Homeless

I sleep around. A lot.

Wait, not like that. I’m on the road for a good chunk of the year, sleeping in tents for work and crashing on couches or guest rooms for fun. So far in 2014, I’ve slept in over 40 different places. But I always found home saddling up to the bar with my favorite bartenders working.

There was Roxie, Jess and Josie at the Come Back In, Mary at the Great Dane and Andura, my favorite, who worked at a couple different places but lastly at the Brass Ring.

Josie was a quirky artist. I have a drawing of hers hanging at the office. Jess was a math nerd who didn’t take shit from anyone. Mary was always nice with a beautiful wry smile. Andura was everything. And they all moved on. The biggest hit was Andura leaving. I’ve never felt so homeless in my life.

Friday nights would find me at the Brass Ring. It was usually crowded, but I’d find a seat at the bar and spend the next few hours writing at my laptop and conversing with Andura. I’d finish a beer and know that even though she was busy, a beer was coming my way. Andura knew what my tastes were, and I’d let her pick my beers, trusting her judgment.

My favorite part, though, was when her shift was over. She would come to my side of the bar and have a drink or two with me. Some nights we’d head to another bar for a nightcap. Conversation was always easy. I picked on her for being from Iowa (I had to, right?), and she would ask about my travels.

Andura worked the day shift Saturday and Sunday, and I always found an excuse to head down and have a bloody or a beer (or both). I loved the Bloody Marys she would make. There was never much of a crowd during the day, enabling us to talk at length. It made my weekends.

We didn’t hang out much outside of her bar, but I thought I was still special. I thought I was more than just another patron. I know, I know, that’s what bartenders do - make every sorry sap feel welcome. But I felt the interactions were different with Andura and me. If there were a person at the bar being inappropriate toward her, I would try and calm things down to take the pressure off her. On slow days, I’d be there to talk to her and keep her busy.

Some of my fondest afternoons and evenings of the past few years have involved Andura. One that sticks out is the afternoon we hiked the Montrose Segment of the Ice Age Trail near Belleville. The June sun was shining and the prairie flowers were ready for a showcase – and they delivered. The afternoon continued when we hiked through the Stewart Tunnel on the Ice Age Trail/Badger State Trail. The tunnel is damp and dark, but I showed a brave face even as I was put on edge by the demons lurking in the darkness. We safely made it out and headed into Belleville for a bite to eat and a beer to drink. A few bars later, we headed back to Madison.

Eventually I dropped off Andura back at her apartment and came up for a final beer. Her apartment overlooked Lake Monona. I was jealous of the view she enjoyed everyday from her home. After good conversation, it was time for me to head out. While saying goodbye at the door, I wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss her. I was too chicken and headed home.

Earlier this year, Andura announced she was moving away from Madison.

Fuck.

What was I going to do on weekends now? Who would be the go to friend that listened to my ramblings? Where was I going to go for Packer games? Who was I going to adore and be too chickenshit to ask out? What the hell was I doing? I was homeless.

I never worked up the courage to ask Andura out. After the failed relationships of my mid twenties, I was scared to go after what I loved. I was scared of failure. I didn’t want to lose a friend, a bright spot in my life, so I never. Made. A move. I stayed adrift. I kept coming to Andura’s bar, knowing that however crappy I felt, she would turn it around and put a smile on my face and in my heart.

I have no idea if Andura would’ve gone for it, but that’s it, I have no idea. To not chase one’s dreams is a surefire way to live a life of discontent. I guess I’ll stay homeless for a while.

Order vs. Chaos (Perceived)

I was recently riding my bike around the neighborhood, and while waiting at a stoplight, I noticed the sign for the neighborhood I was in - Valley Ridge. What the hell does that mean? That’s like naming a development Ocean Land or Prairie Woods.

I rode past developments that sounded like a mad-lib using the writings of Aldo Leopold, names like Hawk’s Landing, Cherry Hill and Skyview Meadows. The names conjured the beauty of nature, but the neighborhoods are named in memoriam. An oak ridge once existed here, but take comfort knowing the name will live on. Cherry trees may have once grown at Cherry Hill, but not anymore. This is called progress.

It’s almost like we want to live in a wild-sounding development, but loathe the wildness the name evokes. We keep the name, but take the heart out of the words.

Why not name the development for what it is? Suburban Monotony. The houses look the same, the mailboxes are the same, and the lifestyle is the same. The nature we destroyed to have lawns to mow was anything but monotonous. The landscape that evolved over thousands of years was shaped by soil conditions, fire and climate, not a profit-focused developer.

I’ve been thinking about our uneasiness with things out of our control. We want to hold dominion over every part of our lives; any element of chance can throw our balance off and put our plans into disarray.

We pretend we live with nature, but our yards are fenced in, windows shut and locked when the outside world gets just a hair from perfect. Our lives depict fear of the natural world. We drive down the road with the windows up because wind is noisy. What’s so scary about fresh air? If temperatures bump above the mid-70’s, the drone I hear while riding my bike is not of bees or birds flapping their wings, it’s of AC units keeping our houses to a more palatable setting. We’re more “comfortable” when we have power over our surroundings.

We want the beauty of nature, but without the unpredictability, the mystery, the danger of wilderness. When someone converts their yard to prairie forbs and grasses, neighbors complain that the yard is unkempt and unsightly, but if you take those flowers and plant them in a garden, they are beautiful. Maybe it’s the sight of grass not mowed that rankles homeowners. Maybe it’s that we crave holding power over everything. Anything uncontrolled is a threat to our orderly lives.

We pave over prairies, force a stream into a culvert and cut down trees to put in a few more houses. The problem with this destruction is that studies have shown that access to green space in cities has a direct correlation to quality of life. More green space means a higher quality of life.

Fluorescent light bulbs lack red light, which has been proven to increase creativity. What source provides ample portions of the red spectrum? Sunlight, of course. It’s almost like we are trying to regress. Our zest to improve productivity and lower costs by packing workers into drab, lifeless cubes and windowless offices may actually be having the opposite effect. The natural world provides stimulation that keeps our minds fresh and lively, but we are actively taking away this stimulation. We are dumbing ourselves.

A recent study showed that we are our most creative and productive at work when pictures of the African Savannah – our ancestral home - surround us.  Humans evolved in the wild, and our departure to urban surroundings has thrown off our inner equilibrium.

Obviously, we all can’t get back to our roots and live in the woods, but we can stop freaking out about the randomness of nature and learn to live with it, to enjoy it. It’s a beautiful world out there and it is best observed without a pane of glass in the way. We need to embrace Mother Nature and not be afraid of her mysteries. Let the chaos of nature into your life by opening your windows, going for a hike or just getting outside and seeing the wildness. You may discover it’s just what you needed. Progress.