One of the greatest things that causes knots to form in my stomach has to do with travel. Just the thought of going anywhere I have never been, traveling in ways that I am not comfortable, generally makes me sick to my stomach. I am so reluctant to take a trip anywhere (even for one day), I will usually find some way to get out of it.
Several months ago, one of my grade school friends happened to mention on FB that she would be house-sitting about 200 miles from my home, and I (not believing that anyone would take me up on a offer to visit me) suggested we should get together. Not having seen each other for more than 40 years, the thought of reconnecting was apparently appealing to her and she agreed. In the next few months we did not communicate much, so that by the end of January I had little thought that we would see each other and that I had dodged a bullet.
With due diligence, though, I reached out to see if she was still in the area and if she was open to meeting. It turns out she was and she suggested that we meet somewhere between where she was and where I live. She hoped to explore a little of Oregon before she traveled back to the midwest, so she suggested that we meet in Albany.
Albany? That was a little baffling to me because you have to understand that I have been in Oregon more than 30 years and I could not for the life of me figure out why she suggested Albany instead of her just coming to Portland, where there is (of course) more to see and do (and I would not have to go anywhere). My recollection of Albany was that of the stench from the paper mill which occasionally wafted over the interstate as its noxious odor flattened unsuspecting travelers as they passed through on their way north or south. I couldn't figure out the appeal of such a place.
As the day approached for my journey south, I began to feel that uncomfortably familiar knot begin to form in my stomach. Panic set in as I could not come up with one honest reason why I should cancel seeing a longtime friend simply because I was to be whisked out of my comfort zone to do something which for me was very brave. The morning arrived, and as Janice and I had agreed to meet at the Visitor's Center, I plugged the address into my iPhone and off I went.
To alleviate my discomfort, I convinced myself that the trip was really quite simple and easy: I just had to get on the interstate and head south. It was just 90 minutes. No worries. As I navigated through the remnants of rush hour traffic, I soon found myself clipping along through some familiar cities on the way. Tigard-Tualatin-Wilsonville-Woodburn quickly came and went, and I was feeling fine until I hit the twilight zone between Woodburn and Salem. Having never driven this stretch I was beginning to worry. I had completed all my morning prayers and then some, which left my mind to wander to the unsettling place of "I am alone in this car, and I really do not know where I am going."
Something amazing happened. Focusing on being a courteous driver and staying in the middle lane until it became painfully obvious that I needed to pass, which I was able to do many times and then politely return to the middle lane to let the speeders go by, it dawned on me somewhere between Scio and Albany that the trip (so far) had been uneventful. I am actually on an adventure by myself, and it was not half bad! I am breaking through obstacles and feeling great!
Then the voice of "Daniel" (my name for Siri) intruded on my new-found sense of confidence to let me know that in two miles I needed to "take Exit 234B, on right, to Albany." It did not help that the sunshine I had when leaving Portland had now changed to grey dreariness and occasional rain. As the exit approached, I moved into the right lane, rapidly advancing on not one, but two semi trucks which obstructed my view of the exit ramp.
Thankfully they continued their journey south and I was able to flawlessly exit to my travel's next phase: Albany City Center. At this point I was grateful for the reduced speed, which allowed me to process Daniel's next commands as they were coming more frequently. It also helped that I was followed down the state highway by the local law enforcement, who followed me for a few miles until Daniel instructed me to dump off the highway for the main drag into city center. As I did not want to risk a traffic infraction, I dutifully complied with all the traffic laws I could remember.
I found the Visitor's Center with little trouble, arriving about 20 minutes ahead of the appointed meeting time. Apparently Albany is home to some 700 historic Victorian homes, and the city makes the most of this at various times throughout the year with festivals and open houses....February does not happen to be one of them. Janice arrived, and, armed with guide maps and such, we jaunted off on our excursion. Part of the tour was walking, which was fine in spite of the occasional downpour. In our excitement to get caught up on 40 years of life, we just started out not paying attention to our direction.
It turned out that Janice's sense of direction was as good as mine, and it did not take us long to figure out we did not know where we were going. We turned around, making our way back to the Visitor's Center where we regrouped. Suffice it to say that we did get our bearings and headed to the downtown area where we explored a really neat antique mall for an hour or so. Our meanderings through the mall allowed us to talk about so many things and it was a pleasure to be taken back all those years and learn more about each other. The mall provided an unexpected connection that bridged some of the conversations: interspersed throughout the vintage Victorian era items, we found things that opened up memories of our own growing up -- silly things, really, like '60s style chairs and dishes we both recalled from our childhood. The connections we shared were much more than I expected.
We left the mall and continued around the city until we decided to find lunch. The beauty and the challenge of being in the historic district of an unfamiliar place was that there were little to no chain restaurants or fast food places. As it began to rain again, we ducked inside the first place we saw: Novak's Hungarian Restaurant.
Just when I was thinking that all was well with my comfort zone, the knot came back. I never willing eat Hungarian food (or any ethnic food for that matter), and the only thing I could envision was lots of cooked cabbage, and indeed, as we opened the door, the smell inside was overwhelmingly pungent with the scent of cooked cabbage.
The interior was nicely decorated in dark woodwork and the tables were covered with white tablecloths. We were seated at a small table and as I perused the menu my heart sank: it was a beautiful menu, mind you, complete with all-things Hungarian but not much on the menu that supports a healthy lifestyle. I have to admit that mashed potatoes, spaetzel, gravy covered chicken and beef, schnitzels, decadent European desserts, and an all-you-can-eat buffet (just in case you can't decide on what you want) seemed pretty tempting, but in the end I decided to go adventurous and opted for the soup du jour: green bean, and a small salad.
My negative habit of pre-conceived notions then took over, and it dawned on me that I was totally unsure what would be placed before me. In an effort to visualize what I might be consuming, my mind quickly ran through all the vegetable-type soups I knew, from split pea, tomato, potato, carrot, and they all had one thing in common -- they were pureed. The idea of pureed green beans in soup form reminded me of the baby food I fed my children, and I almost immediately regretted my decision. The server, however, informed me that it was her particular favorite of all the house-made soups; and while she appeared to be a rational person, I admit to being uneasy, and solaced myself with the thought that at least I would have a salad to tide over me until my next meal.
Janice was just about as adventurous as I, and she ordered a large salad with chicken (my first choice, except for the chicken). We were having a grand time talking about life and perspective and our parents and siblings when lunch arrived. So much for pre-conceived notions. Much to my delighted surprise, our server (who I can now say without hesitation is totally rational when it comes to soup, at least), put before me a cup of the most appealing hot soup...not pureed, but a beautiful broth of soup, rich with cut green beans, carrots and here and there a spaetzel or two (or three). Forget the salad, the soup (and the homemade bread) was my entire focus for the meal.
After lunch, Janice and I headed back to the Visitor's Center, as our cars were parked close by. The other part of the historic tour was to be completed by car, and for some reason we decided that I would drive. Getting better directions from the ladies at the Visitor's Center, Janice and I proceeded to our first destination. What we soon discovered was that the homes, if not for sale, were occupied, so there was no way for us to go through them. We drove from one side of the Historic District to the other, navigating in and around one-way streets, increasing traffic and numbers of pedestrians emerging from between parked cars, just to look at the outside architecture. At length, I asked Janice if she had a time schedule to keep. It was approaching mid-afternoon and I began to get that knot in my stomach thinking about getting back to Portland, the rush hour traffic and the little yellow you-are-perilously-close-to-empty gas light that just flashed on my dashboard.
She had no schedule but was sensitive to mine. She knew that I was to leave the next day for a family trip to the coast (yet another travel story), and all the organization that had to happen before leaving. We went back to the Visitor's Center and parted -- she south to Eugene, and me to use the restroom at the Visitor's Center before embarking on my next adventure: the search for a gas station.
So for what it's worth, I made the return to Portland without incident. As I reflect on the day, I am grateful to Janice for many things. If she had not ventured my way and (unknowingly) pulled me out of my reluctance to embrace a profoundly personal challenge -- an obstacle that has paralyzed me for much of my life -- I would still get sick at the thought of travel....well, I still get sick, but just not as much. My comfort zone, I am happy to say, just expanded on a variety of levels, not just traveling. So Janice, if you happen to come back this way, maybe we will embark on another adventure -- perhaps on electric bicycles (or not).
