October 9th Amsterdam, NL – One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Being on my own again in a foreign country feels really strange. Being displaced, being lost and disconnected. Every city I’ve been in for the last five months there was someone to anchor me. A friend, a family member, a host. But now it’s just me. Alone. Granted it’s only for a week and most people in Amsterdam speak English. It’s still strange. I’m glad that I’ll have this experience once more. The process of learning as quickly as possible how to orient yourself, how to put yourself in a new context. Leaving the farm was bittersweet, but necessary. I was falling into new habits and taking my temporary permanence for granted. I’ve learned that I can create a bubble anywhere, a nest where I don’t have to challenge myself or be anxious and stressed. To be comfortable to the point of regressing, if that makes sense. I know that relocating to live in Costa Rica with my mother is a ballsy move. Ballsy because it’s where I plan to develop as a human being and as a writer. And ballsy because the potential to fail is too real. Knowing myself is dangerous because of what is possible and what is inevitable. I don’t want to fall victim to my own habits of self-sabotage. I’m too good at it. I feel like it would be easier, moving around like this, if I had someone with me. Someone to bounce off of when I am stationary for too long. Someone to share the anxiety with. My loneliness is acute. And it’s crippling.

As I wander around Amsterdam, I don’t know what to do with myself. I see everyone ambling along, arms laden with shopping bags, stopping to take pictures every five seconds. And I feel numb. I know this neighborhood perfectly now, know shortcuts and alleyways. It’s only been twenty-four hours. Though I am apprehensive to go elsewhere. To ride the tram. It’s completely ridiculous but I can’t muster the energy to give a shit. The city itself is beautiful, though. The most obviously European city I’ve been in since I got here. I like it. I just wish I had the money to experience it the way it deserves.

Last night I hung out in the smoking room in the bar of the hostel. Eventually, two very sweet Irish boys sat next to me and we got to chatting. It was nice, but felt hollow. A rerun of an episode of my life that’s already happened. They were generous with their weed, however, and I happily wallowed in the unique fuzziness that comes with being high and beer-buzzed. After we parted ways (a hug and a kiss on the cheek), I went for a walk. Left or right, it didn’t matter. I’ve been carrying a map with me but I never look at it. My visual memory is much better than any map. If I’ve walked it, I can always get there again. It helped that I got turned around on my way to the hostel yesterday. One must get lost before one can find their way. I just don’t think I’m the right flavor of “lost” right now. Or I just suck at this game.

The rest of the week stretches out before me and I wish it would disappear. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be daring and take a ride on one of the river boats instead of eating.

August 26th 2:34PM NRW, Germany – Four months? Fuck, it feels like yesterday.

Apologies for the lack of updates. Since I arrived in Europe just over three weeks ago my life has been a bit hectic. I knew, going into this experience, that I wanted to avoid making solid plans. The opposite of what my time in Australia and New Zealand had been in 2009. But I think I’ve since learned that there is a difference between rolling with the punches and being an irresponsible idiot. Still, I don’t regret any of the choices I’ve made because I continue to move forward and I continue to collect valuable life lessons. I continue to learn about myself. I continue to live. Which is all I can really ask for. I’m not sure if I’ll actually be able to accomplish what I originally set out to do, but it isn’t going to stop me from trying. I’ve come to terms with the fact that going back to the states before the end of the year is a definite possibility. And that’s okay. The time I’ve spent traveling has been everything I needed it to be and more.

Today marks four months exactly since I left Chicago in April. Which is strange. I don’t keep track of the passing days much anymore, my everyday existence has become a comfortable routine of manual labor and a regulated sleep-schedule. The world narrowed down to a small village in Rahden, Germany. Or rather the farm house where I live and work. It’s simple. And predictable, up to a point. Breakfast at 8:30am. Coffee, toast with butter and jam, cigarette. Four hours of replanting herbs with Elke or watering the garden or helping Oliver with construction of the farm shop. Lunch around 1:00pm. Usually pasta with home-made sauce and home-grown vegetables, cloudy apple juice, cigarette. Break for an hour or less. Checking emails, catching up with friends, cigarette. Two or more hours of replanting herbs with Elke or watering the garden or helping Oliver with construction of the farm shop. Shower. Stare at my computer screen for an hour and a half. Dinner at 6:30pm. Home-made bread (by me), tomatoes, cheese, prosciutto, fresh salad from the garden, cloudy apple juice, cigarette. Sometimes more coffee. Four hours of free time. Bed at 11:30pm. Sunday is mine to do with as I please. Rinse and repeat.

I find that I enjoy this immensely. The exhaustion in my bones each evening feels deserved. Satisfying. Worthwhile. I wake up each morning with a purpose.

Elke struggles with her English, but her temperament is sweet and her humor warm. Oliver is a chatterbox with a penchant for over-explaining things, but he is intelligent and absent-minded and mildly awkward. I like them very much. We discuss politics. Oliver also plays the guitar.

My room is in the attic of the guest-house. At the moment I am the only WWOOFer, but I’ve been told there will be another sometime in September when Oliver begins cultivating his mushrooms again. My ceiling slants and the floor dips and groans in the middle when I walk over it. My bed is large and soft. It feels like home.

If I’m not in my room or sharing a meal with my hosts, I’m in the garden sitting in the old chair swing covered in ivy. Or at the table by the barn, staring up at the clouds until the light dies behind the house. There are two beautiful cats. Micky and I’ve forgotten the name of the other. They follow me around every morning and every evening, begging for nose-scratches and tummy rubs. Sometimes they visit me at night when I indulge in one last cigarette before sleep, meowing and nuzzling at my shins as I sit on the stoop outside my door.

For now, this is making me happy. I don’t know where I’m going after, or even how long I’m staying here. There are personal goals I must accomplish before that can be determined. Personal goals that used to stress me out. But with the security of food in my belly and a roof over my head, my future looks a lot more promising.

Sometimes it’s okay to ask for help….

So, a good friend prodded me into creating a page where I could collect donations to help keep me going on my travels. (Some of this is repeated on the website, but bear with me) I’m not usually one to ask for handouts, but my friend wasn’t the first to ask, nor was she the first to secretly slip me a small sum of cash. Therefore I think I need to swallow my pride and accept the fact that some people just wanna help. Something I’m used to giving rather than receiving, honestly.

I don’t want to use this as a crutch, because I am responsible for myself and my own actions and being broke and in the middle of Europe on my own isn’t something I was forced into. So, I kind of want to be able to give something back to people for their acts of kindness and generosity.

That being said, should you decide to make a donation of $20 or more, I, Samantha, will happily craft you a short-story on a subject of your choosing. It can be about anything you want. I’ll totally write it. Sky’s the fuckin’ limit. Seriously, go to town.

I can’t guarantee that your story will be delivered in a timely fashion, due to the nature of my current lifestyle (see: homeless). But I can certainly promise that it will be written. Eventually, haha.

Here’s the link: Save the Vagabond, Save the World

And if you, y’know, felt like spreading it around or somethin’…that would be great too ❤

July 21st Somerville, MA – A Lesson in Self-Worth

I watched myself today in the side-view mirror of my friend Jonathan’s beat up Volkswagen and had a strange realization. I am not an egotistical or narcissistic person (though I think I’ve had my moments over the last twenty-five years). But this morning I looked at my reflection and I couldn’t turn away because I was captivated (possibly for the first time in my life) by my own beauty as a human being. At first I felt rather vain, or shallow, because I’ve never really thought of myself as an attractive individual. So it was weird to be thinking it so early, in my friend’s car, on our way to get coffee. Even now, the epiphany seems odd, uncomfortable. Though honestly, at the risk of sounding like a huge cheese-ball, I believe my level of happiness has reached such a level that it has begun to manifest in the physical, etching itself onto my skin and pouring out through my mouth and my eyes. It’s moments like these, that help me get over being broke, or being lazy, or feeling lost. Because I am not really poor, never really idle, and never void of hope or purpose. This is where my happiness originates, in the relearning how to live, how to laugh, and how to appreciate every tiny thing for what it really is. I still have a lifetime of learning to do before reaching enlightenment (and I may never), but I think I can say with confidence that I am well on my way.

This last month has been rather interesting. I’ve been so focused on moving forward, moving period, that when I was forced to stop and remain in basically one location due to financial troubles, everything else stopped with it. Especially because being in Massachusetts is not a new experience, this is a second home. Which means reverting back to my old habits of procrastination and loss of motivation. Not that I regret a single moment, or a single dollar spent on something I shouldn’t have. All of these pieces, these instances, these choices (smart or otherwise) bleed together in a way that I will eventually benefit from. Everything has its value and its lesson to teach, its knowledge and wisdom to impart. Mostly, it’s a matter of training yourself to recognize when that transaction is happening.

So, perhaps I didn’t get as much done in the last few weeks as I had originally intended. Perhaps I spent most of my time stressing myself out about where I was going to sleep at night or how I was going to make money in order to keep going. Perhaps I learned that giving up was not an option. And perhaps I needed to allow myself to become momentarily depressed before leaving the United States for an undefined length of time. Preparation for the impending storm of life that is literally going to sweep me up and carry me wherever it damn well pleases. Because life happens whether you want it to or not. The question is, how do you plan on participating?