mi casa es tu casa

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The lodge is winding down and life has moved into a new phase. This transition started out rocky as the end of one job, led into the beginning of another and I felt the weight of my future looming over every decision I made. After much debating and figuring out my goals, I decided to get my own place and stay in Alaska through the spring. I moved into a little cabin on the Kasilof River and am working at a café. Aside from drawing, reading, writing and simply enjoying myself, I am saving up to study Nutrition Therapy.

The past month life has seemed to find a way of being very timely. Once I made my decision to stay the winter in Alaska, I was offered a job, found a place to live and I might even have a car that will make it through the winter. I was also lucky enough to have my parents here to help me with the move and settling into my cabin.  

 

The first week on my own was surprisingly nice. The excitement of home making and having a place of my own that I've been craving for so long kept me distracted. I like the process of enjoying each of my days. I take pleasure in nature, solitude, independence and freedom to make decisions on my own. I read when I want to read, paint when I want to paint and can eat peanut butter and jelly on toast every morning for breakfast. If I don’t want to wash the pan right away, I don’t!

With a new home, and living alone, I have been reflecting on how fortunate I am to have met so many incredible people who were patient enough to love me and take me into to their home. Their generosity is humbling, and inspiring. Even though this cabin is small, I hope to pay it forward. I'm not just talking about with a bed to sleep in, but with kindness and hospitality. So, really, what I am saying is if anyone wants to visit Alaska… I have a futon waiting for you!

fish tales

Whew! That is both a sigh of satisfaction and a release of a deep breath. Two weeks ago I said goodbye to Shane, Eva and Kristen who were up visiting, and a hello to my parents who were just arriving. The visit with my friends was wonderful and timely. I was ready for some fun, after a summer of living and working in the same place. Having my parents here got me out and reminded me of why I love Alaska, and that there is something so special about family, especially mine.

I have a story for this entry and it begins with a question. When you think of Alaska, what comes to mind? Vast wilderness, mountains, maybe if you are talking with someone you'll be mentioning the winter darkness, fishing, mosquito's and cold... So, in honor of these topics, I had hopes that a fishing adventure would pan out while my parents were here. And it did! So here is a fish tale:

In the days leading up the fishing adventure we tried to glean as much information from friends as we could, about how and where to fish for silvers. We acquired the gear we needed, and we were off to conquer the Kenai! The fishing started out quite humorously, whether it was loosing lures to the bottom of the river, or in midair because the fishing line was so old it couldn't handle the weight of the lure being cast. Anyway, once the lure situation was under control, we began catching spawned out pinks, that were nasty, decaying and needed to be thrown back.

In the middle of the pink fiasco, I hooked a silver and boy was that fun! Except for my complete lack of knowledge on how to reel it in. I went all out, my pole was bowed, the fish was jumping and I was reeling in like a mad woman. My intensity was a little too extreme, and WHAM! the fish got away. I was a little bummed but mom, being the wise soul she is, consoled me with, "Audra, that's how you learn. Now you'll be able to bring in the next one."

Getting back in the water, I tried to not be dishearten by the lost fish and carried on. Since I was the only one with waders on, when a fish was caught I would have to run down the metal grates, grab the short little net and hop into the river. I was getting tired of passing my pole off to mom, running down the grates with the net to throw back yet another pink. So, by the fourth time Dad cried fish, I was a bit skeptical.

When he shouted, "Audra! Audra! The net! I've got a fish!" I dubiously trotted over, hopped in the river and got a hold of the fish. That was when we realized:

1. it wasn't nasty
2. it didn't look like a pink
3. we needed pliers to get the hook out.

The excitement danced around us as I stood in the river with the fish in the net. Never having fished for silvers before, I had no idea what type of fish was hooked the line. My parents not having fished in Alaska before, were even more clueless. We threw out a few odd guesses hoping the fish would speak up and clarify our confusion. Dad ran up to the house to get pliers and bring Penny down thinking she would know what a silver looked like. After what seemed like hours of waiting, he came back with pliers, and Penny. When we asked her about the fish, her response was, "You are asking the wrong person." We debated for awhile, then decided if nothing else it was a fish, and we should keep it.

Then came the dispute on who would bat and bleed the fish. Mom was automatically disqualified from the argument due to a broken hand. That left dad and I. I lost. I sucked it up and did the job that had to be done. It didn't come naturally, but after the fourth fish I was beginning to catch on. We cleaned up the fish and headed back to the lodge and found out that the fish we caught were indeed silvers.

So, all in all my parents were able to get an Alaskan experience. Fishing in the cold wilderness and were even able to walk away with a few bug bites. That just leaves the winter darkness and they'll just about be Alaskans!

needs and wants

I hit the snooze button for the last time and I jump out of bed. It’s early and cold in my cardboard box room. Luckily, it's light enough outside I don't have a need to turn the light on. As I put on my sweatshirt, I wonder if anyone will notice this is the third day in a row I’ve worn these clothes breakfast. Nothing beats an over-sized sweatshirt you can melt into on a chilly Alaskan morning, especially, when my mind is still asleep and my body is moving.The less I have to think about the better.

Ah, it’s a bittersweet experience as I sneak out of the staff quarters, tromping through the large chunks of gravel to the lodge. I pause for a moment to take in the sounds of waves breaking on the beach and birds chirping excitedly. A smile spreads across my face and I cannot help feeling joy.

About a month ago, I relocated to work at a fishing lodge in a little town called Happy Valley. It’s about 45 minutes south of Soldotna and the only real claim to anything this town has, is the Happy Valley Bar, the convenience/liquor store, and my personal favorite- a waterfall on the beach! It is more of a pit stop than a town.

You may or may not have heard, but the fishing in Alaska this year has not been great. Fish and Game completely shut down fishing for Kings (salmon) which has been a huge blow to the tourism industry. Because of this, the owners of the lodge decided to house a survey crew for an oil and gas company instead of lure in fishing clients.

This is not what I expected I would be doing, however, I am enjoying the change of pace from the brewery and I am thrilled to be here. My days are relatively laid back and usually include an assortment of cooking, house keeping, agate hunting, reading and/or taking longs walks on the beach. The stress is minimal and my two co-workers and I do a fantastic job at keeping each other on our toes with quick wit and sarcasm. 

On the sunny, clear days it’s easy to stay awake long enough to watch the sun set over the across the inlet. The simplicity of this lifestyle has helped unravel the complicated web of my mind. Small things like rock skipping contests or watching Otter Pop lazily float back and forth in front of the lodge completely fill me with knowing... yes, this is exactly where I need and want to be.  

a thought on happiness

A few weeks ago I was on my way to see a friend who lives out of town. This route down the Sterling highway is one I have grown particularly fond of, not only because I’ve driven it often but, it gives me time to be with myself, and to simply enjoy beauty. On the left are the rolling Caribou hills, and to the right is the exceptional view over the bluff of jagged mountains either glowing or silhouetted by the sunset. There is so much to take in along the journey, the drive flies by.

On this day, I was sad. I put on some sad tunes and was enjoying the time to be with my thoughts and music. As I pondered where this sadness was coming from, a song that I know by heart began playing. I thought, wow, this song is so sad. So many people have so much sadness in their life. Then, it struck me why I was sad. There was a fear growing inside of me, the fear of allowing myself to feel happiness in that moment. 

Happiness is not something that many people usually fear, but this day I was afraid to feel it. I thought the person I was going to see would easily be able to take it from me. How sad it is indeed, to allow someone else the power of my happiness. The moment I became aware of the fear, the dark clouds began to open up to the blue skies of my mind and the song I was listening to changed from heavy to beautiful.

This isn’t an entry on “perspective” or about “your life is what your thoughts make it.” It is about how easy it is to be reactive. How it is possible to easily slip into dependence or investing our happiness, joy, or whatever good feelings we have on someone/something else rather than looking inward to establish a solid foundation of being able to hold onto it as our own. 

i changed my mind

Memorial weekend I was fortunate enough to attend the Krista Foundation for Global Citizens Conference. Each year I attend, I walk away with new insight and this years was this:

I have spent years trying to figure what I should do with my life. Should I go back to school? What is it that I really want to be doing? What type of job can I get that will be fulfilling and pay the bills? These are the questions that drive me absolutely mad because I have no clue how to answer them. I have never been able to, and probably never will. But, because people innocently ask these questions, I constantly try to find answers.

I hear what others share about what they are doing and I find myself in envy of them. It seems to me they are have found something that is in their element. I envy the fact that they have an element. It’s a bit silly, especially because those are all assumptions I perceive from my end. When really, I have no clue what dialogue they are having inside their minds. I need to stop approaching my life in this way.

At the conference, there were many young adults sharing their gifts with the communities they are apart of. Many of the people I talked to over the weekend mentioned they felt the work they were doing was inadequate compared to what others’ were doing. Even these incredible people felt like they were doing nothing, I was shocked! How ironic, the only way the Krista Foundation survives is by incredible people offering their gifts to others, and so many thought what they were doing was nothing, comparatively.

What is it that makes us so dense? How is it possible that any of us feel that way? Then I realized, often people who like to give, have the tendency to want to give as much as they can. It’s our drug of choice. We have not limits. If we are still standing, we want to give ourselves until we are a sobbing puddle on the the floor and have nothing left. What we try and give is never enough, because there is always a need. Somewhere. Anywhere, a need can be found.

While giving so much of ourselves, as with any drug, we can easily get lost in the world and forget about ourselves and our reality. The things we experience are a mixture of rich beauty tangled with a helpless pain. The experiences are invaluable, as there is always something learned. At times, we feel like we receive more than we give, this being one of the most humbling, and addicting experiences. But amidst all of this, what gets lost in giving and receiving, is honoring ourselves.

What does that even mean, honoring yourself? It means listening to that tiny little voice inside of you. What is it telling you? It whispers, especially for those of us who have chosen to be deaf to it for so long. It is there, it is quiet and we are afraid of what it might be telling us because it is telling us our own truth.

It lets us know there is a balance aching to be found. The balance of listening to the voice that tells us when we are doing too much, or not enough. Our inner voice knows when we are pushing ourselves beyond our limits. Regardless, if we are doing it for a “good cause” or because we let our egos get in the way, always wanting to do more. The voice lets us know when we are overextending ourselves, depleting our energy or being a bum and not giving our best to what we are doing.

When you don’t do your best, judgment and self-doubt become rampant. When you do your best, you can feel it. It should not matter what others expect of you, because doing your best right now is all you can do. You do what you know you can and you are the best judge of that. In learning listen to yourself and do best, you honor and respect yourself, and in turn you learn to do the same for others, and for God. Finding this balance makes you feel alive and fulfilled and everyone one around you benefits.

This is so important in any work you do, anywhere you are. This may come across as selfish, and it is. It is the ultimate form of selfless, selfishness. Without it we cannot fully give ourselves to others. Until we learn to honor ourselves, we will carry on running up the slippery slope of exhaustion, discontent and comparison.

So, to make a long story a little longer, on my way back up to Alaska, I realized at this conference was the first time I felt really good about the transition I am in. I may not be going out and doing great acts of service, but I am learning about honoring myself. I am learning to listen to my Audra voice. And if it weren’t for me moving to Alaska, living in the basement of my friends parents house, working as a barista and bartender, being surrounding by pure and endless beauty, I would not have been able to take the time to connect with myself.