life is long

I’m not as impressed by Arizona as I thought I would be. I’m always suspicious when a state lacks welcome centers at the border. In the cafe in Tucson I heard from my contact in phoenix about plans to climb the next day. I look up directions to the climbing area he mentioned and see that there is some unserviced camping in the campground there. I also make notes about two state parks on the way there, and hit the road. I stop at first state park around my usual bedtime, but it’s so close to the interstate that I can count the taillights and hear the cars go by. It’s time to push on. I reach Phoenix and fatigue hits - my coffee has worn off all the way. I’m driving by any optimal exit, looking for exit names that don’t exist. Eventually I get my bearings after pulling over a number of times to check the map.

The park’s website said that the gate closes at 10pm, so when I finally arrive, I’m relieved to see that it’s still open. I drive into the campground and see a sign is up at the entrance: Campground Full. It can't be. I drive around looking for the unserviced $5 camping I read about online to no avail. I find a pay phone to call my contact in phoenix and as I pick up the receiver, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say. Am I asking for a place to stay? Asking for advice? Just calling for some sympathy about the campground being full? What do you say when you call a person you that you don’t really know? I dial but change my mind and quickly hang up to retrieve my change. I can't ask for help - not yet.

I drive back to the campground and pull up by the host trailer to look at the map on the bulletin board, again seeking the unserviced camping I read about online. A small older lady appears and asks me if I need assistance. I apologize for bothering her, and apologize again for my state of mind, explaining that I’ve been on the road for a bit and may not make much sense. “I’m looking for the unserviced camping I read about online.” She tells me that there is no unserviced camping, it's an RV park and that I must have read about the $5 per person unserviced group camping. I’m not a group, so no dice.

I tell her I can't afford the $18 and excuse myself to go elsewhere. She hesitates and then asks if I’m staying for just one night. I hope I know where this is going, so I tell her that I’m meeting people to go rock climbing in the morning and I promise to leave very early. “Are you sleeping in your car?” She asks, and then adds, “you wouldn't want to pitch a tent in the dark.” I have been on the road for almost 3 months and never slept in my car. It looks like now is the time. Yes, yes, I tell her, I can sleep in my car. I’m more than happy to sleep in my car. I would love to sleep in my car. I would love to sleep. She tells me she'll show me a site I can park on. Do I understand her properly? Is she saying I can stay there?

I move things around in the car to give her a spot in the front seat and she takes me to the site. I’m so grateful (and tired) that I can barely begin to express myself. She tells me that I’m welcome to park on this site and then shows me the power and water hookups in case I need them. All I can do is keep saying thank you.

We introduce ourselves, her name is Sara. I tell her what I tell every Sara I meet: that was my name when I was in the womb, but my brothers all have names that start with J so they vetoed Sara and instead Jessica was chosen. Sara says that she wants to tell me something she told her husband earlier. She prefaces it by saying “I’m not a religious person, but,” and then goes on to tell me that there were people on this site, but they left earlier that day. She told her husband that this must have happened for a reason. The site had been paid for and she wasn’t surprised when I showed up in need of it.

I wake up literally at the crack of dawn, and watch the sun rise above the mountains. I’m rested, but cramped from sleeping in the car. There is an art to it, and if I try to curl up on my side like I’m accustomed to sleeping, the leg I’m resting on falls asleep. By the early morning hours I figured out how to remain as stretched out as possible, and still sleep.

I pack up quickly so I can drive to the picnic area, and vacate my campsite as early as possible like I promised Sara. While I’m rearranging my earthly possessions back into the car, it hits me. I really do live in my car now. No fixed address has turned from an offhand remark to a reality. While I’m driving to the picnic spot, all I can think is "what am I doing?" I have no idea where I’m going to sleep tonight, and it will probably be in my car again. I live in my car, I’m meeting up with strangers to climb today, I don’t know where I’m going, and I’m not even sure what I’m doing at this point. It feels like I’ve put my emotions in a blender and set it to “chop.” I have to get control of myself before it progresses to “puree.” I’ve come this far, and I’m meeting new people today. I can’t expect to foster any sort of friendship while I’m in such a weak state of mind.

I flashback to a conversation I had before I left Canada. it was with a girl that had traveled by herself a number of times. I asked her for any sort of advice and she told me that there will be times where you just have to believe that things will be okay. The universe will take care of you. I remembered this advice at just the right time and I can feel myself calm down. Things like what happened with Sara the night before really help me to believe in people, and believe that things will be okay. I chose to remove myself from society, to leave my stable job, and live on the road. There’s no need for surprise at my circumstances now, since this is the path I chose. I accept the advice I was given and I will myself to believe things will be okay. I start to get excited again about being on my own, and the people that I’m going to meet today.

Just believe, and just be.