Of all the Micro Breweries, in all the world, I had to walk into this one

Gravitate Towards Jupiter, Downtown Berkeley, CA

Once upon a time, I walked into a bar/restaurant in downtown Berkeley, and handed in a resume. Just back from the obligatory, post-college-world tour, I was broke, over-educated, and inexperienced in any line of work other than serving food. I needed a job and my friend Joanna had taken me to Jupiter on my first night living in Berkeley. Of course I fell in love with the ambiance, who wouldn't love an old barn, with wooden beams running throughout and a beautiful brick courtyard with Christmas lights year round? And the pizza and beer were good, so good that I thought, wouldn't it be nice to get this for free during my shift rather than have to pay for it once a week? So in that moment where my resume passed from my hand to that of the manager on duty, Eryn Blackwelder, magic happened, and I proceeded down a path.

There are those exact moments in time where you can trace back how your life would have been different if that moment hadn't have happened. Like you can almost see fate unfolding. I didn't know at the time how much would change just from that little job as a food runner and a hostess. Maybe you've had a job like this, or an experience with a group of people with whom you did a play or were on a team together. It doesn't matter what brought you together with these people, it's the fact that once you met up on that path in life, you realized, they would always be there, sometimes visible, sometimes not, but forever with you.

It might sound extreme to speak of a restaurant job in such dramatic tones, but working at Jupiter really did change my life. I went there the other night to celebrate a friend's last shift. I haven't worked there for four years, and I don't know many front of the house employees anymore. The kitchen staff hasn't changed much and we all said hello. Back when I was managing there, I used to love hanging out in the prep kitchen, me practicing Spanish, some of the guys practicing English. I've never worked in another restaurant where the kitchen staff and the front of house staff interacted so much. That was probably due to Eleanor Alderman acting as the translator and always making sure that the language gap was bridged. That was just one of the ways in which Jupiter was unique. But, back to the other night.

Tim Henry and I met at Jupiter. We were co-workers, who then became roommates, and evolved from that to be best friends, keeping in touch even though he has been living on the other side of the world for the past year. We went in to say goodbye to Joesph Scheppers, one of the truly great people that exists in this world. You won't meet very many people who are as funny, kind, smart, and enjoyable as Joe Scheppers. If you know him, in any capacity, consider yourself lucky. He's about to move down to LA LA land, a dream he's talked about since I met him, smoking a cigarette in the breezeway at Jupiter, his first night as a doorman.

So many young souls work in restaurants while they nurture their dreams. Biding their time, saving money, making connections, and drinking, drinking a lot. I think drinking a lot is almost inherently necessary to have big dreams. Dreams of being famous artists, actors and musicians, of living in far off places, of starting your own business. It's difficult to believe in these dreams in a sober state of mind in this world of can'ts and won'ts. So we drank at Jupiter, night after night, year after year, we went from co-workers, to friends, to roommates, to lovers, to boyfriends and girlfriends, mentors, gurus, guidance counselors, to husbands and wives and parents. It really was, and in some ways still is, a family. And while there are some Jupiter folks that continue to be friends in the flesh, friends like Tim Henry, Joe Scheppers, Evan Becchetti, Sarah Newman, Ben Wiklund, there are the countless others that show up on my Facebook feed or I hear about through the grapevine,  and I realize, so many of the people I am connected too, came out of the old barn.

So maybe we now live in Colorado, and Sweden, and Dubai, and France, and Hawaii, and Indonesia and where ever else we moved on to, but we are still a family. I think sometimes how I really could still call upon this huge network of people for so many things if I needed to. How we went through hell and back together on those Blue Grass Nights, those Cal game days, those sold out concerts at The Greek, and SantaCon. If you've only ever eaten there, you might not know, that part of why the beer tastes so good, is because we cried while serving it to you, but we usually did it with a smile, because we knew a quarter time was waiting at the end of the bar for us.

Today, I Love Oakland

I've been living in my apartment in West Oakland for just about three years now. That might not seem like a long time to some people, but for me, it is. This is the longest I've lived in one place since first moving out of my parent's house ten years ago. Through college and the years immediately following college, I moved approximately every 10 months to a year. Always getting bored, needing a change in scenery, adapting to the ever changing flow of roommates. Several factors have played into me being so sedentary of late.

1. I was too broke to move. After returning to the Bay Area from what has become known as The Great Mexico Debacle, I simply didn't have extra money to move. 
2. I began living with my boyfriend, Jahsiah. We had only been together for one year before cohabitating, but let me tell you, it was a helluva year. Once you find someone you enjoy living with, that ever changing flow of roommates coming and going seems less appealing than the consistancy of companionship.
3. The longer you stay in one place, the more work you put into making that place feel like home, the harder it is to leave.

This has not been the easiest nor the nicest place to live, though. There are a great many opinions on Oakland and what this city is all about. I won't attempt to describe them all, as that would take way too much time for me to write or you to read. The point is, West Oakland is a place that will test your resolve, and it has certainly tested mine. There are days when I can't stand this place. Police sirens, shopping carts pushed by recycle collectors, an orchestra of conversations loudly happening in front of my house, this soundtrack plays at all hours of the day and night here. Quite is a word that does not belong in West Oakland. Privacy should probably stay away as well. And then, there are the gun shots.

I remember the first time we heard them, we were sitting in our living room, watching, ironically, The Wire, an HBO show dedicated to delving into the world of inner city politics. I didn't recognize the repetitive bangs! as gun shots, but Jahsiah, who is a little more savy, threw me, and our two dogs on the floor before laying on top of us. I was scared then. I don't get scared now. I get upset when I hear them, even more upset that, more often than not, the police sirens usually don't follow the shots, because, more often than not, the cops usually just don't come.

Now, I don't mean to be a downer because the point is, for all the less-than-desirerable attributes of this fair city, there are some days where I just fucking love this place. Today is one of those days. Soon after I woke up, I heard chants of protest growing closer. I walked outside, through my garden to find a group of folks marching against violence. They were marching, with police escorts, to demonstrate their frustration of police brutality and brutality in general, committed by anyone. There were Soldiers Against Violence Everywhere signs and it was such a beautiful thing to see on a Saturday morning.

Not long after, my friend came over and I walked him to the West Oakland BART station with my dogs. He has been living abroad for the past year so while we walked I filled him in on the things he's missed out on or discoveries I've made about my neighborhood while he was gone. Bikes4Life and Revolution Cafe, the super bomb pupusa spot. All the great little businesses that are finding a way in this mad world. I said goodbye to him as he entered the BART station and I began my walk home. Whenever I walk somewhere with my dogs, I have a lot of random conversations and interactions with folks, and today was no different. People like the look of my dogs in this neighborhood. In West Oakland, if you have a dog, it's either a chihuahua or a pit bull. I fit in nicely with my two pit bulls.

Scraper Bikes, for those of you who don't know.

If all that pleasantry wasn't enough, my walk was blessed with a scrapper bike parade. Fifteen kids and teens riding bikes through the neighborhood, playing music off the back of their bikes, where they have engineered great mobile sound systems, one of my favorite West Oakland innovations. And as I was walked home, happily enjoying the lively neighborhood, I thought to myself, this is a day that I truly love this place.

Like all long-term relationships, there are good days and bad days. There are things you love about your partner and things you cannot stand, but what you learn as you endure is that there is no such thing as constant, and there is peace in that. People will change, places will change, feelings will change, and you will change. I have wanted to live in the jungles of Central America for ten years now, and the irony of life is that I do live in a jungle, I live in the concrete jungle of West Oakland. And if you can learn to not only survive the jungle, but love it, despite its annoyances and dangers, than you can learn to love just about anything and anyone. And that is a beautiful thing.

FOMO, Not Just for Festies Anymore...

In 2010 I attended my first, and hopefully not only, Burning Man. I won't go into the details of that experience, mainly because a lot of those memories are rather blurry and not for sharing on public forums. But one thing that I will always remember from that trip was the advice that my friend Sarah shared with me. She had been to several Burns prior, not sure how many, but she was savy. And Burning Man wasn't her only festival experience. So, she decided to share some important information with me. She informed me of FOMO, or Fear Of Missing Out, and the potenial dangers of suffering from FOMO. See, at something like Burning Man, there are over 50,000 other people doing all kinds of things that you cannont ever imagine. Theme camps, music camps, thousands of art exibits, all scattered around the desert. In one week, you have the chance to see as much of that as possible, or you can never leave the block you pitched you tent on. Either way, you will have an incredible, life-altering, ground-shaking-to-the-very-core-of-your-essence time. But the thing to keep in mind, she wisely advised, was to not let the FOMO creep in.

You see, once you start fearing that you are missing out on something better, you have failed to live in the moment. I like to think of FOMO as the evil twin to Be Here Now, although BHN doesn't have quit the same ring to it. That notion, that someone, somewhere is having more fun, doing something more meaningful, getting more out of their experience than you, that will rot your soul. You will start to doubt the validity of what you have just been through. You will think that your life and time spent were not to the fullest, when in fact, you are always doing what you should be doing at that moment, if you weren't, well you would cease to be you, and cease to live the life you are living.

It seems recently, FOMO has been creeping out of the deserts of Black Rock City and into the lives of everyday urban dwellers. I've struggled with it this summer, while watching my friends jet-set around the globe. I was invited to join them all, but declined as I'm saving my money for my big move in December (more to come on that soon!). But 'tis not only I that has been suffering from FOMO of recent times.

One of my dear friends, who will be returning from recent travels, has been exhibiting symptoms of FOMO. After a long time aboard this friend is feeling eager to return home, but reluctant for not having seen everything while journeying. This is impossible, just all too common of a feeling. When you visit a part of the world, or go to see friends or family, you start to think about all the places you didn't make it to, or the events that will happen once you board that return flight home. The birthdays you will miss, the weekend brunches you won't attend, so many beautiful things and you cannot do or see them all. How obscene that this world is so beautiful, that we suffer, not from a lack of beauty but from a sense of overwhelming abundance that we will not be able to take it all in. In this life, we make choices and to some extent we have to live with those choices. Another friend was torn on whether to stay aboard and live in a far off place or return to familiarity. I think for those of us that travel, that thrive on seeing new, unknown, exotic things, we sometimes have contempt for the familiar. We see it as mundane, or too normal to stomach. But in my wise old age, I am learning that familiar is not boring or lowbrow, it is home, and there is nothing wrong with staying home.

So, as you embark on whatever journey today will bring, make sure you align yourself not with The Fear, but with The Presence of Now. So much easier said than done. But ease and reward do not always travel in tandem. Just realize, you are where you are because of choices you have made. They don't always offer instant gratification, but that's OK. Life doesn't need to immediately pay off. And if you are not happy with where you are, I mean not because of FOMO, but because you really should make a change, then do that. But when you feel that sense of jealousy and envy start to creep in, just push it aside, realize that what you are doing has just as much importance as what someone else is doing. And remember, stay hydrated, even though this isn't the desert, water always helps.

And Now Ladies and Gentlemen....

A little bit of poetry on this fine Sunday afternoon.

It all feels so fake.
Like I'm waking up for the first time to realize that all this is nothing more than
plastic pawns on a cheap, cardboard chessboard.
If it was carved from marble or mahogany, it wouldn't seem to bad.
But this, it's all I can do to wait for that day when I hear

"Pass Go, Collect $200", and then, just like that,
Without waiting to say Sorry,
Like a Hungry Hippo, I'm off!

Down secret Chutes and up Hidden ladders.
If I hurry, I'll be gone before you have the chance to sink my battleship.
Careful! Don't break the ice or someone will notice I'm sneaking out, through the Ballroom, with the revolver, and Mrs. Peacock is on my ass!
If I can just make it through this Candy Land of distractions and demons.
One wrong move, and KeRplUnK! It could all be over before I know it.

But like Magic Gathering, there are tricks up my sleeve.
And I'm willing to take the Risk, because you have no idea how well I know my way around this Mousetrap.
I have moves like you've never seen, the likes of which will Boggle your mind.
I will get out of this Barrel of Monkeys and when I do, I'll be the one yelling
YAHTZEE!

Because this is no Trivial Pursuit here.
This is my Life.
And this is one game, I plan on winning.

**Warning: The game is rigged. You can't lose if you don't play the game.