No Answer

Image thanks: madam-zelda.blogspot.com

Remember the post about a month ago (Discovering Courage) in which I found two phone numbers for a possible J. Wellington? I was able to rule out one number and left with an unanswered ring on the other. My anxiety peaked at that time as I tried dialing the numbers…

Well, I’m happy to report that the second phone call was much more relaxed.

And I was still met with NO ANSWER.

Brrrrinnnng brrrrinnng brrrrinnnng was all I heard.

Not so fun (sigh).

The last few days I've been thinking a lot about Joe "Wellington" and our brief time together. I reread through my San Francisco journal, just in case there was something I missed. No luck. I've been trying to remember things that were said, things we did, and it all seems to lead me toward dead ends.

One cool thing we did: saw a psychic. She gave us readings separately, Joe waiting for me while I went because I didn’t want to walk back to the hostel in the dark alone.

I believe in the gift of clairvoyance. I have very dear friends, who I admire, who have that gift. But there are some psychics out there who give these people who have the true gift a bad name. The psychic I saw in San Fran was one of those.

She wanted my money. All of it. And she even asked me for it! After reading my cards, she said she would keep a candle burning for me until I returned with “all the money you have” and continue the reading. She was even so bold to ask me how much money I had. Of course, I didn’t tell her. If I did not return, she said she would blow out the candle and apparently I would be met with misfortune…? I can’t remember exactly what the consequence was, but I didn’t return. Maybe that’s why I can’t find Joe Wellington?

This instance is important to me now because I feel like these past few weeks I’ve had questions remain unanswered. And I don’t even know what the questions are, if that makes any sense. There is just a general, open-ended, search for meaning happening in my life right now. The Existentialists out there can appreciate that.

I’ve had horrible writer’s block. I feel antsy when I don’t write, and I want to write about everything… but nothing has been flowing. I began several posts but none felt right. I couldn’t find the answer to my non-question. Ha!

The weather change makes me feel like Thanksgiving is right around the corner but it’s only May. It brings on this intense homesickness that I can’t seem to shake and the only reprieve I find is that I know we’ll be heading to the States in only a few months. But again, that lingering sorrow just tugs at my spirit. Again, looking for answers.

Along with the homesickness, comes this aching loneliness. Lonely for what exactly, I don’t know. Perhaps, just lonely for a connection. My social life has been scattered, with friends laid up with illness, filming, or working, or just busy getting ready to hibernate for the winter. I’m constantly with my son so I shouldn’t feel lonely (?). Yet, I’m still looking for answers.

I remind myself that sometimes the answers lie in the not knowing; the uncertainty; the unmotivated; the loneliness; the insecurity. So I wait. I practice patience. I allow myself to sit with all these thoughts and pent up creative energy that is festering until it can ooze out of me at the right time. My purpose is just to enjoy all of it. Let it sit, let it float out there in the universe, and the answers will come.

As I replay in my memory the moments shared in San Francisco 1998, I wonder what the answer will be... Where’s Joe Wellington?

Me with Joe Wellington in 1998. He was real!

Brrrrinnng brrrrinnng brrrrinnnng is all I can hear in my head right now.

Maybe not having an answer is enough.

Searching for Greatness

photo courtesy nz.news.yahoo.com

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were in New Zealand for ten days. I have never cared much about the British monarchy. I am an American; why would I care? Yet, I will admit I found myself watching The Royal Wedding in April 2011. And as a child, I had a Princess Diana paper doll that was one of my favorites (I still have it tucked away somewhere as a keepsake). My heart melted along with many others when the news of Diana’s death splashed across the TV in August 1997. And I wept as I saw her two young sons walk behind her casket with their heads down. I couldn’t help but feel so sad for those boys who lost their mum. Okay, so maybe I do care.

So hearing of Prince William’s visit to NZ with his family excited me. The day they arrived, I was hit with “Royal Fever”. Hearing all the hype, seeing the road closures for their motorcade to pass through, seeing the photos, knowing where they were staying… I was hooked. I knew the only chance I would be able to see them would be when they did a public walk through Wellington’s Civic Square on the last day of their NZ tour. At the time, I still had a week to think about how I could catch a glimpse. I knew, in my mind, that this would be epic. How many chances do you really get to see in the flesh the future King and Queen of England?

All week I brainstormed about how I would have to push my son’s nap back so that we could attend. I figured out that we would need to get there early in the morning to get a good spot. And I even decided that my son would wear his felt crown that has a ‘G’ on it… just in case we do get up close to them. Yes, it was going to be amazing! A once in a lifetime event!

Wednesday, the last day of their trip in NZ, arrived. My son woke up early and I could not get him back to sleep. This might get in the way of our plans… but “No worries”, as they like to say here. I will manage.

My son then decided he didn’t want to get dressed. So I let him wear his penguin pajamas. Yes, he can meet the Royals in his pajamas. Lovely. Of course, he didn’t want to leave the house. Finally with enough song and dance and daddy carrying him out to the car, we were on our way.

Then there was the rain. Rain so bad that there was flooding on the motorway. Traffic backed up due to the flooding. On the radio, the host spoke of how anyone outside waiting to see the Duke and Duchess would have to be “die-hard royal fans”. I don’t think that’s me… but maybe it was? We had our rain gear on and I was ready to make my toddler suffer in the cold dark rain with me just to…  to do what? To get a wave?

I explained to my husband before dropping him off at work what a big deal this was. It’s rare to see the royals out and about. They’re not like “regular” celebrities who get to put on a concert. These tours are pretty much your only chance. Not to mention, we don’t live in London. The next time they come to NZ will probably be another twenty years or so.

It’s about the excitement of being a part of something. Feeling the energy of the rest of the country; feeling the city come alive with the understanding that WE are going to be a part of history… a part of Greatness.

I looked at my son sitting in his car seat in the back. Rubbing his eyes, yawning, I decided to throw in the towel on this idea. Buckets of rain continued to pour down on us and my heart sank at the realization that this just wasn’t going to work. While driving away, I saw the gate that leads to where the Royals were staying and the motorcade began to line up. Security officers at every stoplight, I got honked at by one who gestures to me to stop texting while sitting at a stoplight. For the record, I wasn’t texting…I was simply getting my phone ready for a photo opportunity if there was one…(I should have been paying attention).

Barely able to see the road, I was on the motorway toward home, looking behind me every so often to see if the motorcade started to close the road. My son began to do his siren noise as he does whenever he sees a police car or ambulance. It’s a lovely high-pitched piercing tone that really resonates in my head… he’s very talented.

Moving to NZ has opened me up to the possibilities of each day. It has showed me that you truly never know what could happen, especially when following your bliss. So much of our time here is routine for us because we have a toddler. It’s always an “experience” because we live in NZ but on Wednesday, I felt like something magical could have happened had we gone to see them.

My son asleep at home, I reach for my computer to look up images from the live blog. There they are, pictures of them arriving at Civic Square. Kate looking gorgeous as always, and Will looking so gracious. Sheer perfection.

I am reminded that my life is so much greater now that I have this little toddler to focus on. Every day IS magical because of him. I don’t need to be rubbing elbows with royals in order to feel a sense of belonging. I do belong. Not just to America or New Zealand, but to the World. And not just to my family, but also to a beautiful boy who looks to me to help him create his story.  And maybe it might sound something like this, “I almost saw the Duke and Duchess when I was two years old but my mum decided it was more important for me to take a nap. I have a great mum.”

So… Dear Duke and Duchess of Cambridge, Thank you for showering our country with your positive presence. Thank you for making us all glow for ten days amidst the rain. Thank you for helping us all feel as though we belong.

And thank you for reminding me that I’ve got all the greatness I need right here at home. 

p.s. Prince George is NOT Joe Wellington. No need to ask. 

Discovering Courage

There they are. Two phone numbers. Surname 'Wellington' with an initial of 'J'. Could 'J' stand for 'Joe'? Let me back up...

While conducting another online search to track down 'Joe Wellington', I scour the LinkedIn profiles that pop up. I can tell they aren't the Joe Wellington I'm looking for. Frustrated, dreading that it might finally be time to make a few calls.

Tap, tap, return: "wellington nz white pages" in google, my heart racing and ears ringing. After navigating through the search engine, sixteen options in the Wellington City region pop up. Extending the search north, twenty-nine phone numbers appear on the screen. Among the Wellington Badminton Association and the Wellington Chinese Baptist Church, I find the two most promising leads. High on alert from adrenaline, I set my phone aside to take a deep breath.

You'd think it'd be easy to just call, right? What's stopping me? This is it. All I have to do is punch in the digits and ask for Joe. Simple. Where's my courage?

The past few years, I've become in tune to what my body is telling me. And in this moment, my heart racing, blood rushing, my anxiety peaks. My conscience not wanting to miss the fun, it decides it's time to start with the self-doubt: What's the point of this? Do I really want to find him? He won't remember me. Will I be able to explain well enough who I'm looking for? They're going to think I'm silly. 

In my life, there's been plenty of anxious situations that at times were paralyzing. I've had to fight my way through it one way or another. Often, in my early twenties, I dealt with it by using drugs or alcohol. Luckily, I realized that wasn't the lifestyle I wanted to have anymore and got healthy. Pretty much overnight. As if a light bulb went off in my head that said it had ENOUGH. It's not that easy for a lot of people, and I don't know how I was able to stop almost effortlessly except to say that I began to give myself the life I knew I wanted... and I discovered my worth. That's a story in itself.

When I met Joe "Wellington" in San Francisco it was 1998. I was just a baby (19) having a "gap year". That was probably the start of my anxiety. Joe helped me through it. He was a sweet soul to hang out with, respectful, also a baby in similar ways even though he was older than me by a few years.

Killian, Joe, me, and two others from Australia (I think)

One particular incident from San Francisco was when my friend (I really didn't know him but was connected to a family friend from Minnesota, so we hung out), Killian and I decided to find tickets to a Black Crowes concert. I worshipped their song, "She Talks To Angels." It was sure to be a fun adventure. My homesickness severe, having never really left the comfort of my Minnesota box. I was full of fear about to be unbearable, almost developing into a full-blown panic attack. So, before we left the motel, a few cocktails for "liquid courage" helped (this was a defining moment for me in my awareness of how one might develop an addiction). At the concert venue, Killian stood on one end of the street while I stood on another. Long queues of people waited to get in. It was my job to stand on the corner and ask the passersby, "got an extra ticket?" A nineteen-year-old blondie from the Midwest, standing on the street corner asking for an extra ticket is bound to receive a mouthful of (disgusting) comebacks: "I already gave mine away to another pretty girl" and "No, baby, but how desperate are you?" (anxiety!!). I was grateful my friend came to the rescue with two tickets and we were allowed inside (wall to wall people=more anxiety!). Obviously, the night ended well. The concert incredible. A life-changing night.

But the anxiety is still there at times. And I accept it. I don't try to fight my way through it anymore. I used to get into trouble when I tried to push the anxiety away or got upset with myself for having anxiety. Reality is it's there to help me. Everyone has anxiety- it is the body's fight or flight response to a situation- it's there to tell you to pay attention. It's a good thing.

Now, while dialing a phone number doesn't create as much panic as being a young kid in an unknown city far away from home, as I call the first "Wellington" on my list, the anxiety creeps up. It can hit any time.

Try not to internalize other people's judgments of you, I tell myself. I breathe into it and accept that what I might really be feeling is excitement. They're very similar feelings.

The phone rang and rang and rang while my heart pounded, pounded, pounded.

Answering machine. Based on their outgoing message, 'J' does not stand for 'Joe'. Whew.

Next call. The phone rang and rang and rang and I breathed, breathed, breathed. No answer... I guess I'll have to try that one later.

And I'll have to breathe through it again, accept the emotions that come with the memories, and continue to believe not only may I discover Joe Wellington... I may discover the courage I thought I lost.

Where Is Home?

Looking at the South Pacific from beautiful New Zealand

My family just moved into a different house here in New Zealand. We arrived in the country eight months ago and at the time were put in temporary housing until finding our own place.

Not knowing much about Kiwi housing, we found a place quickly that was in the city and suited our needs at the time. Our first night in the house, we had a terrible storm with strong southerlies. Our house, which we didn’t know at the time, was facing south (something you have to pay attention to here). Being up high on a hill, the wind hit our house with full force, which left us often feeling as though we were in the center of a tornado. This house had no insulation whatsoever; the heat from the wood burner was swept right through the cracks. Our walls and windows whistled so loudly that I couldn’t tell if it was the baby crying or a dying cat outside.

Finally moving into summer weather, we thought we could put the electric heaters away. That was not the case. Our house was bone-chilling cold. It was the middle of the summer and on windy days we were dressed in sweaters due to the lack of insulation and sunlight.

But it was home.

Everyone said to us this was what to expect out of Kiwi houses and that we would eventually get used to it. But we couldn't get used to the outrageously expensive electric bill. Plus, you know there's something wrong when you're excited to get into the car because you can turn on the heat.

So as our lease was about to expire the end of February, my husband and I searched for the house that had “everything”. And we found one. Although located further outside the city, it has a nice little yard  (garden) for our son to play in; more importantly, it's insulated! But…it has ants. And flies. And mold in the bathroom. And loud neighbors. And a long commute that usually means at some point during the day I will be sitting in traffic. Not to mention, the landlord has really duped us on the rent. 

Thinking about home, I'm reminded of my early 20s when I was trying desperately to find my new home. I understood that my parents’ house wasn't supposed to be my home any longer. While it was my physical address, it was time to move on and find a new place to belong. I think that’s why I traveled around; took my adventure to San Francisco so that I could try to find my vibe. Even at age 24, when I finally took that leap out of their home and into my own which was actually back East, I still hadn’t found my tribe. Now, living here in New Zealand I feel like I have finally found both tribe and home.

Perhaps this house is imperfect. Perhaps it doesn’t have the large yard we used to have in the states with the three large apple trees in the back yard. Perhaps it doesn’t have the large vegetable garden or the Audubon center where we used to hike. Perhaps the landlord is greedy.

But it has so much more.

While at times we struggle with a need for the familiarity of our old US home (and I miss my parents and the lakes of the Midwest like crazy!), New Zealand has surprised us with how comforting it does feel. We have friendships here that we have waited for- people who care about our son and us and accept our creative quirky personalities. People who I want my son to learn from and know.

It is home to me because of these people we have met. It is home because it's where my son is (wherever he is will always be home). It's home because the energy from the mountains and the valleys and the ocean calls to me. It's home because I can write and sing and be creative. It's home because there is respect and sincerity and faith in something greater than all of us among the people. And so much more. It's home. 

I started working on this post earlier in the week. I’m happy it has taken me this long to finish because I just read a blurb from Elizabeth Gilbert’s (author; see previous post) TED talk this week that hits… well, home:

To read about her talk: Ted talk

And to paraphrase she writes on her Facebook page:

“If you are looking for your home in the world, here is a clue: It's whatever you love more than you love yourself. (Addiction and infatuation don't count! Unsafe neighborhoods in which to build a home!) Identify that worthy thing to love, and abide there”. 

I couldn’t have said it any better.

No Joe Wellington...Finding Gems Instead!

My search for Joe Wellington continues. He's not been found...yet! But while I search for him, I seem to be finding all sorts of little gems along the way.

One of which occurred Monday night. My friend, Trish had an extra ticket to hear author Elizabeth Gilbert http://www.elizabethgilbert.com/ speak and I knew I couldn't pass on the opportunity.

With Ms. Gilbert (most-famously known for her memoir "Eat, Pray, Love") was her friend and new author, Rayya Elias http://rayyaelias.com/. Elias' memoir titled, "Harley Loco" is about her struggles with being a starving musician in New York, a hairdresser, unfortunate homelessness, and the downward spiral of her addiction. I can't wait to read it.

Elias informed me after the talk that she is now 16 years sober. We swapped a few stories and when I told her I was an addiction treatment counselor, she got tearful and mentioned that the counselors who she had in rehab were with her "every step of the way" and if it weren't for them she wouldn't be living. I asked her what finally clicked for her, after she stated being in and out of several rehabs,

"I tried to kill myself. And I couldn't even do that right. I knew then that I really needed help."

That's not the first time I've heard that from someone sitting in my office. Rayya's memoir is going to touch so many lives. So glad she had the courage to write it!

We embraced and I told her I was very glad she was alive to tell her story. Later, back in the car, I looked at the inscription of my new purchase that simply said, "Thank you!".

Gem.

Those of you who are not familiar with Elizabeth Gilbert, she was named one of Time Magazine's 100 Most Influential People and here I was in the second row, listening to her explain her writing process of her most recent book, "The Signature of All Things". Her speech was inspirational and a good kick in the butt for those of us dreamers to continue creating... to keep finding your story and then write it because if you don't, someone else will. She also spoke about letting go of your characters once you are finished and what that process might feel like.

Gem.

Afterward, my friend Patricia Sexton www.trishsexton.blogspot.co.nz was able to give Elizabeth Gilbert a copy of her published book, "LIVE From Mongolia" (another gem!). They had an exchange that you can read on Trish's blog. But Ms. Gilbert heard I was from Minnesota and mentioned she has relatives who live in the town where I grew up. She threw out a few names but none of them were names I recognized. Still, a special one-on-one exchange and the energy intensely positive. Thrilling.

Me with Rayya Elias, Elizabeth Gilbert, and Patricia Sexton

As we were about to leave, Trish and I both beaming from the night, a 20something girl approached Trish and asked her about "LIVE From Mongolia". When Trish told her that she was the author of it, the girl said she just began reading it. Without missing a beat, Trish asked the girl, "What is your name?" Truly a sweet moment to witness between author and reader. I only hope to be so lucky someday.

Gem.

So while I haven't been able to find Mr. Wellington, I have been able to find things I never imagined finding. I got to spend a night with three incredibly talented, intelligent, philosophical, resilient, humble, compassionate women authors. I found that when you have goosebumps about something, don't ignore it. Use it. I found that friendships that are true, are the ones that challenge you to tune in to those goosebumps. And they are the ones you can bare your soul to and be heard... and then pushed to create something out of that vulnerability.

Gems.

They are everywhere. You just have to pay attention.

A San Francisco Story

I wish I could say that I've been actively looking for Joe these past few weeks but I can't. That's not to say he hasn't been on my mind.

My husband and I attended a party two weeks ago in which I blurted out mid-drink to a group of other 30-somethings, "Anyone here know someone named Joe Wellington?". I was met with blank stares and shakes of the head. The group went on as though it was perfectly acceptable for someone to ask such a random question. Finally, a gentleman asked about it.

I told the story of San Francisco and of this little blog. They laughed and I heard rumbles of, "This could be a movie!" and "Don't give up; Wellington is small, aye?" Encouraged, I decided to read through (yet again) my journals from that time.

Not only is the search for Joe Wellington entertaining, but I've come to really enjoy reading about that adventure. It's brought back some great memories.

When I arrived in San Fran in 1998, I met up with a friend of a family friend (not as complicated as it sounds) who I didn't really know too well but we could hang out together. His name is Killian and he's just a bit older than me, maybe 21 or 22 at that time. We've since lost touch and I've no clue where he is these days. I didn't really know him that well but he provided a sense of security for me at the time.

He was staying in this motel on O'Farrell Street in the Tenderloin District of San Fran (the district name says it all). I met up with him and stayed a few nights in the motel, too. This motel was the most disgusting place I'd ever seen. We're talking rat infested, vomit stains on the carpet that hadn't been vacuumed in years, no sheets on the bed (you receive upon check in), no pillows, and no shower curtain. I remember that first night feeling like Tom Hanks from the movie "Big", the scene where he stays in a dumpy motel and curls up crying on his bed from being so scared from the big city sounds and general homesickness.

Luckily, Killian warned me of this and I brought a sleeping bag and a tarp (!) to lay on the floor so we could actually walk on it without our shoes (I still kept my shoes on). I also went to a pharmacy across the street and bought a shower curtain and incense to get rid of the, uh, smell. I used my towel from home as a pillow.

This place was pretty bad-ass. Especially for a sheltered 19-year-old Midwestern girl who'd never ventured so far from home and this was where my adventure began.

I couldn't stay another night in that place (I spent five!) after a pest exterminator came to spray the room. I checked into the Union Square hostel the next day, and here is my first entry:

I'm at the hostel now. It is so much better than the dumpy motel. The floor is vacuumed and the walls you don't have to worry about touching them or not; they're clean! The beds are comfortable and clean as well and I actually have a pillow! God, I took so much for granted before. 

I enjoy the people here. I've met an Australian couple from Sydney- Felipe and Janelle. They're in their early 20s and lovely. They're traveling the States and in March heading to Europe. They're taking the year to travel- I think that is so fun. At least they have each other. I guess Janelle said they have been saving up for this for a year and they never went out or spent money on extra things... that is so cool! I'm glad I'm one of the first Americans they've met. I took them around to some of the places I knew about and it was so funny watching them react to little things that we as Americans think nothing of (big cars!). Oh and they were so paranoid about getting robbed. 

Later, in my room, my new roommate came in. I was scared at first, not knowing if she'd be nice or a snob and wouldn't speak to me but she's totally cool. Her name is Rachel from New Zealand. She's 27. I don't think she'll take anything from me, although she's been here one night and her side of the room is a pigsty. 

I went down to the television room and met some more... what do you know? Australians! They were watching "Step By Step" with Suzanne Summers. I laughed at them but found comfort in watching this terrible American sitcom. More people showed up and we began to do the usual, "Where are you from?" chit chat. One woman couldn't believe I was only 19 and traveling alone. It made me feel homesick and yearn for the comfort of my parent's home. 

The news eventually came on and we were mesmerized by the Lewinsky/Clinton scandal. It was neat to watch it with foreigners, "those people (Congress) are going to impeach him anyway. How come they don't listen to the public? How come they don't see that the public doesn't care?". I liked that. Internationally, people don't give a rats-ass about it.

At this time, Joe Wellington was someone I was hanging out with. In fact, I met him the same day as I met Felipe and Janelle. The five of us (Killian, too) went out to dinner together that night, I remember. And I believe he was there, or did eventually show up in the TV room of the hostel for the news cast.  But for some reason, I don't make any mention of him in this entry. I don't know why and it's driving me mental.


Maybe it would be easier for me to find Felipe and Janelle from Sydney than Joe Wellington? Or maybe Rachel from New Zealand who was 27 at that time?

It seems like anyone will be easier to find than this mysterious Mr. Joe. Stay tuned for more.

and... P.S. Be prepared: if you're at a party and some woman is asking around for a Joe Wellington, it's me.

A Sign

Someone recently asked, "What is it you want to do if you find the guy?"

That is a good question to ask. And I really don't know.

Ultimately, I'm excited to reconnect with an old friend. Especially because, HOLY CRAP I'M ACTUALLY IN NEW ZEALAND and NEVER EVER THOUGHT I WOULD BE. Nevermind that he even wrote that in the book he gave me, "be it in Minnesota or New Zealand" (maybe he has psychic powers?).

I also think it's a really cool story. Life is full of stories like these but it's what you do with them that count. Everyday we meet so many people who enter our lives in some way for some particular reason... some we just say hello to in passing while at the store; some who we may have nothing in common with but remain friendly; and some who we just really click with and who we know will be lifelong friends.

I don't know what sort of role Joe will play in my life. But I know we met years ago and maybe there's a reason why. I know I happen to be living where he is from so... why not try to connect? I won't deny the fact that I haven't thought about what it might be like when meeting him again. It may be just as awkward as my rec center encounter last month (see blog archive for possible sighting #2). Or maybe he's married with kids, too and we'll have a blast getting our families together? Hmm maybe he's homeless? But there aren't really many homeless people in New Zealand so that would be very surprising... Or maybe he lives in another country and won't remember me?

The point is, it doesn't matter. I can't predict how it will be or what I'll do. Right now, I'm excited to be on this journey, trying to find him.

Almost as excited as the day I found the New Zealand fifty cent piece he gave me in 1998.

In San Francisco, he gave me the coin because it has Queen Elizabeth on it. My official first name is Elizabeth, but I've always been called by my nickname. So in my youth, I collected various little items with my name on it. Super cool to have a coin with Elizabeth on it. And the fact that it was from New Zealand? Well, at the time I never even thought about visiting the very far away small island country so... why not hold on to it?

In May 2013, while unpacking and packing boxes before moving to this very far away small island country, I discovered a shiny coin at the bottom of one of my boxes. There it was. The fifty cent Queen Elizabeth coin. I gasped, sure it was a sign. I had forgotten about it. Why had I saved it for so many years?

I believe it certainly was a sign. A sign that this move was meant to be. A sign that we were on the right track and that all this hard work would finally be worth it. A sign that some people who come into our lives we aren't meant to only say hello to in passing. And maybe a sign that I'd see Mr. Wellington again.

So, I ask myself... "what do I want to do when I find the guy?"

I guess I can start by giving him his 50 cents back.