I work as a cook at a lovely University, called Bastyr. They teach traditional medicine, nutrition, herbal medicine and other natural healing methods. It is a campus of less than 1,300 students, though still a large place it feels small, communal even. This place has been the first to pause my ramblings. I get to be creative, I laugh with my co workers and make beautiful food for people. I can even use their herb lab, and check out books from their library. The job comes with all the adult fixings; health benefits, paid vacation, I even just found out I have a life insurance policy (If I die my mom gets 30,000 dollars, which I made her promise will be spent on plants). So this is all me rationalizing why I am giving this place 40 hours of my life every week. My head is trying to calm down my heart. As I am getting that familiar tingle again. I can feel my chest tightening, and it is getting hard to breathe here. I know there is good work for me to do in being home, in being present with my family, and engaged in things I care about. These are good things, I think?

In the mornings I run through the trails around campus before work. I pass along the lake and I dream about being on the ocean, I touch the water and wish it was salty. I wish it was moving and crashing and I was wrapped up in it. I close my eyes and think about surfing, and when I was paddling out to the waves at the first morning light. I think about star gazing on the deck of my sailboat being rocked to sleep. Then I keep jogging, I think about how I want to write and dream and make music, and grow food, and how no amount of money could mean more to me than these things. I think about plugging away giving myself to this educational institution, and I console my longings with goals, “Make it a year, make it until your eligible to take classes for free, wait until you have finished the garden at home, until you have money saved up. Don’t run!”

I don’t care about status or wealth, but I am moved by social justice, equality, access. By the obvious and simpler ways of living. I am moved to learn about plants, about how people connect with plants. (this could be through cooking?) About the things that are distant echoes amongst the booming cacophony of modern convenience. I want a life that is slow, and subtle. Where I can walk lightly, love every piece of what I do so that it will love me back.

I want to be wild, rogue and free to roam. To sleep on beds of moss, and drink from mountain springs. The thoreauvian way, let go of property, of ego. Just let life happen.

Uugggghhh it is happening again. Is this a disorder? Is radical simplicity a crime?  Or is it just coming up on my time to move on? The world is just so big…