Jack, Nick, Dana, Stephanie, Joey, Sarah, Sam, Mark, Michael...me
These are the people that have lived in 627 Westminster #2 since 2012, yet I'm the only one that's been there the whole time. At least three of those people are married now. Maybe four or five, I lost touch. Two still live with me for the moment. One of them moved 3,000 miles away to find himself the 9th is M.I.A. and then there's me, number 10.
A lot happens in seven years. I've changed, evolved. I've seen people come and go, friendships begin and end, multiple relationships fail and I've accumulated a LOT of stuff.
A LOT of stuff.
It's generally accepted that even if it brings about a better life situation, moving blows. The physical process is just catastrophically bad. I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy. Even when you involve movers, it can be an emotionally grueling process. The one life event worse than a move though may be the home renovation.
I have a noted slumlord of a property manager, but after seven years and about 30 failed city inspections I was able to convince him to install hardwood floors under threat of violence. In retrospect, this may have been a mistake. What I assumed would be a three day undertaking with a professional crew has turned into a month long cluster fuck in which one guy shows up and installs about 10 square feet a day.
All the while, all of my furniture sits outside on the patio for all of the elements. It rained last week on all of my shit, I'm sure all of it is now infested with bugs. A couple weeks ago I came home to a homeless man passed out on my couch, how exciting.
On a more personal level, it has caused me to completely clean out my room for the first time really since I moved in. I've found jury notices from 2013 that I never responded to, birthday cards from ex-girlfriends wishing me a happy 24th...random items that came in care packages from my mom and about a decade's worth of old t-shirts, socks, and old beer caps. I didn't realize how many night caps I was enjoying from the comfort of my own bed. It's a truly disgusting process, sifting through all of this garbage and deciding what to keep and what to burn.
I've been attempting to stay as far away as possible from the construction site that is my life. I hit the movies every night during the week, I destroyed myself at a festival last weekend, neither of these gave me the answers I was seeking. I decided to try something different on Saturday: head east to the desert.
The first time I ever went to Joshua Tree was with roommate Nick. He was the first roommate at #2 and the first to leave. We had been fighting a lot about stupid stuff but decided to take a trip to the desert. We ended up climbing a mountain and watching a sunset together then proceeding to get extremely drunk with 10 eighteen year olds who were starting college the next week. A park ranger came and confiscated our bong and looked very disapprovingly at Nick and I (24) for hanging out with high school kids. Regardless, the desert healed our friendship and we remain close to this day.
I don't know what it is about Joshua Tree but anytime I go there for answers, the desert provides. I've been back probably a dozen times since my first trip and every time I come back emotionally rejuvenated. I hoped I might find that refreshment once more.
Saturday, we pitched our tent off the Boy Scout trail, one mile in, 200 feet off a path (these are the back country rules) at Outlaw Rock, a place I thought I knew as well as the back of my hand. We then set off for Pioneertown and a meal at the legendary Pappy and Harriet's. Pioneertown is a city that was created in the 1940s to be a living 1880s film set. Western television shows such as the Gene Autry Show have been shooting there for years. Now it exists as an escape for tourists in the Yucca Valley. We witnessed a wedding, had some drinks and ate some truly incredible ribs, highly recommend.
Now here is what I WOULDN'T recommend...
On the way back to our campsite I decided to begin my vision quest a little early and ate a few stems. This was a bad life decision. Because by the time I parked at the Boy Scout trailhead it was...
A. Pitch Black
B. Freezing Cold
And I was without...
A. A flashlight
B. A fucking clue where I was going.
For those that have ever wandered around the desert or a forest at night, you are probably aware that it can be difficult to walk in a single direction. Even if you think you are walking a straight line, it's entirely possible that you drift one way or the other, so the chances of walking in circles is rather high. I assure you, if you are tripping your dick off, these odds go exponentially higher.
So instead of finding the answers to my questions about being metaphorically lost, I spent my vision quest being literally lost in the desert.
For close to two hours I led my merry band of misfits in circles through San Bernadino's high desert. There were laughs, there were tears and there was a growing sense of desperation. At one point I thought we may have to go sleep in the car, but I was so turned around I'm not sure I knew where it was. I had flashbacks to getting lost on Mt. Baldy, but that was during the day, I had ample water and sunlight. This was 10pm, I was cold and the only assets I had on my person were whiskey and more mushrooms. Against my better judgment I took more, sometimes you need to get all the way lost before you can be found.
Two hours later, I was debating whether we could survive a night exposed in the desert. I had a vague idea where a road was, so I didn't think our situation was completely dire, but at this moment I gave up. I let go. Every rock looked the same, we were not going to find our camp.
And then there it was, like a shining pearl in a deep blue sea, an orange tent emerged.
There was celebration of course, dancing around with a boot full of tequila watching the stars smile back upon us. Little did I know, in all of my jubilation, that my questions had just been answered.
You just have to let go.
Let go of the past, let go of my anxieties, let go of expectations and just...be.
I've heard of this with addicts or those who are super religious: submitting to a higher power. Well to be honest, I don't know what I am submitting to, I'm just making a conscious effort to stop being my own worst enemy.
I didn't find my camp until I stopped looking for it, and maybe that's a metaphor for happiness. If I am spending my whole life looking for something, maybe there's a chance I was just too distracted to realize that it was right in front of me the whole time.
I was sorting through the junk in my room this morning and I had a bit of a revelation. I don't need any of this shit. Everything must go.
All of it. This old mattress, this 2014 IKEA bed frame. This shitty desk I took from an Abbot Kinney law firm. Every article of clothing more than a year old, this cracked iPad, this fucking old drone. Get it the FUCK out of here. I'm DONE.
But it's probably time to let go of these old letters from an ex-girlfriend who is married with a kid now. Probably time to let go of this Tri Delt Flapjack Attack t shirt. The car that's been gathering dust in my driveway for a year? GONE! I think I'm all set on at least five of these onesies, this stuffed giraffe and a couple unrequited crushes I've been holding onto for a couple years too long.
Move on. Clean slate. Fresh start.
It's therapeutic really, to just kind of rip off the band-aid. Start a new game, eliminate all baggage. I had a friend in college who told me she would intentionally 'fire' all of her friends every two years and start over. I thought it was insane, but now I'm starting to understand.
Throwing away all of your shit and starting fresh is not a novel concept. It's a trope in movies about divorce and self discovery. Hell, there is a Will Ferrell movie called 'Everything Must Go.' I'm not going through a messy break up or anything but it has recently occurred to me that I have like three assets that I really care about.
1. Nintendo Switch
2. OC Christmakkuh Sweater
3. Golf Clubs
Everything else can fucking BURN baby. Who needs it? Why do I still have old sheets that were stained when a girl wet the bed? Why do I hoard gag gifts from Cards Against Humanity's 12 days of Christmas?
It's time to bag all of this shit up and drop it at Goodwill, and some underprivileged youth out there can have all of my frat shirts, Members Only jackets, pink polos and stupid hats. When I moved out here I was making $12 an hour selling newspaper ads door to door. Now I'm making slightly more than that and my life should reflect it.
If that means growing up and moving out of Westminster sooner rather than later, so be it. Because as long as I'm living the life of a 21 year old Junior in the frat, I'm never going to emotionally mature beyond that. I still love to party, and that will probably never change...but I do have the option to do it whilst NOT living in squalor.
Once we made it into the tent on Saturday night we were punished with 50 mph winds. I thought the REI tent might snap in half several times, but it weathered the storm. In the morning I saw the poles had tangled up into a steel mess, but they hadn't broken. Bend but don't break. I think that's a good metaphor for my last 10 years. I was resilient in the face of adversity several times...but it's time to start the next chapter, in which Dave becomes a human adult and tries to stop sleeping on the floor so often.
Sometimes we feel the most lost moments before we are found. I was wandering around in life, straying to the left or right in the darkness, often spinning in circles looking for something that I couldn't define. So let go and head back to the drawing board and get excited to fail again. One of these days we'll get it right. Westminster has been a hell of a ride and it's not over yet, Unit 2 will always be a part of me. In seven years I've experienced a lifetime of memories but it's hard to get better while staying the same. I've been lost in the desert for quite a while now, but I think I see an oasis on the horizon.
