Bend, OR
Elevation: 3,623 ft.
10:08

It felt like the valve had been pulled on my anxiety. I could feel the weight of dammed up sadness, depression, stress, anxiety, and resentment pouring out of me. You could almost hear the whistle as I sat there in Spoken Moto deflating. Sinking deeper and deeper into my chair. A heap - grateful and exhausted.

I was finally full-time truck living. From conception it took a little over two months to prep the truck, purchase gear, and adapt my cooking and storage to the space of my 4Runner, Rhyhorn. Then there was the chaos of downsizing and moving what things I needed into Rhy and what I wanted into a 5 x 5 storage. Every free moment before and after work as well as all of my weekends were dedicated to the cause.

Even before the dust began to settle I knew that I wanted to end my old chapter and begin my new chapter at Spoken Moto, with a hot coffee and closed eyes. And so I sat. Writing, drifting, and soaking in the quiet cold of my first night.

I had no idea that so much of my anxiety and depression was tied to my belongings and my space. There was something about having a room, a bathroom, a kitchen, a pantry, a closet, a garage and having all of my things spread across them that filled me with a strange sense of responsibility and commitment. I felt like I needed to keep track of all of those things, to take care of the spaces themselves, to fill them with more things, and to start and end my days with them nearby. Not to mention having to share some of these spaces with others and that I had to PAY SOMEONE ELSE’S house off just to have a roof over my head as I buried myself in depression and anxiety. Getting rid of things that couldn’t fit in my truck and storage unit lifted a lot of these self-imposed commitments off of me and I felt lighter and happier with each sentimental thing I donated or threw away. Moving away from my roommates freed my mind and gave me back the power to invest my time, energy, and money into a space and a life that I owned.

Being back in Rhy meant that my life was once again on the road and on the go. I could choose where to end and start my days and no matter where I travelled everything I needed would be with me: the sentimental, the functional, the meaningful. Organizing, cleaning, and maintaining Rhy was no different than the everyday chores I did living in remote Hawaii and Alaska - taking care and ownership of a space that takes care of you. I didn’t realize just how much I missed that.

I have been blessed to be able to start this journey in Bend. My friends have generously shared their spots with me and have offered their driveways and homes if I ever need a warm place to stay. In the lonely weeks leading up to a holiday about reflection and gratitude I unexpectedly found myself surrounded by love.

My former living situation combined with a fresh batch of romantic rejection, terrible (and expensive) food, and an increasing feeling of isolation had formed a new weight on me since deciding not to blow my brains out over the love-of-my-life in May. The added stress of not making nearly enough money to pay for my anxiety-filled home, food, and actually have savings pushed me to consider leaving Bend for somewhere where at least I would have community (and better food).

The move into Rhy came as an immediate, desperate solution to the housing and money parts of the problem but what I didn’t expect, and am so incredibly grateful for, is how it brought me closer to my friends.

There is something easy but powerful about spending simple time with the people you care about. It feels better, it feels good, and it feels natural. I have spent my whole life building communities filled with love and friendship but have spent that same time moving all over the country, and away from them. Caught up in the bleeding chest wound that has been my crash landing in Bend I have been so preoccupied with triaging my anxieties, fears, heartache, and insecurities that I have barely made time to spend simple time with the people around me.

Like my grad school advisor told me the day I wept in her office as the pressure and sadness of a spiraling PhD program, moving back to Virginia, losing my grandpa and grandma and uncle and other grandma and other grandpa and cousin, and my crumbling partnership poured itself out of my face and all over my meeting notes -

“I think maybe you should try spending time with the people, who want to spend time with you”.

With what felt like the suddenness of a pulled power cord the pace of my life changed completely once I moved back into Rhy. Suddenly I was 25 and in the Klamath mountains again. Experiencing the West Coast for the first time, living and working odds and ends ecology jobs out of Rhy, getting nakey nakey outside every chance I could find, and exploring as much as I could on my days off. With the change of pace also came a simpler way of living, one that helped to open my heart up again in a way I have not felt since I first moved to the PNW.

The sacred timing of the Universe could not have been better. It was with a present mind, an open heart, and god-willing the lowest anxiety I have had since 2015 - that I got to spend Thanksgiving with three wonderful groups of friends.

The land here is beautiful and sacred and the smell of juniper will always bring me back to the high desert but it is community that would make me stay. I spent Thanksgiving with three different groups of friends that reached out and wanted to share time and space with me. Of all the things they could have been doing with their lives and partners, they decided to share those moments with me. For the first time since moving the Bend I felt like I could see the beginnings of a community I could be a part of.

On gratitude and living for yourself I have these last things to say. I am 32. I don’t own my own house in Southern California or work in IT. I don’t make 6-figures or have a job where I can work from an airbnb in Thailand. And I absolutely will never own a Tesla. But I do want a family. And I do want a partner that will love me and us and themselves. And I will do everything I can to see as much of the beauty left in this world, with what is left in me.

I think that’s what it’s really all about.

Chris

Written to: “Hawk is a Mule” by Andrew Marlin