There’s an inn right along the center-coast of Oregon – more like an airbnb – with a pizzeria attached. A long road trip it was.
Oregon just sparkles in flowers along Highway-101. Lots of variation. Some parts dip deep into pine forest scattered with a “bumblebee bloom” as the best description, if you could pick out any forms at all. It all seemed so smeared.
And I’m walking out and around this moderate Oregon town with some twisted metal for the curves along the coast – hopefully it kept cars from tumbling.
A simple beach with jutted rock and seaweed so we’ll don it as veggesom. Small footprints from an Oregon family hours before. It was summer after all. Lots of rocks.
At the time whoever was there was rather unsteady. The sensation of always floating in mild rain. Disorienting. In addition it was only a party of two after all, a party of silence most days. You’d be surprised how quickly conversation exhausts on road trips, along with casette tapes – at least we could whisper that spotify playlists could be casette tapes, though we all know it all pales in comparison to the trailblazers of the seventies with no bubbled-wrap GPS and Internet and exploring the world as one Ought To®.
A mild mist held in the morning horizon. Wooden storefront looking out toward the two of us along the shore. Was it insignificant?
Derek Sivers once wrote about boarding himself up along the coast of Oregon. Kept it there for 7 months roughly. Making songs of whatever fancy. It is a fairy tale if you let it be, especially with the perpetual rainy days sustaining the puddles between shore and sterile inns.
How many outposts do you want to see before you’ve seen it all?
It’s just funny because the afterglow-as-heavy-cologne stuck for the following workweeks back in Washington.
But now it’s all faded away. And it’s better in a way. There’s no need to label it. It’s more appropriate to have it cradled between relative history and a dream. All a fib.
Who was on that beach that day? Did they vanish? Or never existed.
In the same sense, taking everything and attaching a “perhaps” to it feels like dodging all the sludge most want to keep on as fashion.
Imagine if you could do that with all of your insecurities.
And we can even make it so with this portion of text.
The less things exist, the more relaxed one may find themselves. Maybe.
To become one with veggesom.