All of my ramblings on one site

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These Stand for Me

I spent my weekend in Seattle. I flew into San Francisco on Friday (the 23rd), and was to connect to a flight to Seattle 2.5 hours later. I went outside to vape and wow.. The air smelled like the beach, but in a really nice, refreshing way. The air was cool (in the 60's) compared to Rhode Island's humid 80 degree weather. I can't wait to be able to explore there one day.

Shortly after I landed, I started to panic. When I first booked this trip, I was flexing the muscle of a badass, independant woman who wasn't afraid to go to the west coast for the first time, all alone.

As is it started to feel more real the closer I got to actually leaving, the more I would guilt and doubt myself. Why am I doing this? Was it impulsive, am I running away from something? Ultimately, no. I genuinely wanted to go to Seattle to attend Layne Staley's annual tribute. I knew that no one would be able to afford or want to go with me, and I was genuinely fine with going by myself. No compromises, no making sure the other person is having a good time by sacrificing my own good time. I would be free to roam, eat, sit, explore, and relax to my hearts content. And that's what I did!

Anyhow, I had a melt down and called Devin. I felt so sad and guilty that I wouldn't be sharing this experience with him. I really felt that, and I think it was a totally normal response to my circumstances, being completely alone on the other side of the country, and wishing I had someone to share my adventure with. I still wish he was there with me, but in going it alone, I also learned a lot about myself in my two and a half days I spent there.

One would be that my legs are fucking rad and carried me for over twenty miles of hiking through unknown, urban terrain. I had my step counter on for all of Saturday and Sunday, where I walked 17,000+ miles the first day and 21,000+ the second, for a total of approximately 21 miles.

Another thing I learned is that, not to toot my own horn, but other people recieved me pleasantly, and I was able to have really refreshing conversations with total strangers. That is absolutely wild for me because I feel like no one really cares about what I say or do, and I normally feel pretty dismissed. However, I had a few conversations on my trip that make me feel otherwise. I will keep these interactions close to my heart forever, and I never got even one of their names.
Though I missed Devin the whole time and wished he was with me, this trip was a paramount deposit into my bank of monumental personal experiences. Saturday night was the Layne Staley memorial concert. The concert itself was pretty fun, just a bunch of different, talented guys doing covers of Alice in Chains songs, even very obscure ones. However, Layne's mom came out and greeted everyone. She told us that she had always wanted to sing with Layne, and this show was the only way she would be able to now. The venue played "Wake Up", sung by Layne in Mad Season. Layne's mom sang along with the song, with Layne's voice, choking on her words a few times. We all felt her that night, and it was such an honor to be in her presence. A woman who uses her sons tragic death and platform to help those in need of rehab. The revenue from the merch and tickets were donated to the Layne Staley Foundation, and goes into rehabs in Seattle.

On Sunday, I took an Uber to Kurt Cobains house. It was quietly peeking behind tall, manicured bushes, overlooking the sparkling Puget Sound. I sat on the memorial bench, I sat under the very tall pine, that created a room around the massive trunk with its heavy, sloping branches. I sat in those places, I read the messages on the bench, I meditated on what little any of us know of him. I took it all in. It was like my teenage self, all the anger and rage, was reassured and finally able to rest. I reached it. I fucking made it to Kurt Cobain's house. I took a very small pinecone and two little rocks to have as a tangible link to the memory.

I also saw Bruce Lee's grave, which was pretty rad. It's kind of sad that his grave is a tourist attraction, but I saw nothing but love and respect from the other people who were visiting it.

I woke up in Texas this morning. It was hot and sticky, much like the weather in Florida. It reminded me of walking to the bus stop in the morning when I was in middle and highschool. The memory matched with the unsavory climate made my stomach turn and I sat in the empty airport for the rest of my layover.

Overall, my experience was largely positive, but at times very emotional. I proved to myself that I AM a brave, badass, independant woman, even if I missed my husband the whole time. I will hold this adventure dear to me forever. However, I'm really happy to be home. Except for the whole, you know, going back to fuck ass work thing.

9:41 p.m. - 2019-08-26

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The past the present, and the future