slowly surely + xyz : a journey of (re)discovery

I AM. Seeking



[Confused] Huh? You’re the taxi man. You live here, I’m thinking you know.

I give him my phone with a map showing the route, and leave it to him to find the place.

The GPS is talking to him about this turn and that one, but somehow he is confused, lost.

I have nothing to offer beyond ‘yes, I recognize this or no I don’t’.

A few more times circling the same couple blocks, he gets his bearings and figures where it’s located.

We arrive.

I meet a new lady; Dianda nor the guy I’d met when Miriam was checking in, were working this morning.

She was a pretty heavy-set young lady. Again, very kind!!!

I’m early and must wait for check in, and am offered a place to store my bag if needed. I decline and take a seat in the lobby, where I’m met with a colorfully dressed British woman. She too is waiting, but storing luggage as she prepares to explore.

One half hour in, the tables are set and breakfast is prepared for the waking guests.

Feeling like a lurker, I opt to take a long stroll around town; popping in and out of shops and visiting the art galleries. I stumbled upon a sit in type protest on a blocked off side street. The ‘protestors’ were orderly, almost too quiet to seem to make a difference in whether they were bringing attention to their cause. I wasn’t sure if I was really seeing a protest, or people who were just showing up because it had become a habit.

Back at the hostel, I’m escorted to the room I’ll share with other women.

I was able to shower and get settled before they were back. The two I met were both European: one Austrian, the other Dutch. The Austrian spoke of loving her time in Puerto Escondido, after inquiring where I’d been. The other, raved about loving Oaxaca so much that she had just returned for a long stay where she’d volunteer, take yoga and perfect her Spanish skills. They both railed Donald Trump after discovering I was American. The Dutch woman was overjoyed to learn I live in San Francisco. She praised the city, citing the fight against the Trump Administration. Somehow, the city of nearly anything goes is seen as a true beacon of progressive and intellectual thought. I agree.

After the chat, we each carried on with our respective plans for the evening. I had settled in for the night, due to an early morning departure back to San Francisco.

05:00 I’m up, being as quiet as I can be, preparing for the taxi that would drive me the airport.

The taxi driver is just a kind as any other soul (outside of the Europeans) I’d met during my time here.

I’m in the ever-growing line to check in for this American Airlines flight to Houston, my layover city, with mgear strapped to my back, and my trust Trader Joe’s bags slung over my right shoulder. I look around and see people with huge pieces of luggage. HUGE. No aspersions cast those lugging their lives with them. I simply think: Yes, I made a great decision in going minimalist. No way could I be bothered to lug around heavy bags, ever again.

Check in.


I had time before boarding, so took this moment to go through my should bag to organize the loose bits and bobs that had collected in this easy access catch-all bag.

I’m the first to the gate waiting area. I grab a seat furthest from the counter. This would give me the vantage point to watch fellow travelers as they trickled in, and to not have anyone sitting behind me.

Half in, an agent rounds the partitioning wall and summons me.

Exit stamped, my passport is.

I didn’t notice the actual stamp had the wrong date (the previous day), until back in the states.

Back on US soil, and waiting at my connecting gate, I settle in for the two-hour wait.

I sit and am bombarded with cable news on all the televisions. Anxiety lives in these things, and I avoid them at all costs.

I watch people as they come and go; those laying on the floor, those stuffing their mouths; moms pushing strollers; senior couples sharing a meal.

Note: Lots of cowboy hats being worn in Texas.

Times up, time to go.

The flight was good.

San Francisco is cold!

BART rolling along the tracks is loud.

Given that I live in, and my affairs are in the heart of the city, I don’t ride BART often.


It’s a grimy ride. The train’s palette is blue and tan. The seats of fabric, walls tan. The cool lighting makes it all a depressing scene.

The people, making their way home during this last part of rush hour, worn.

No glow.

I’d left the sun in Oaxaca.


Unlocking and opening the door to my place felt great, as I’d left the place in a pristine way. Everything in it’s place. The bed later proved itself to be very welcoming.

Though I like traveling, and having new experiences in unfamiliar places with different people, I realize I’m not interested in being as nomadic as I thought during my time going through the high school years. I felt I was waiting on time to escape and be on the go perpetually.

It seems that is not so.

It seems something has changed.

It frightens me a bit.

It says that I’ve changed more than I realized. It tells me I may have lost some fire I once had. It tells me I may not want what I thought I wanted.

That challenges.

Anytime I’m in a conversation with someone about why people respond viscerally when questioned and fight for life to seemingly hold on to stupidity inherent with some ideas, is because if they allow you to reshape their thinking of what ‘they know to be true’, you upset everything they thought they were.

Given this not feeling the burning desire to travel nomadically for an extended period of time, is challenging me. I’m now questioning more than ever: Who are you?

This road, it has many twists.

What does SF hold for me now?

3 responses to “I AM. Seeking”

  1. Tasha (: says:

    I love the way you write!

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