sobbed onto older friends' shoulders and attempted to calmly explain my rationale to the ones who raised me. Days after one of the most challenging decisions I have yet made, I wrote this:

March 29, 2010

I'm sitting in a chair in the corner of the BMU [at CSU, Chico].  A quick glance around my surroundings conjures images of corporate advertisement, televisions no one is watching, packaged food, toxic chemicals, locked doors, and technological dependence.

[Daniel Quinn's] Ishmael  by my side, I was here to do an assignment, but I'm thinking about my friends instead.  I keep daydreaming about my newly chosen path: a journey on my bicycle around California, learning building, farming, animal husbandry skills and life experience of the highest quality.  It will be like Into the Wild except I'm staying local and hopefully won't be eating any poisonous plants.  I feel gratitude for the events and people who have made my visions of escape within my grasp and who have helped me help myself by showing me I am capable of more than I thought.

The people I immediately think of ride bicycles, often long distances.  Many of them prefer facial hair.  Some ride absurdly long bicycles with too much stuff on them.  Some of them work with flowers, with vegetables, with compost. Some dance and sing and play musical instruments, some tell stories around campfires and whisper "I love you" .  Some bring me socks when my feet are cold, some show me how to use power tools, some massage my back while I am chopping vegetables, some tell me I'm beautiful when I don't believe it, some talk to cows, sing to cauliflower, carry their garbage for weeks at a time [for the Zero Waste Challenge], rant about 'society' and let me do the same, and some simply acknowledge that I exist.  All of them give me permission to shine my brightest. They say, "Yes, you can".  And I can.

My Great Escape is still a very long way away, but I'm preparing my mind now, because despite how far I've come, I still must overcome my doubts, disregard "better judgment" and reject the idea that the most respectable, educated people are the ones who receive diplomas [although I believe I will eventually do the same].

I want to learn the hard way; it builds character and is a lot more exciting. 100% Authenticity.