To Find a Home in Impermanence
Howdy y’all! It’s great to have you here.
Welcome to The Weekly Suds, the newsletter associated with Laundromats of America, my new project. I started this project with the intent of creating a space to not only record the places I’ve been, but to have a spot for others to browse the places they may want to go. As for The Weekly Suds, one of my goals is to update friends, family, and maybe even strangers with what’s going on in my everyday. The other goals? Well, I am still figuring those out. So please, allow me some grace while I refine how to shape this newsletter. In the meantime, in an effort to give a little context to what I can only assume brought me here today, sending you a newsletter from the road, I offer you this reflection…
A year ago today I left my hometown of Madison, Wisconsin to fly to Mendoza, Argentina to work a wine harvest. I was nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. My Spanish was rusty, and my emotional bandwidth was drained, as I just left what felt like a home away from home in Portland, Oregon only a few days prior. In Portland I worked a wine harvest, and though I barely had any friends there I grew to love it. To leave for an unknown outcome felt overwhelming. But in the days after leaving as my nerves began to get the best of me I found solace in recalling a sentiment I heard from mentors and idols alike. “As soon as you’re comfortable it’s time to move on” they’d say. In most cases, this was in reference to a job, where they’d describe that once you're comfortable to the point where little feels challenging, it’s time to reinvigorate the norm.
I left Portland for an adventure that felt scary. I was just getting settled there. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever return to the place that felt like a home, but I knew in my heart of hearts that the spirit of adventure and willingness to up and leave would ultimately fulfill me more than never delving into the unknown in the first place.
In Argentina, I learned more about myself than I ever thought I would. Not only did I prove to myself I could live in a small, rural town, where all I had to support myself was my broken Spanish, but that adventure and seeking the unknown is what feeds my soul. Though my days were physically occupied by working at the winery, I spent much emotional time processing leaving one comfortable state for a generally uncomfortable, transient one. But that transient state eventually became my home, and I found the most happiness actively crossing into new territory. After my winery stint near Mendoza I left for Puerto Iguazú, where I befriended other travelers. We moved on to Buenos Aires, where friends only continued to multiply. Again, I found a temporary home in my new community. Before returning to the states I spent some time alone in Santiago and Valparaíso, Chile, where I was able to reflect on the last several months. It became clear to me that though being stationary offers comfortability, it is also possible to find peace in travel and constant movement. By the time I was scheduled to fly back to Wisconsin, I began to patch the part of my emotionally strained spirit I felt when leaving Portland. But going back to the states didn’t mean settling down. I was returning to continue traveling, just in my home country.
I flew back to Wisconsin, where the time I had in a few short weeks was spent with loved ones and packing up for the next adventure: hitting the road for seven months, working for a company facilitating farm dinners. Come another nine months after starting the job, I still travel full time with a team from city to city, farm to farm, and work to uphold one of the main pillars of the company’s mission, which is, as quoted from their website, connecting diners directly with the origins of their food while celebrating the hardworking hands that feed us: chefs, farmers, fisher people, cheesemakers, vintners, brewers and many more. Together we gather at one long table to share the most fundamental and universal conversation: a meal!
Traveling full time means many things of course, and life isn’t always easy moving from place to place every couple days. However, I’ve grown to embrace it, and the many impermanent homes I cultivate alongside those I’m with. I’ve found that the reward to this kind of travel is getting to see parts of the country I never before thought I’d visit, and stopping at unique country stores, travel plazas, historical landmarks, and of course, all of the restaurants, bars, coffee shops, and my personal favorite, laundromats, makes it so much more worth any inconvenience. I am wholly intrigued and fascinated by the study of place, and the physical and social environments that shape us. Traveling allows me to further my understanding of what may make a home for someone else.
Today, I am not back in Portland, nor Wisconsin. I sit writing this from Boerne, Texas, one of those places I probably never would’ve known existed if not for traveling full time. I am about a month in to another season on the road, and as I sit recalling the feeling of leaving for Argentina a year ago I am reminded of the same nerves I had right before the start of this current season. There’s an inherent vulnerability to travel, and finding the feeling of home in a transient state. There is no predictability in the day to day, but I’ve done this before, and have some idea what to expect. So, just as I am becoming slightly comfortable with another year of life on the road, I fall back on that old advice to remain in a state of consistent challenge. That’s what brings us to the creation of Laundromats of America, a passion project that acts as a guide to some my favorite spots- but also, and maybe more importantly to me, a record and reminder of each of those norm shifting endeavors, and the adventures yet to come.
Until next time,
Lil
