Rushing Off to London

Nerves are a funny thing. As soon as I walked through security at Honolulu International this morning, I started to develop a mystery cough. By the time I reached the gate, this little tickle was becoming hard to ignore. It was turning into a full-blown hack, and a wet one at that. Stuff was coming up, big time. It felt like old stuff too, as if the phlegm of 40,000 years had waited for the perfect moment to emerge from its ancient, dark hiding spot in my lungs.

Stepping onto the plane, I begin the search for my assigned seat, 31E. A dreaded middle seat. Cue more coughing. I locate it smack dab in the middle of the jam-packed 767, and to my surprise there is an elderly man sitting there, alongside a woman who I presume to be his wife. I kindly suggest to him that this is my seat, or at least that is what my boarding pass is telling me. He offers me a barter: 34G instead. I glance a few rows back. There it is. Right on the aisle, just the way I like it. I smile and nod in steadfast agreement, toss my backpack into the overhead bin, and pour myself into my home for the next five hours. I kinda like 34G. It's narrow, but pretty perfect otherwise. I close my eyes and breathe for what feels like the first time all morning. One wave of complete relaxation washes over me, followed by a second, more intense wave that manages to draw a rogue tear or two from my eyes. A big smile appears. Huge. And that cough? Disappeared without a trace.

One thought pulses through my brain: WOW. I'm here at last, and there is no going back, not as if I would ever want to.

The journey is underway. Just me and my backpack, which by the way is not even full. So what made the cut? Well, let's see. Seven shirts, two pairs of pants, board shorts, one pair of slippers (or flip-flops for the mainlanders out there), boxers, socks, toiletries, a guidebook, my Ipad, and a partridge in a pear tree. Oh, and a few leis. Not the flowery ones, but those of the homemade non-perishable variety. The same ones I received on my last day at Starbucks a mere ten days ago (was it only that long? I swear I think some dinosaurs were in attendance). Anyway, the idea to bring these local souvenirs came to me one day upon waking. I certainly loved getting them, and I have a feeling someone else will be just as happy to receive one. Leis make people happy, the way that balloons and puppies make people happy. Giving them away just feels right.

Those leis never belonged to me anyway. At this point, I'm not exactly sure what does. Everything seems so exchangeable, or at the very least able to be recycled through the Universe in whatever way is deemed appropriate in the moment. Prepping my backpack was a real eye opener. Packing heavy was never an option, but the more I considered what needed to be included, the less I wanted to put in there. I don't need much. I don't have much to begin with. I do still have my apartment, now being cared for by my good friend Jill (thank you, Jilly!). I will admit that it felt a little strange to leave the keys behind, kind of the same way that it felt strange to sleep late every day after quitting my job and not knowing when I would be employed next. Of course it all felt strange. How could it not? But it also felt really, really awesome.

I have traded those keys in for the open road, and am en route to London. It is only time to relax, enjoy every moment, and trust that the future will take care of itself somehow. But first things first. Back here in the present, coasting at 36,000 feet above the big blue Pacific, all of this feels like a rush of blood to the head. There is a swirling going on all around me, slightly intoxicating yet comforting in an otherworldly sort of way. As my head spins, I can't help but think of a text conversation I had yesterday with my best friend, my cousin Maria, who wondered what state of mind I was in with only one day left before departing. I replied that I was honestly a bit stunned. She assured me that was good, to which I texted back asking her what the hell I was doing (along with lots of exclamation marks and tongue firmly planted in cheek). I knew exactly what I was doing. But her simple reply probably explains better than anything else the way I am feeling right now.

Living, she said. LIVING.

That's it. Life anew. Strange, but totally awesome. What a rush.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Last-Day Diaries

May 18, 2012. It's here. My last day at Starbucks. Drumroll, please.

2am: Woke up for the tenth time in three hours. Having a hard time sleeping. Did Santa come? Did he get my list? Wait. It's not Christmas. And I didn't make a list. No. It's my last day of work. That's all. Nine years. No real plans for the future. Excited. Nervous. Breathing very shallow. Adrenaline pumping, even though it's the middle of the night. Oh boy.

3:20am: Alarm sounds. Try to sit in meditation, and succeed for all of 30 seconds. During those 30 seconds, I breathe. Feels good. Breathing is good. Must remember to do this today.

3:45am: Bike to work for the last time. It's so damn early. How the @#! did I do this for so long? Who cares. It's almost over. Keep riding.

5:00am: Doors open. T-minus 7 hours and counting.

6:45-9:00am: The long line starts. Customers getting their Friday morning fix. I feel myself beaming. Holy crap am I excited. Line stretches out the door. It's loud. Busy as hell. I don't give a shit. It's my last day. Customers know this. Some hug me goodbye. Some give me leis. Some give me cards and gifts. How did this happen? A few months ago, this was a dream. Now it's reality. I'm smiling. Laughing. A customer goes off on me. I contemplate my response. It's my last day. I can tell her to fuck off if I want. But I don't. I take care of her issue, apologize, and send her happily on her way. I sing to myself: Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride. Nobody gonna slow me down. No way. Not today. Not now. I see the karmic circle of my life. Everything comes back eventually. Let her be. Good move, Paul.

10:00am: I have so many leis around my neck it is getting hard to move my head. I feel completely overwhelmed, and in the most beautiful way possible. I open some of the cards. One of them has $100 in it. This is the closest I come to tears all day. Wow. I quit my job to go backpacking and people are giving me money. No further evidence needed. People rock. And so does this decision.

11:08am: Clock out for the last time. I gather my coworkers around the garbage can. In go my shoes, dilapitated and appropriately worn out. People clap. I smile and let out a whoop. It's over.

11:30am: Sit at lunch with my friend Renee. She advises me of something I have not yet fully acknowledged: I just quit my job. Yep. I did. I laugh, wholly at ease with this realization.

2:00pm: Arrive home and initiate a new ceremony with my friend Jill. Work clothes, all tattered and torn, get tossed into the garbage. Goodbye black shirts and khaki shorts. More laughter ensues.

4:00pm: Waiting at bus stop on the way to happy hour with Jill. We strike up a conversation with a local man. He hands over a bus transfer. One of us rides the bus for free. Another gift, in a day full of them. Status quo.

4:10pm: On the bus, I feel something. It's a release from the inside out. I describe it as my soul escaping, as if the lid has finally been pried off its soular container. Hi-fives for everyone. I look around. Strangers are smiling at me. Oh wait. That's because I am smiling at them. I forgot about that permagrin etched across my face. On days like this, such things are second nature.

4:43pm and beyond: Martini glasses clink. Toasting to freedom. Holy shit. I'm free. Friends arrive. Hugs abound. Love is present. So much love. People tell me I am glowing. They tell me how proud of me they are. I take stock of these souls gathered around me. Even in my increasingly drunken state, I see it all so clearly. I am loved. I am accepted. I have everything I need, even without a job. I am blessed beyond belief. Humbled. Overflowing with love and gratitude. No words left to describe it. I'm tipsy. OK, I'm a little drunk. Doesn't feel much different than the rest of my day, though. What a day it has been. Quite possibly top-5 of all time.

Why such a high ranking? The Universe has my back, that's why. I am completely supported. I know it today. It's a fact. And days like this don't happen every day. But they can. I am sure they can. Today is proof. Endings and beginnings are truly one in the same. Both are a gift. It is my last day, yet it feels more like the first day of the rest of my life.

The Big Gay Blog

In case you live under a rock (which sometimes doesn't seem such a bad place to call home), you have probably by now heard the news. President Obama came out in support of same-sex marriage, no pun intended of course. But rather than debate the timing, motives, or legitimacy of such an endorsement, I found myself recalling days of yore.

More specifically, I thought about what it felt like growing up in the closet.

I have often wanted to write about this subject. To be sure, I have alot to say, and will likely have more to say than whatever comes out in this blog post. So be it.  Tonight, I am remembering myself at 12 years old, praying to God every night that I would be more interested in the opposite sex. Trying to pray the gay away I suppose. Hoping to be normal, to be accepted, to not go to "hell". This is not an exaggeration. It was lodged into my nightly prayers, right there between praying for straight A's on my report card and praying for a new face, one that included a smaller nose that the other school kids wouldn't make so much fun of. Now, grades and looks were pretty weighty issues for such a young kid, but nothing came close to the oh-so-heavy load of being attracted to the same sex. It was the grandaddy of all burdens. But there I lay each night, desperately asking the powers-that-be to lift it away for me. Did it ever happen? Er, sort of.

You see, eventually I stopped praying for such things as my own missing-in-action heterosexuality. I don't know why I stopped, I just did. I guess maybe I started to hear the desperation in my own voice when I made such a request.  Eventually I knew I had to stop begging. Nothing was changing. The more I understood about God, and the more I understood about myself, the less of an urge I felt to beg anyone or anything to change me. I evolved.  It was, however, a slow evolution. I dated women. I had sex with them. I would even say I enjoyed it on whatever level a 21-year old with a truckload of pent-up sexual energies could enjoy such liaisons.  Still, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that this was right for me, there was always something amiss.   

I even thought that one day I would marry a woman and possibly have kids with her, though on the inside I felt that would make me the most duplicitous person on the planet. Something always felt wrong about it to me. I didn't know what exactly, and would not know until my first encounter with a man at the age of 25. But I trudged along on that straight and narrow path for what seemed like forever. It was a lonely path.  Lord, was it ever.

Then, on my 25th birthday, I came to terms with the very words that had plagued me since I was a young boy. Somehow, saying them out loud made all the difference, even though nobody was around to hear them but me as I drove down an appropriately deserted Georgia highway. The verbal expression of these words was like a release from prison, as if I found the key to my own tiny cell after a long, miserable incarceration. I was gay. There was no going back. The very next day, I made a connection with a man. At long last, I knew what it was that felt wrong about being with a woman: I didn't want to be with them sexually. It just didn't make sense. It never did.  Sure, I loved being around them and had tons of female friends, but it didn't feel right to partner up with one. Of course it didn't. I was gay. Being with a man just felt normal to me in every way, as much as being with a woman feels right and normal to any heterosexual male. 

The simplicity in this revelation always makes me chuckle a little, even now.

I had made it so complicated for so long. In truth, none of it was ever really that convoluted. I just needed to accept this one small part of myself, the part that I had blown up using my massive societal magnifying glass through the years.  So accept it I did. Next, I started coming out to anyone and everyone who would listen, all in rapid fire succession. Along the way I found myself to be my own harshest critic. In spite of my fears, nobody shunned me. I was ready for it, but it never happened. Maybe it was the strength of my own conviction, or maybe I was just so in-your-face honest about it all, that most people had little choice but to deliver the same speech to me: You are still Paul. I want you to be happy. I love you. No matter who said these words--and whether they meant them fully or not--they always meant so much to me. To anyone who may be reading this, if this describes you, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You know who you are.  I want you to be happy, too. And I love you.

This is not to say that a pot of gold was always found at the end of my big gay rainbow. I have heard some pretty interesting things throughout the years. I have heard people tell me that they love me but do not accept my lifestyle, even though I never asked for such input or invited such a decree. I have heard people tell me that they love and accept me, but don't want to know anything about the whole gay thing, up to and including any potential partners I may have, while surely never considering what it would be like to be on the receiving end of such a thoughtless and uncaring statement. I have heard people tell me about heaven and hell, and which place I am doomed to. I have seen the judgement and hatred in their eyes while delivering such a sermon, and wondered to myself where they think they are going, and even more importantly, where spewing such venomous predictions makes them feel like they are right now.  Such harshness must feel like hell for them, or maybe it just looks and feels that way to the rest of the free world.  Real love is incapable of making such dark, gloomy proclamations.  I have yet to read or hear about any heaven devoid of love, or at least something that sounds close to what love purports to be.  To my own understanding, heaven or hell is absolutely, unequivocally happening now.  Why wait for death when you can experience something heavenly simply by learning how to love others more, open your heart more, and be more compassionate while you are here and can make a difference?

Today, President Obama decided to support same-sex marriage. Big deal. He is only one person, albeit the leader of one of the most powerful nations in the world. I just can't help but think that this must be personal to each and every one of us.  That is what affects real change. Taking it personally is the only way to get to the truth of our own judgements.  Every one of us knows a gay person.  There is probably a good chance that we know more of them than we think.  Think about those you know.  Those you love.  Look into their eyes.  Use your heart.  Forget everything else.  In this light, to think that any person should not have the right to legally share their lives with a partner of their choosing is silly.  Whether anyone understands another's relationship or even agrees with it is not only unnecessary, it is laced with self-righteous judgement.  Two human beings.  One relationship.  A commitment.  A family.  What else is there to say? 

Look, gay or straight, I think we all pretty much want the same things here.  We all want to love.  We want to be loved.  We want to share.  We are human beings.  This is what we do.  We express these needs and desires differently. So be it.  Some of us like men.  Some like women.  Some like both. So what.  Some of us like vanilla.  Some like chocolate.  Some like both.  It matters about as much. 

Judgement hurts.  Love doesn't.  We are all responsible for what we say and do.  Nobody and nothing outside of us wants us to be separate from one another.  Only we want such divisiveness--nobody else.  Feel like judging anyone for anything?  Point the finger at yourself.  Find some compassion there.  Find some love.  See it there first.  Feel its power, revel in its glory.  See those same traits in everyone else.  Find the connections.  Strengthen the ties that bind us together.  That is where we find heaven on Earth.  That is when real change can happen.  At least that is how I see it. 

I'm not 12 anymore.  My prayers these days are different.  If nothing else, perhaps Mr. Obama's announcement will be an answer to someone else's prayers, someone who feels as alone and desperate as I did all those years ago.  Hopefully this brings him or her some comfort. Inclusion sure feels good.  Thank God for that. 

The Excitement of Change

I'm so excited. And I just can't hide it. I'm about to lose control, and yes....I think I like it.

What, pray tell, has me quoting that ancient Pointer Sisters ditty and doing my little 80's dance these days? Change, that's what, or at least the prospect of change. Or maybe the decision to make a change, or simply watching the unfolding of change. Either way, ch-ch-ch-changes have me smiling. Some would (accurately) say I am beaming. I hear it most every day at work now. "Paul, why are you so happy?" "Paul, why are you in such a good mood?" "Paul, stop smiling so much!" (What can I say? There are a few haters out there.)

The reality is nothing has changed yet.  But somehow, everything has changed.

The other day someone asked me if it was a hard decision to leave Starbucks after nearly nine years. My knee-jerk reaction was to let out a guffaw so loud and harsh it even startled me a little, followed by a resounding "NO!". But within seconds, I gathered myself and thought about it. Um, YES. It had been a tough decision, one that I felt so powerless to make for as long as I can remember. But now? Hell, no. It was about as easy a decision as whether or not to eat that last piece of chocolate sitting in the fridge. Chomp. Gulp. All gone.

So what changed? I'm not sure, exactly. But something did.

Something had to have shifted in order for me to finally let go. Herein lies the mysterious beauty of change. My readiness snuck up on me, or so it seemed. It is always this way. One day you're slinging lattes as if resigned to the drudgery that comes with such a self-imposed life sentence, and the next day you are telling everyone where you are on the "countdown" to your last day, and wondering exactly how many more of those damn caffeine bombs you will have to make before D-day finally arrives. I love the unexplainability of it all. There is no reasoning necessary, no justifications, no nothing. It all just is.

But truth be told, such decisions never really sneak up on you.  Change seems to build, sometimes so slowly, so methodically, so quietly under the radar of consciousness, that it can spring up on you like one of those old jack-in-the-box toys. Man, I never liked those things.  But to continue the analogy, that dastardly little puppet doesn't ever pop out of his hiding place unannounced. You have to turn the crank to make it happen. Change sort of reminds me of that toy, only without the accompanying carnival music and (thankfully) without that little bugger scaring the holy hell out of you after an unspecified amount of turns of the metal lever. In life, every decision is a turn of the crank, no matter how small. It is only a matter of time before change has to pop up.  And even though we have been turning the crank ourselves the whole time, change still manages to surprise us when it finally appears, if only a little.   

From where I currently sit, with my present-day life sandwiched somewhere between the old and new, I guess it doesn't matter how I got here. I'm here, period. More specifically, today at work I was feeling about as free as I have ever felt behind that counter. I was laughing. I was chatting uncontrollably.  I was in the groove. I was totally feeling it, as long as "it" refers to a joie de vivre that seems more commonplace lately than anytime in recent memory.   But nothing lasts forever.  As such, every time I felt compelled to complain, bitch, or go off on someone during the less joyous times, I stopped myself to deliver a reminder: it just doesn't matter anymore. It actually never did. 

Now, I get to retrain myself.  I get to disrupt the old line of thinking, the old tape that wants to run through my head, advising me to get angry, frustrated, or irritated that this person or that person isn't cooperating with me. To get defensive if someone thinks I am slacking. Who cares! None of it means a hill of beans. I know this. But if it truly doesn't matter anymore, then why react? Habit I guess, and not a very good one at that.

Perhaps even more than any upcoming adventures, I am most excited about letting go of old ways. Not to be the master of the obvious here, but there is something so utterly refreshing about becoming unstuck. It is downright intoxicating at times, this realization that I don't actually have to do anything I don't want to do. Why this is news to me, I have no idea. But it's got me buzzing from the inside out.

Not a day goes by that I don't have a conversation with someone that lifts both parties high into the stratosphere of good feeling. Not a day goes by where I don't challenge some old line of reasoning floating through my mind, question my own fears, or see how senseless (and difficult) it has become to hold onto anything that doesn't serve me anymore. Not a day goes by where I don't exalt in gratitude, thankful beyond words that I am seeing things differently, thankful that I have choices and, most of all, thankful that I am choosing to do what feels right for me. I know this all sounds very simple, yet it can be so tremendously hard to trust, and so terribly difficult to follow.  Trust me, I know. 

Change is never easy, no matter how much we think we are ready. Perhaps this is why the choice alone to plow ahead and explore the unknown is cause for celebration. Listening to my heart and shedding some old skin is very exciting. And why not get excited about life? It's contagious, I tell you. I just can't hide it. Why should I try?  I may be about to lose control, but I most definitely like it. What's not to like, right? 

Amen, Sisters.

Hello Dalai!

The Dalai Lama is a cute, slight, bald whisp of a man.

This is my first impression upon seeing His Holiness emerge from behind the curtain, taking center stage amidst a sea of applause and eager anticipation. I have little previous knowledge of the man, and in all honesty have no reason for being here except that when his visit was announced, it made perfect sense that i would be here. Glancing skyward at the huge Jumbotron screen looming over the proceedings, from my seat up high in the nosebleeds, I see him there in all his Dalai Lama-ness, complete with long, flowing maroon robe and matching visor wrapped around his brown, nearly hairless scalp. I cannot recall ever having seen this man before, but he is pretty much exactly as I envisioned.

Oh, and one other thing. He is smiling. It's a mile-wide smile to be sure, but unlike any smile I think I have ever laid eyes on. He is grinning as if he has no reservations at all, this little old man in the maroon get-up, perfectly at ease with his surroundings and clearly at ease with himself. That smile is pure as the driven snow and yet warm as the midday sun on a lazy August afternoon. I am immediately captivated. He has yet to utter a word and here I am already surrendering, that smile of his so beguiling and disarming that I am defenseless to its charm. This man's mere presence has me covered in chicken skin from head to toe. I am crying, and though I can't really pinpoint why, it all feels just fine. More than fine, in fact. It feels wonderful.

I start to wonder whether any of the other 10,000 souls gathered here on this day are feeling the same way. I bask in this feeling awhile, and when I'm finally able to pull myself together, I decide to attempt to share my experience with my friend Curt, who is seated to my left. I immediately decide against it when I see him wiping away the liquid streaming down his own cheeks. A few seconds later our tear-soaked eyes meet, and we are both smiling and without speech. There is nothing to say. I guess that answers my question.

I know at least one other soul is seeing what I am seeing.

Time for the main event. The Dalai Lama is here to give an address titled "Advancing Peace Through the Power of Aloha". It is clear from the start, however, that this talk will be about whatever he sees fit to talk about on this lovely Sunday in paradise. He has no cue cards, no prepared speech. That is not how the Dalai Lama rolls. None of that interests him. Why not? We are all the same, he says. Exactly the same. This simple fact (to him) explains why there is no need for canned words. Speaking to us is like speaking to himself, like looking into a gigantic mirror and seeing his own sparkling reflection staring back at him joyfully. I get it, and for some reason this makes me giddy with laughter. It makes him laugh, too. Actually, it turns out lots of things make him laugh.

He laughs upon hearing the definition of the word "aloha", saying he had never really known its meaning each time he has ever said it (entirely forgivable, as the word has a multitude of uses and meanings). This cracks him up. He also laughs while discussing "serious" business too, including forgiveness, oppression, human rights, even wars. But make no mistake: this is by no means an irresponsible laugh. There is not a hint of judgment or sarcasm in this laughter of his. I would say it is almost childlike in its purity and innocence, but that would not be entirely accurate either.

Fact is, I don't think I have ever heard a laugh quite like the Dalai Lama's before. It is wise and compassionate, has a smooth, gentle power, and yes, it certainly contains more than a trace of that innocence. But above all else it is sincere. He's not laughing at anyone or anything in particular. Rather, he seems to be laughing at how silly all of this life stuff really is. Laughing is his way of acknowledging the truth, of happily taking everything with a grain of salt no matter how life-or-death important the rest of the world might deem it to be. Indeed, if laughter is the best medicine, then the Dalai Lama is an overstocked pharmacy full of remedies for exactly what ails us.

The talk continues for nearly one hour. Translator at his side, Mr. Lama rambles somewhat erratically from one topic to the next, and though his English is occasionally disjointed, the underlying current of his message is never, ever in doubt. We must find the peace within, he says. That's where it begins and ends. We must see that we are one. The solutions to the world's problems must be universal, excluding no one. Until we recognize this and live our lives according to this single concept, proclaims His Holiness, we will never be free from our misery.

I sit there, hanging on every word. I can't help but notice how serene this little man appears to be. He seems to embody real peace, and not in a hippieish, tie-dyed cumbaya sort of way either. The Dalai Lama's brand of peace is soulful. He glows, eyes twinkling, his presence magnetic. There is an incredible lightness about him, as if he might drift off into the ethers at any moment if he isn't careful, though I suspect the mere idea of such a demise would get him rolling in the aisles with...yes...more laughter.

At the end of his talk, the Dalai Lama sits back down on his chair at center stage. Time for some questions. One inquiry is about the perma-grin that resides on his face. Does he ever not smile? This question puzzles him for a moment, enough for that smile to disappear. But only briefly.

"Maybe when I am pushing and it won't come out", he announces, smile slowly returning. "Sometimes it is hard to go to the bathroom and during those times, I don't think I am smiling." This elicits perhaps the loudest response from the crowd all day. We could all relate. Yes, it seems the Dalai Lama is more like us, exactly like us, than any of us ever knew.

As the whole thing winds down, I keep paying close attention to that loose, tender smile cascading from ear to ear across his face. It is on display no matter what is happening around him--children dancing hula in his honor, people draping flowery leis around his neck, etc--and yet I speculate on how much he really cares about all of the pomp and circumstance surrounding his visit here. Not that he wasn't grateful for every minute, of course. It just seems obvious to me that the Dalai Lama has no real use for such displays. He merely wants to love us all, every last one of us. He doesn't need anything from anyone. He already has it all, and he wants us to have it all, too. And he clearly doesn't want to be worshipped, as any true spiritual being doesn't. He only exists to share. Sure, he has the words that we need to hear. But his presence alone speaks even louder by volumes.

Exiting the auditorium, I contemplate everything I have just seen and heard, understanding fully what an honor it was to share in such a rare visit. Of course, the Dalai Lama would (smilingly) disagree with that assessment. He would probably say I had simply been watching my own reflection for the past sixty minutes.

Fair enough. Only, somebody must have used up all the Windex in the world to get the glass so clear. There was nary a streak or smudge to be found, not today at least. For on this day, as I gazed joyfully into that squeaky-clean mirror, I absolutely loved what I saw reflecting back.

Giving (And Taking) Notice

I did something big last week. I gave my notice at Starbucks.

On the surface, this appears to be nothing too huge. After all, having been employed there nearly nine years, it was bound to happen sooner or later. Working in a coffee shop normally represents a transient position for most individuals, the one where you casually buy some time until the "right" job comes along. But not me. I made a career out of it. For me, it was the right job, and for a very long time.

I can remember way back in 2003 being an avid Starbucks customer, with a pricey two-a-day habit forming rather quickly. I would stop in for my white chocolate mocha on the way to work (not every morning, just the ones where I wanted to feel really, really good) and then proceed to suck down some form of frothy blended beverage (usually caramel) after lunch. Though I didn't spend much time loafing around the stores, those few magic minutes I would spend at Starbucks became my favorite part of most days. The employees were friendly and efficient, and often knew my drink before I had to utter a word (grande non-fat with whip white chocolate mocha, please!). Oh and yes, I was one of those people, the ones who balanced the whipped cream out with skim milk. So there. Sue me.

To be honest, I could have cared less what anyone thought. I just wanted the goods. Something about the sugary taste and fragrantly caffeinated aroma of that perfectly-concocted white chocolate deliciousness in the morning could make me sigh audibly and crack a huge smile within seconds of its first toasty-warm kiss upon my lips. Ooooo weeee. It sure was love at first sip. Damn, how I loved my coffee back then. And I certainly grew to love Starbucks. It was my home away from home, the place where I could affordably indulge in some legal drugs, escape from my unfathomably dull desk job, and of course, get a little (or not so little) buzz going. As I poured more and more of my hard-earned money into the place, I started to think I should just work there. I mean, I would get to drink free coffee all day while working, get a 30% discount when I wasn't behind the counter, and get a free pound of coffee every single week. All that, and I would even get a paycheck. Bonus!

So in May 2003, I decided to apply for a part-time job there, weekends only since I already had full-time work. Ten hours per week was all I wanted. I got hired on the spot. I remember thinking that acquiring this little job was somehow going to be much bigger to the whole of my life than it seemed at first. Boy, was that prophetic.

Here are some of the numbers: Worked in three different states over eight-plus years, transferring from Georgia to California to Hawaii. Managed two stores. Held all four possible positions in the retail stores, some of them more than once (e.g. right now I am on my second tour as shift supervisor). Made countless friends, connections, and acquaintances in every single place I worked. Not too shabby for what began as nothing more than a way to help pay for my burgeoning caffeine addiction.

Starbucks certainly turned out to be a good fit for me. I would even say it fit me like a glove, and would probably say it was the job most appropriate to who I have been during this most recent phase of life. I somehow landed in work that required me only to talk, smile, be myself, and be curious about others, all very doable tasks and consistent with my own natural demeanor.  A love of coffee was not required, but having that proclivity sure didn't hurt.

Giving my notice last week was bittersweet to say the least. It didn't happen as I planned, but it was all perfectly imperfect. I know I am ready to move on. Yet making it all official felt like I was finally parting with my favorite teddy bear, the old beat-up one that I've slept with for the past several years. You know the one, with just a single straggly ear left and whose fuzzy brown body is all pilled up from the wear and tear of being your lone source of security and comfort every night. Not that you clutch him fiercely anymore, or even touch him at all during dreamtime. Those days are long gone. No, he's just the bear you simply can't bear to part with, the one you know you can do without but whose familiar presence is hard to let go of.  That is, until now.

As an adult I have moved around quite a bit, settling here and there all over the United States for some period of time before moving on to my next temporary home.  In stark contrast to that semi-nomadic existence, my employment history has been a model of surprising stability by most current standards. I have only really held three jobs since graduating college seventeen years ago. One job lasted two years, another one more than seven years, and then Starbucks, which would make nine years on May 29. But that anniversary isn't going to happen. I didn't want to wait. No more waiting for dates that have no meaning. Instead, I will be starting a new adventure that day, one that has been dancing around in my mind and heart for many months now. One that effectively trades that worn-out teddy bear in for, well.....something brand new, and decidedly, something very much unknown.

I'm going to Europe. Backpacking.  For two months.  

As word of this trip has leaked out to our regular customers, I find myself answering lots of questions with my new favorite phrase: I don't know. Like, for instance, where will I go? Where will I stay? What will I do when I return? How can I afford to do this on my measly barista salary? Blah blah blah blah blah. The other day I think I actually threw in a heartfelt "who gives a shit?" to one woman, who promptly laughed and congratulated me on my impending freedom.

I may not know much yet, but there are a few things I do know. I know that when I am merely in conversation with people about this decision, I cannot stop the diarrhea of the mouth that comes over me. I get chills. I laugh, get tears, and get caught in a divine updraft so strong that if I had hair it would probably blow right off the top of my head. I also know I have seen the same reaction in others who share in my storytelling. They see the inspiration, the spirit, the romance in my eyes when I muse about this pending journey. It is tailor-made for me, they say. And I couldn't agree more.

Am I nervous? Of course, but in a "what if everything I asked for is not under the Christmas tree?" kind of way. No matter what, there will still be gifts. I guess there comes a moment when it's finally time to go out into the world and see what happens when you just trust. Of course, it is imperative that you actually trust your own ability to trust. For me, that time has finally arrived.

If there is one other thing I do know, it is that getting comfortable with not knowing is already setting me free. I am craving adventure. I want to see the world. I have nothing holding me back. As a close friend pointed out, a trip to Europe is purely a symbol for my own freedom. I get that. It's a whim, a chance, and a very exciting one at that.  It is also the polar opposite of everything that Starbucks has represented to me over the past few years.  But that is ok.  Thankfully, there is no timetable on living authentic to who and what we believe we are in this world. The best any of us can do is just keep getting to know better what makes us happy, what fills our heart and soul, and let our surroundings change and evolve as often as necessary.  It takes a certain amount of courage, this constant reinventing and reevaluating, and it only works when the time is right. 

Truth is, I don't know where I'm going. Eh. So what. It's like the first line of that old Whitesnake song from the 80's proclaimed, "I don't know where I'm going, but I sure know where I've been." Simple but true. The only thing left is to embrace the unknown and prepare to shed a few fears along the way.

In the meantime, I sure do know where I've been for almost nine years. It has been a great ride, Starbucks. I know you like the back of my hand.  We probably know each other a little too well in fact.  But either way, the time is fast approaching to say goodbye to the familiar and hello to the who-knows-what.

I don't need to know where I'm going, and am just starting to get comfortable with saying I don't know again. But I am sure that it is time to accept the spaciousness that exists behind those words, to listen for guidance and allow the wide-open, anything-is-possible results that come from not having to be in control every step of the way. To get comfortable with being uncomfortable, and really experience that I have everything I need and always will, regardless of whether I acknowledge it or not. Ah, yes. That sounds perfect to me.

Right now, I'm noticing that all of this is making my heart smile. I guess giving notice has a way of doing that, and so much more. What else exactly? I don't know.  I just know that not knowing isn't quite so scary anymore.

It's time.  I'm ready.  Take notice, unknown.  I'm coming for you.   

An Inspiration Proclamation

Inspiration is what's left after you let go.  It is everywhere.  And it is not just the cherry on top of the sundae;  it's the whole ice cream shop.  It is not the prize at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box; it's the entire cardboard package, sailor logo and all.  Having searched high and low for a way to express my own intensely scattered observations on the subject of what inspiration means to me these days, this is the best I can come up with.  It is all around us.  Sure, true inspiration can come in those big dramatic 'a-ha!' moments of delightfully powerful life-changing insight, but it can also be as simple as that initial moment of sensory overload erupting from the first sip of strong, black coffee in the morning, the one that lights the fire of the brain and opens our eyes wide to a new day loaded with possibility. 

More than anything, inspiration just seems to happen when you are willing to allow it.  It is what's left when you give up control and go along for the ride.  In short, inspiration can be found in every nook and cranny of life.   It's everywhere. 

It doesn't always feel like this.  Oh, hell no.  Sometimes it feels like there isn't a shovel big enough to dig our way through the muck to get to the inspiration well at the bottom of it all.  Occasionally, we forget there is even a shovel.  That is what makes the sweet discovery of an inspired moment all the more confounding in its sheer joy and wonder.  We never really know how it happens, it just does.  The brain could not have conceived of it, which for me is probably the beginning point of every inspired moment I have ever experienced.  It seems that once I am out of my mind, the real fun begins. 

I really love when I am awestruck about the inner workings of the universe, as if I were able to peek into the mind and heart at the center of it all and see what all the fuss is really about.  Or rather, how there is actually no fuss, nothing to worry about, and truly nothing to fear but fear itself.   Being conscious of the merry-go-round that keeps this whole dream going is probably the best gift any of us can ever discover.  This particular present is always found in the present, and nowhere else. 

What of this merry-go-round, anyway?  What is it made of?  How does it exist?  Those questions I cannot answer.  They are not for me to describe, as they must be experienced by each of us for the full effect of what it feels like to be riding it.  We only need to see it in our own lives, like the other day when a five-minute conversation with a total stranger lifted me out of a work-induced, severely apathetic fog and sent my spirit soaring.  The exchange was exactly what I needed to hear, at exactly the right time, and in exactly the setting.  I could not have planned it.  I couldn't have written a better script.   I only needed to pay attention, and read the script that was right in front of me at that moment.  I just had to accept it and be open to it. 

Inspiration was knocking on the door, and I answered.  I was certainly exhausted before the talk began, but I swear I could have ran a marathon after it was finished.  Yes, right behind that door was a turbo-charger that kicked me out of desperation and into inspiration.  It's like that sometimes, isn't it?  We walk along, minding our own business, and then BOOM.  Inspiration hits, and yet it's never in the package we think it should have come in.  It seems to come to us out of the clear blue, but my sense is that it's probably more accurate to say that we were finally willing to see what was right in front of us all along.  That is the beauty of it.  We let go enough to experience it, making the choice to stop holding on to our own ideas of the way things oughta be and instead allow something else to take over.  We make room for another way. 

Perhaps that is the key to everything, that it all starts inside.  Maybe inspiration really comes from the inside out. 

I always like the idea that we are mirrors for each other.  That makes sense to me.  If I watch what I'm seeing in the world, I can closely monitor what I see in myself.  It's all there in living color--the fears, the loves, the attitudes, the judgements, the generosity.  This is all part of that merry-go-round.  I notice this give and take in my own personal discoveries.  Walking around town with an authentic smile, feeling good and letting it show, I inevitably encounter other smiling faces.  I talk to people.  I find out things.  I am curious, and that curiosity leads me everywhere.  In this scenario I feel more connected and more uplifted just by participating. 

Walking around frowning, numbing out, staring down at my phone, or just lost in the bog of my own thoughts, nothing happens.   No interactions.  No smiles.  Nada.  The world doesn't seem so friendly. There is no sharing.  I feel separate, as if I have to do this all on my own.  Life is a constant struggle.

In both instances, it's as if I....gulp....was looking into a mirror.  It is the true litmus test for me.  I don't have to lie to myself anymore.  I only need to look at my life to see what's really going on, kind of like when Dr. Phil admonishes his problem-addled guests with a semi-mocking "how's that working for ya?" after they have explained their beliefs and approaches to their own miserable lives.  Gotta give the Doc some credit for that one.  There is simple truth there.  If I want to see what I believe, what I really believe, all I have to do is be willing to see what is playing out right before my own honest eyes.  I may not like what I see, but it's hard to argue the validity when it's all right there in plain sight.

I think this is what inspiration means for me currently.  It involves seeing the whole picture, or as the contradiction of the old saying goes, actually seeing the forest for the trees.  I get inspired by being a part of the big green forest.  Life as a singular tree just doesn't have as much pizazz.  I need the other trees in ways that are only now becoming clear to me.  I don't need to single out another tree as much as I need to be a part of the woods in its entirety, to hold my own space while openly sharing with the other forest inhabitants.  In this way, inspiration equals connection.

Something just inspired me to look up the online definition of "inspiration".  There are a few, but my favorite one describes inspiration as divine guidance or influence exerted directly on the mind and soul of humankind.  Such a definition keeps inspiration right where it belongs: squarely in the mind and soul of the inspired, intensely personal and emanating from within. 

No more maybes.  I am convinced and yes, even inspired enough, to proclaim that we really can't find inspiration out there until we find it in here.