Refuge Pics...

Squaw Creek Nat'l Wildlife Refuge

This was my first trip to a wildlife refuge and I've noticed I've been outdoors more and more lately - brings to mind growing up and taking family road trips in the RV. 11 people in an RV is an interesting experiment of group dynamics. But, this time I was flying solo on a trip to the Squaw Creek Nat'l Wildlife Refuge which is located a little over an hour from my hotel.

When I arrived at the refuge I wasn't entirely sure what to expect but what I found was a great venue playing host to the preservation of thousands of acres of land home to various birds, reptiles, and all manner of flora and fauna. I was compelled to find out if there were any poisonous snakes in MO and to my chagrin there are 5 types of poisonous snakes, 3 of which are rattlesnakes - yay. Note, I absolutely hate snakes. My goals for this random day trip - (1) to see a bald eagle and/or eagles nest and (2) to avoid snakes at all costs.

The refuge has a auto-tour which allows people to drive to 15 designated spots throughout the property or you can do a hybrid auto-tour/hike. The hiking sites were closed so I had to do the auto-tour only. However, since the speed limit is 25 mph and there were only 4 cars on the tour when I was there, I was able to get out and snap photos, check out various observation towers and try to see if I still had a little enviro-geek in me capable of identifying the various species I saw. Yup, I was in an environmental group in HS which participated in a little thing called the Envirothon...what, what. Yea, my crew went to parks and identified plants and animals by their Latin names...it was pretty bad ass. :)

All that aside, the refuge was wonderful, the weather was perfect and the various types of landscape lent themselves to a really great afternoon where there were unexpected sites at every turn - I saw a beaver for the first time ever and they are adorable. I tried to help a turtle cross the road and it snapped at me (apparently it didn't recognize a friend) and I was able to see a bald eagles nest...and two snakes (ugh). The refuge looks like a postcard and I'll definitely go back if I'm able to later in the fall when I was assured that eagles would be coming to nest.

City Market Continued...

The Italian Deli at the City Market had amazing barrels full of olives and seafood salad and octopus and other things that made me want to roll one out of there and over to my place!

Spices!!!!! Love, Love, LOVE spices…every market should have them, just like this – reminds me of the Middle East, except in the M.E., they do it right!

My first taste of KC BBQ – short ribs with Winslow’s Original BBQ sauce and a Fat Tire beer = yummy!!!

Week 1: City Market!!!

Ok, so a gem of KC so far is the city market. This is a 24/7 year round indoor/outdoor market place bustling – and I mean bustling – with diverse treats and people. From the musicians playing everything from cover classics to bluegrass, or the tweens busting out Glee inspired hits on guitar accompanied by an enthusiastic drummer. You’ll find everything that is entertaining, homegrown and down home here. I instantly fell in love and wanted to stay there all day. I love Farmer’s Markets, it’s the inner farmer/former 4-H girl in me – yes people, I used to wake up at 5 a.m. to milk goats before getting ready to go to school – there’s something wonderfully wholesome and independent about people growing something from their homes and allowing the masses to come, poke, prod, and taste before bringing home to enjoy at their tables.

We’re having a Labor Day BBQ tomorrow at our hotel and I know the corn, homemade (just this morning) apple pie, ribs and watermelon we bought today at the market will make everyone feel a little closer to home – bringing all of us “strangers” together. Apparently, this marketplace is a centerpiece for entertainment and we happened to stumble across an amazing coffeehouse there – try the latte – navigate the winding/narrow staircase to the top floor seating area at your own pace and definitely take a stroll over to the Italian Deli – fresh mozzarella = yum – on your way out with your coffee. If I could take something from here and bring it home with me – this place would be it. I’ve included some pictures – taken with my iPhone so I apologize for the quality – of the market. I will definitely be going back, it is especially nice to note that the artists and farmers are willing to take special orders, as one enterprising artist, of custom stepping stones and license plate signs/designs, told me “let me know by Wednesday what you’d like…I’ll have it ready by Saturday”…how great is that?! :)

The entrance to the City Market downtown!

Week 1: Part 1

"In-processing", a word that will live forever in the archive of my life as the most tedious and boring activity known to man. This was the way I spent my week. Going through in-processing with my classes of 26 volunteers who have all signed on to train for deployment overseas. That either makes us bad ass or bat-shit crazy, I like to think of myself as a hybrid (I'm an environmentalist dontchaknow!). So, here I am. Week 1 went down without any catastrophes or lapses in judgment on my part. It was quite interesting to note that there are 3 hard-line ways we can be sent home and numerous other ways in which we can fuck up and be out of a job. If there's anything to be said about the military, at least they are straight shooters. Coming from the civilian world, even though I'm still officially a civilian and will be throughout my training/deployment, to find myself working directly with active military is a trip. I have no clue what half the things they say are – it's like they are speaking a foreign language made for people who don't have the time to spell anything out or enunciate. I've become a mini-black-female version of every John Wayne film character I've ever seen portrayed on film.

Every time anyone says anything to me all I can think in my head to motivate myself are the oft-repeated words spoken by the Duke or other actors alongside him, the first thing "get it done Johnny Reb" and the second, "don't apologize, it's a sign of weakness". That's right, I've become a rebel soldier and someone with a million questions and no apologies offered for asking them – and that's for the Duke. I'm thoroughly confused by the meaning of 'hu-ah' and probably spelling it incorrectly, can anyone explain? I've been told not to say it and I don't intend to because I think it makes me sound like an idiot or a castoff from a bad sorority inspired reality TV show. Either way, I'll leave it to the soldiers; I'd just like to know what it means. To continue the theme of the Duke, is 'hu-ah' a modern-day take on the 'forward yo' attitude of Calvary soldiers? Or is it merely a means of saying "roger that" minus the radio? Color me confused but it's something I'd like to have explained to me – similar to the question 'what is a hoya?' (I know what a hoya is but once upon a time the question was asked by me to another – in a job interview no less – after I made fun of the man's alma mater – I did get the job though, nothing like chutzpah to impress someone).

All that aside, the first week has been good. I'm overwhelmed, still nervous/excited, but meeting people has helped. My on-base 'battle buddy' looks like a thinner version of Zach Galifianakis – no joke – and is equally as funny. He's retired Army and classic. I've been told I'm courageous by another retired officer and that makes me feel proud about the decision I've made to be here. Courageous is a much better characteristic then 'bat-shit crazy' any day of the week, so I'll take it. The traditions on base are kind of cool as well. Every day, at 5 pm, when they retire the colors if you're driving on base you stop wherever you are, get out of your car and stand at attention saluting the flag if you're a soldier or simply stopping to honor it if you're not. I like that sense of patriotism, remembrance and national pride.

It's a whole new world here…and I've just begun to scratch the surface.

Goodbye DC, Hello KC

So, my last day in the district was absolutely ridiculous. What else can one expect when they are required to pack up their life in 14 days! Without the help of some amazing friends, namely SF, I wouldn't have made it with my sanity intact. Granted, I barely made it with my sanity intact. Besides spending the entire morning packing and moving and then going back to my apartment after handing off the keys to my lessor to do some more packing and moving, my father decided it would be a brilliant idea to start an argument. Then my mother chimed in and started an argument with me as well. Upon reflection of this, not so appropriate behavior on their part, I realized that each time I'm about to travel my parents and other family members take it upon themselves to start arguing with me. Slightly ridiculous to be sure but that's the way it goes.

My impression of BWI was equally ridiculous, after checking-in on my iPhone I arrived (40 minutes before my flight) only to be told I was too late for US Airways to print my boarding pass. This was shocking to me since I was in fact 10 minutes earlier than their required time for boarding – so after spending those precious minutes explaining to the rude representative that I was in fact checked-in and only needed my boarding pass to get through security she printed my pass and left me with these sage words of advice "you'd better hurry". After getting in line behind a family of foreigners, who were adorable but very slow in putting their belongings through to be checked, I managed to jog/speed-walk/hobble - thanks to the sandals I didn't have time to close – down to my gate. It was just my luck the gate was at the end of the earth – note to everyone traveling through BWI, gate D24 is AT THE END OF THE EARTH! I arrived and my new best friend was calling my name to board, I was the last one on a less than packed flight from BWI to Charlotte (the airport with rocking chairs) – he even offered to check my bag after the flight attendants offered to stow it with them because while I'd checked a bag when I checked-in online, I was so late the mean counter rep wouldn't take it, so I had too many bags with me. After realizing 'consolidating' my stuff wasn't going to happen there was a tug-o-war to see who would assist me in stowing it. That sucker was checked and I was on my way.

After 5 hours of travel, I arrived in Kansas City, Missouri. There were three initial impressions which came to mind, (1) Christmas lights, (2) 'City of Fountains' and (3) Mr. Miyagi. Downtown Kansas City looks like an intricate web of Christmas lights. Now it could've just been my exhaustion but I swear I saw a man riding a horse, and a titan coming out of the water – Poseidon anyone. Now, in the interest of full disclosure when I become too exhausted I see things in inanimate shapes – like the numerous exhaustion driven road trips between North Carolina and Maryland in undergrad, once I saw a velociraptor running next to my car on I-95 (no lie) and another time, a cloud formation of Marilyn Monroe was spotted – and she winked at me. All of that aside, the Christmas light city was the real deal – a really cool way to see where I was going to be hanging my hat for a while on the ride down to the ground.

Kansas City, MO – in case you didn't know – is dubbed the 'City of Fountains'. Yet it took me a week to see 1 fountain in this city, according to a new colleague all the fountains are downtown. Well my friends, I was downtown today and all I saw was one fountain – a fountain of a cherub and a frog except instead of the cherub shooting water out of his little wee-wee, it was the frog shooting water at the cherubs wee-wee (and yes, I recognize I'm a grown ass woman saying 'wee-wee'). Who says the mid-west doesn't have a sense of humor?!

Finally, Mr. Miyagi was my cab driver from the airport to my hotel upon my arrival. At least, a Mr. Miyagi look and act-a-like. It would've been ignorant of me but I wanted to ask him to teach me karate…all that aside, he was a pretty cool guy who had no clue where we were going (even though my hotel is 3 miles away from the airport) he had to call the hotel and then call his supervisor to ask for directions. But, he was too cute and I was too tired to really care. Between the lights, fountains and Mr. Miyagi – I found my way…

So, all in all it was Goodbye DC…Hello Kansas City….Tasha's in the house!

Skype Me…

So, this one is simple and sweet…my new Skype name is Coco.Nata. To explain the username. Once upon a time, I was writing frantic emails back and forth between my two close friends Em and Rhi. In the midst of a Monster Energy Drink all night festivus to stay up and write a paper for graduate school. Instead of putting 'xoxo' I started writing 'coco'. When Em and Rhi caught on to it and asked me what the heck 'coco' meant, I told them what the mix-up was and it kind of stuck as our thing. And Nata…well that's just the first two syllables of my name…apparently three syllables tend to be a mouthful to people (so I've seriously been told). So, Coco Nata is my way of signing in and off – spreading the love (made popular well before Gossip Girl).

Skype me! J

p.s. Since this blog is all about seeking out new favorites and experiences, etc.…here's my new favorite cover of a Kings of Leon song, probably good to expect such links scattered randomly throughout my posts from here on out…check it out!

My 2 a.m.

I used to sit up late at night in undergrad and watch Def Jam Poetry on late night HBO – you know, back when Spielberg and Hanks weren't busy running the show. Back when Russell Simmons and other minority acts in the know knew where to go to find the best poets to weave tales in well versed rhythm. I used to sit up and watch it to see what they'd say – how race would become a metaphor for ordering food, how love made someone so interested in staying in someone's presence that they wanted to die and come back speaking in a foreign tongue so they could learn to love someone in another language. All of this comes to mind as I've been sitting up night after night the last week and a half packing and trying to bring some order to my life. I've said it before, my life is very cluttered, full of things and unnecessary people and the sense that there's nothing that can quite compare to Def Jam Poetry at 2 a.m. is depressing to me.

I want my brain to be stimulated at odd hours, the concept of time – in relation to fully being awake, meaning fully being engaged is something I've been thinking about often. I stumbled across one of my favorite poets, Rives, breaking down time in his poem – "Is 4 a.m. the new midnight?"; and I am once again astounded by how crazy good this man is at what he does. It made me immediately search all the videos of him on YouTube, only to become frustrated that there weren't enough. Then I went to his website and looked up the written words so I could repeat them in my head ("I want to make hummingbird Molotov cocktails…"I'll unlock the air, find out what's missing…and I'll put it there"). Damn…I need to make it to the TED conference one day to be surrounded by madmen and geniuses. I've found I quite like madmen and geniuses, even if they are self-proclaimed. But this mad recollection and online search led me to realize, it's been three years since I've written something simply for the pleasure of writing (college papers don't count) and it was for my graduate school admissions essay. So to remind myself, and to introduce myself to anyone reading…I'll make 2 a.m. a time to revisit my own history, a time to begin doing something I love…writing for the pleasure of writing…and seeing what pours out, what comes – even if it is at the most awkward hours of the night…

I am the by-product of tri-colored immigrant stories. Of cross-cultural undressing and bedtime play. Of a Viking mother and warrior father. Of bordello dreams, of humid southern sheet tossing, toe curling loss of innocence. Of shattered dreams and strength Giants would envy. I am the intersection between three worlds at the cross-roads at the axis of the universe. Of fearless Superwomen, quiet and steady Rocks. Of weakness that can lead a person to a mountaintop and a handful of pills. Ready and able to kill off the dream of promise. Soy la poeta, El sueno de mi madre's y esperanza, Mi padre's chocolat, I am the child of three days who was left alone for a moment then swept up into, Honey, organic, cotton strong arms, Adoption makes it easy to forget where you come from __ but I digress, I come from a young girls' breast. Suckling as my mother's mother lay dead, creation walks in closely following death. I am the scream that rent the air on October 23, 1984 and has not stopped wailing since. I am that riot, the whirlwind, the blessed. The by-product of tri-colored immigrant stories. Of bordello's and heat. Of young girls innocence. De mi madre's suenos.

~ "I am" by N. Christensen

Oh and this one is to be shared…for love…cause I believe in it and hope one day I'll learn it in my own language, teach it to someone else, and then in turn I'll learn it in someone else's…

Call me…GodMama!

In the midst of all my current life madness, my little sister asked me to be Godmother to my niece! After 5 seconds of contemplation I said YES! Being as I know nothing about being a godmother, I decided to do some research. In my initial search, I realized that not only will I be responsible for ensuring the spiritual 'training' of my niece; I will also be responsible for taking care of her should anything happen to her parents. No pressure.

Oh, I also found out that Godmother is the female form of the Godparent (duh) and the name of an alcoholic beverage made with Italian Amaretto Liquor and Vodka (is it sinful for me to think that sounds yummy?!). So, not only do I get to celebrate the fact that I will be responsible for whether or not my niece ends up in heaven or hell, I can do so by raising a glass of my namesake. I don't know how I feel about ensuring the spiritual training of anyone; I'm still working on my own spiritual training. But, I think the best course of action will be to do as my parents did with me…provide the foundation and then provide the freedom to make a choice as to what you can personally believe in and live up to. I have a problem with people who stand on glass pedestals and speak of their morals and values and then find that they only live up to them when placed under scrutiny. I have an even bigger problem with fair-weather religious folk, those who only spend time thinking about a God or faith when something is in error in their life – when shit has hit the fan – or when they spend all week behaving as sinners, admittedly so, and then find a cure on Sunday to wash it all away. The only downside to commercialized faith, as it seriously is today with mega-churches, etc. – is that the only thing anyone walks away with knowing for sure is that all things can be forgiven. All you have to do is appear to believe and you can constantly be reborn (so for anyone who states they don't believe in reincarnation, they shouldn't believe in the most common religions at all because life itself is one giant comedy of errors with the ability 'escape clause' being the ability to reborn, even when you are utterly without merit as a human being, when it all comes tumbling down).

Considering that I find faith to be a very personal thing, the best statement I've heard to categorize it is, "the Kingdom of God is inside you, and all around you, not in mansions of wood and stone. Split a piece of wood... and I am there, lift a stone... and you will find me." Faith should be private, a constant commitment to personal betterment and peace, and it should be found at any time, everywhere. It should be free to flourish in its truest forms – the intent never to do or bring harm to others. My 'spiritual foundation' came from the Lutheran Church by my families' side and often resting my head on my father's knee in the pew waiting after eating too many pretzel sticks in the bible study. But, when I became older, my parents 'set me free' so to speak and told me it was up to me to find out what I could believe in, hold onto in my heart, and strive to live up to. Those values, morals, promises, whatever you want to call them, that would make it possible for me to look at myself in the mirror and know I was a person who lived by the tenets I set for myself and found pride in that, I don't think any type of faith is meant to break you down or make you feel burdened by guilt for not being good enough. But, as I think about the foundation and guidance I can give my niece, I am heartened by the fact that many close friends of mine are being ordained and entering different churches and carry the belief in different faiths, ideologies, and values – so I will have a wide pool from which to gather information for her to examine. In the meantime, I can revisit my own understanding of faiths, read the holy books I haven't read in a long time, and continue to strengthen my own spiritual self. So when the time comes, as she grows, my niece will know the true essence of freedom of religion, as more than a right. As a measure of respect given from one person (the teacher) to another (the student) – being that one tells the story and the other comes to their own conclusion based on all they know – to know you are free to choose what path you'll take, what beliefs you'll embody and what values you can strive to live up to throughout your life, just as I was.

Much ado about nothing…

This morning, I woke up to a bit of Shakespeare and if there's ever a man whose work you'd like to wake up to you can't do much better than that. Kenneth Branagh's screen adaptation of 'Much ado about nothing' was on, with its all-star cast and wit from the wordsmith himself. While my foggy brain was trying to work its way through the old-English/witty words fencing with one another between characters – I was reminded of the simplest lesson of it all, everything is not always as bad as it seems. As I'm stressing through all the things I have to do…from closing out at work, to letting strangers into my home (the latest catastrophe being one said stranger plugged my toilet and I had a 10:45 emergency run to Target for cleaning supplies which makes this entire passage about Shakespeare seem like it just visited a trailer park), to finally recognizing the obvious and bringing my moving boxes from my car to my apartment to FINALLY start packing (I was really hoping to be granted Mary Poppins' magic to make the job a game)…and the rest of the madness, there's blessing hidden underneath it all.

I'm finding things I'd thought lost in the rubble that is my apartment, photos of friends I haven't seen in a long time – a reason to remind myself to reach out, I'm seeing the blessing of knowing that as I'm leaving I have so many people to say farewell to or at least aloha, I like mixing my hellos with my goodbyes, it leaves me with something to look forward to. One of my favorite lines from the entire play is this, "the most peaceable way for you if you do take a thief, is to let him show himself what he is and steal out of your company." So I shall let these worries expose themselves and steal themselves from my mind. In all this I'm finding my great fondness of 'things' is hollow indeed because I've found little of value or worth among them all…my photos I shall keep, the memories of the travels, the people and experiences; all small pocket-able things. I now wonder why I've spent so much time amassing the rest. Perhaps this will be a game after all, to find out how much I can pass along, how much I can throw away, and how much I can pocket - to hold close, for another day.

To Sublet or Not to Sublet

The internet is a wonderful thing, it takes about 5 minutes to sell off your life or barter it away – you take my place for 12 months, I'll give you access to all my possessions (except my books) so long as you don't fuck all my stuff up…seems like a good deal all around. But, the weirdos who've come out of the closet in this latest endeavor have made me question giving anyone access to my stuff – even though I intend to sell or donate everything when I get back (I need a purge, I've become one of those people who possesses too much and most of it has very little meaning…what's the point of having so many things if there's no purpose or meaning to them, if I feel no tie to them?…but I digress).

I've only been showing my apt for three days but I've already been able to find classifications of people coming by: I have the "look-e-loos" who must like going around looking at places with no intent (or means) to buy, it would be maddening to me, then you have the "negotiators" those wonderful people (mostly men), who come through, tuck their fingers into their belt loops, tug their trousers up and over their muffin top and then try to get down to the business of negotiating a better rental rate, asking for utilities to be paid for (by me no less), etc…these jerkals (as my friend JM says) make me laugh because they honestly think I'm going to engage in negotiating an already really good deal. Sorry. Then you have the "Nigerian Princes" these people who may as well be, and potentially are, from another country because they want to send money to secure the place from Bali or wherever they are writing to you from if you can just send your banking information so they can put the full years rent in your account…ummm, right. You'd think scam artists would try a little harder or be better at it.

I'm sure there will be more people coming through but Friday is my deadline to find someone or break my lease. Honestly, after seeing 8 people and having only one of them seem normal and sane, I'm beginning to wonder if breaking my lease isn't such a bad idea after all…

100 Directions

So, after four attempts – yes, four – to submit my notice of resignation it was finally accepted. I've never written a resignation letter before so it's been an entirely new experience for me. But, I should have better prepared myself for the flood gates to open. Being pulled in 100 directions seems much more exciting than it actually is, and I'm beginning to realize entering a 90 day weight lose challenge at my gym in the midst of a career and life transition was not the brightest thing I've done this month. I would say the only good thing about it is it's making me realize how utterly easy it is to fall back into old habits (curses).

So, after using our staff meeting time to write out my 'work' task list for the next two weeks I came to the conclusion, on page three, that I'm FUBAR! This was after my boss informed me since I'm only able to give the office officially two weeks' of my time, I can't take any annual leave or anything before my last official day because it would cut into the amount of time they have me here. Well yes, I agree it will…but it also makes it difficult for me to get everything done in my "off" hours. Like I said, being pulled in 100 directions seems much, MUCH more exciting than it actually. As my sage mother told me when I spoke to her about my scheduling dilemma, "be thankful people want you to stay, but don't kill yourself over it." I love it, my mother is the best at giving you a set-down for complaining while also telling you to buck up and tell yourself to say 'no' if and when you need to. I know everything comes together in the end, but right now I want to fill my camel pack up with some good vino, glue the spout to my lip and pull the covers over my head! But, the biggest challenge for me now is finding someone to sublet my apartment…

Two Weeks Notice

I've done it now. I've officially decided to resign from my job, in the middle of what seems to be a perpetual economic downturn, at the same time when SecDef Gates has decided it would be brilliant to cut the defense budget. Wonderful, not only have I picked a prime time to do this – I've also decided to do it to become a military civilian, after training of course. So, I'm essentially going to be starting an epic journey or rendering myself extremely FUBAR. Either way, I'm taking the bull by the horns and riding that baby! I need this, I need a change. I've had two 'starter' jobs since graduating from college in 2007, by starter jobs I mean, these were the type that my friend Sardo would say were little girl jobs – I'm looking for the big girl job, the woman's job, the career. I've paid enough dues since joining the workforce as a 16 year old, I've had enough internships to last me a lifetime, I've done enough to prove I'm capable of doing more. Which is by itself a silly statement, proving your capable of doing more – silly because I was allowing others to make the decision for me when I'd done enough, been enough. Well no more, since 2007, I've moved five times, finished graduate school, found, built, and broken numerous relationships, ruined my health, engaged in two starter careers and managed to find a path for myself.

I've technically suffered through two work-related divorces, and it's fitting that both have come within our current economic times. My first job, as a Corporate Case Assistant – a longwinded way to say paralegal – was a lay off due to the economy and really stupid management decisions made by my firm. Essentially, they merged with a company who realized they didn't want to merge and pulled out of the deal, leaving my firm rudderless in a big shark-filled sea. I was one of the first group to go…and when I was laid off, my reaction wasn't what many people would have expected, instead of being angry or heartbroken I felt liberated. I went shopping. Literally, I grabbed my purse – after attempting to send a goodbye email to my colleagues only to find my processor had been removed from my office (tacky much) – and walked downtown to go shopping and enjoy my first afternoon in the sun in over a year. I had been tied down to 75 plus hour workweeks, endless bad food, multiple blackberries, zero sleep and the brilliant decision on my part to begin graduate school in the midst of it all. The ties that bound me to that job I was only too happy to be released from. My liberation lasted for two months, I'm not very good with idle time, through which I threw myself into my studies and rocked that semester. Then I began my second job, as Program Assistant – now Program Analyst – with the U.S. Department of State. I was finally going to use my undergraduate degree and begin working for the federal government. I lucked out and my boss is an amazing woman who told me from day one "you don't want to do this for the rest of your life," she was right, I didn't. I didn't realize 18 months ago that I would be in the position I'm in now. I mean, I just received a promotion and a couple awards for the work I've been doing. I love the fact that the work I do is substantive towards my bureau's goals, but as in most times in my life when I've accepted a change for myself or when one has been forced upon me – I don't feel challenged by it any longer and I know it's a gap-filler and not the career I want for the rest of my life, it's served me well though to find out what I want to do. Which brings me to my pending second job-related divorce, in exactly two weeks starting tomorrow; I'm going to be leaving my current job to take a gamble on a position that will take me abroad to work in Afghanistan. It's a gamble because I have to go through 4-6 months of training in the middle of America and see if I pass muster. I'm willing to do anything to make it work, I'm ready for the challenge, and while I'm nervous, I'm also excited and ready…I'm just ready. Having the opportunity to work for the government and serve my country in this way is an honor. We can't all be soldiers, but I'm finding ways to serve my country and I'll take any rewards which come from that. I like to move, and I'm ready for this next step even if I'm taking it when unemployment is high, the position depends upon my completing training, and I have no f—ing idea what I'm getting myself into really (govt secrets are all the rage these days).

So, two divorces down and I'm ready to go, we'll see what the next two weeks bring but this blog is about the journey, about my plans to pack out and head out, to take what I've learned in the last three years and apply it to a career that brings purpose to my life and passion to the work I do…I've always loved the road, I've always loved seeing what's around the next bend and sharing the experience with the people I stumble upon along the way. Thank God the road is long, and as Kerouac said, "the road is life"… let's go.