I went to Eugene for one reason alone; Dolly Parton wrote a song about it.
http://m.youtube.com/index?desktop_uri=%2F&gl=US#/watch?xl=xl_blazer&v=24dbmdysYA0
If it's good enough for Dolly, then it's good enough for me, I figured. And she was right. I went into town on August 1st and didn't leave till two weeks later. Eugene is a place where everything just felt right, mostly for two establishments, Carol Melia's house and a nameless cafe on the corner of Patterson and 13th. I'll start there.
Coming into town off the trail, with better than a week's worth of grime on me and a month's growth of beard, I was on a hunt for a good cup of Earl grey. Call me Lawrence. I was yearning to reenact the scene where he stumbles into the officers' bar in Cairo for a lemonade. And so I came to the nameless cafe.
It is, as you would expect, a cafe with no name. If you look for it now, you won't find it. They closed the day before I left town. I walked in, grimed over in a pitted t-shirt that had been white, now the color of northern California and most of Oregon. I may have made a pitiable appearance, since the girl behind the counter gave me my tea free of charge. I'm not ashamed of handouts. The day before, sitting on a street corner just because I was tired, a guy not much better off than I looked gave me three dollars. I let him feel he was helping me out, because he was. And this girl was helping me out. Honestly, it wasn't a good cup, but I went back every day I was in town till it closed.
The reasons were simple, the staff were friendly and talkative, the customers were eccentric and likeable, and the two girls who worked the counter were cute. I had no pressing business than to drink tea, make eye contact, and argue with a regular as to the definition of 'cavalier' and whether or not I fit the description.
Cavalier - n. One having the courtly bearing of a knight; gallant; adj. haughty, disdainful, or supercilious; having an arrogant attitude; offhand or unceremonious
He was sure I have a yacht secreted somewhere and make a show of my poverty. There is no yacht, but I'm not so naive to think that he was in all ways incorrect.
I had been thinking a lot about this story - this walk - and of another. In India - i do not know whoch part - there is the story of Bharat, a braggart who tells everyone of the great things he has done and will do. Seeing a mountain, he points to it and declares he will be the first to climb it. He has a flag made of bright cloth and shows it to everyone he meets, telling them that when they see it atop the mountain they will know that he, Bharat, has climbed the peak. He does get there, having spent much effort to reach the summit, and there he sees flapping in the breeze, hundreds of flags from dozens of nations. Dejected, he stows his flag and walks down the mountain. There he meets an old man who asks why he looks so down. Bharat tells his story and the old man answers, 'you were not the first, but you did it just the same. Do you have to tell everyone about your life?'
I've known that story for a long time, but never thought about it truly in reference to myself until recently. Before I left, I told nearly everyone I knew about what I was doing, where I was going, how great I would be, the principles I would follow to give my walk a pseudo-biblical air - no vehicles, gathered food, accepting what i was offered but not asking. I contacted schools, radio stations, and outing clubs, asking if they would like me to speak with them when I reached their towns. Once i began walking, simple questions like "where do you work?" and "where is home?" i answered with lengthy explanations of what i am doing and why, rather than giving the simpler, though incomplete, answers they wanted. I was too proud of my humility. I was inviting the world to watch who I was becoming.
I set up a blog.
It shouldn't be surprising. With cell phones, facebook, Twitter, and blogs, there are abundant opportunities to present just how amazing we feel we are to the rest of the world. I just hadn't realized that I was following the same seductions. To my mind, all the mountains had been climbed, all the rivers crossed, the jokes been told, the love made before I even left. I had lived it all in my imagination that the physical journey would be outward projection of what had already been had. The idea of the adventure became the thing itself.
The radio stations, schools, outing clubs, and all the others realized that and offered encouragement, but no invitations. For they, this is a story in wait. Nothing great has happened yet, according to them. And they may be right.
At any rate, even if something had, why would it need be told? I've been thinking about that a lot. How would I live my life if I could tell no one about it? If everything I did would never be discussed over dinner, behinds microphone, on a page, on a pillow, would I do things any differently?
So I've decided to tell no new people. I will keep the blog, and others can tell what they like, but i've given up announcing to the world what they can expect of me. A friend quoted to me this verse of the bible, "Boast not thyself of tomorrow; for thou knowest not what a day may bring forth."
Life is what happens when you are making other plans. Considering the billions of people who have led unexceptional lives, and the millions who didn't but never spoke of it, there's little reason, and not much precedent, for me to go shouting. I am not great now, and don't expect to ever be, and that's fine. Comforting even. It gives more opportunities for mistakes, more space to be forgiven, more chances to get it right.
Maybe then I may actually succeed in giving more than the appearance of being humble, but true humility itself. And in so doing, be more able to take in what I am offered.
"I think I will do nothing now -
But listen.
To accrue what I hear into myself-
To let sounds contribute towards me"
~ Walt Whitman
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