Austin, Texas

It's Tuesday night, and I'm safe in San Antonio now. Austin was amazing. I'm trying to find a way to summarise my experiences here, and I simply can't. So much happened between flying in Thursday and boarding my bus away from Austin this afternoon.

I walked for hours and hours every day. I talked to so many new people. I climbed into the cars of people who had, not long before, been complete strangers. (Just pretend that sentence never happened, Mom.) I crashed meetings and shared stories and even played some Quidditch on Saturday. I laughed at complaints about the traffic ("If you're moving, it's not traffic."), drank more water than ever, and probably learned more about Austin than I know about my own hometown.

Lady Bird Lake, Austin, Texas
(I insisted it was a river, but the locals call it a lake anyway!)

The people were wonderful. After sprinting in the Texas heat and humidity to catch a bus (and thus literally dripping in sweat), the bus drive said kindly, "I wasn't going to leave you! Come on in and cool off." Those words have stuck in my mind ever since.

As I explored town, one woman told me about her 48 years working in public education and how she insists on riding the bus, despite having two cars, because it gives her a chance to help others—and be helped by others, too. It was a reminder to me as to why I try to take the bus—not just to "save the planet" through reducing fuel consumption but also to connect me with my community in ways driving simply can't.

I talked with a cashier at a small shop at length about social justice and Quidditch and community. A priest and I discussed the similarities and differences in the ways Los Angeles and places in Texas gentrify neighbourhoods and force the poor and homeless further and further out of sight and away from resources. It's always nice to know that it's not just a couple of people in Los Angeles who care.

Unintentionally, I found myself in a group, meeting on the roof of Whole Foods, which sought to reduce waste and over-consumption and build community by regularly coming together with items and stories to share. We talked about all sorts of things, from car-sharing programs and composting to different religions and their historical roots (yes, I absolutely did tell the condensed history of the Episcopal Church). "Hey, you should start a group like this in L. A.!" I remember someone suggested.

Some ridiculously kind people took me out to lunch when I was tired and hungry and far away from the centre of town, which turned out to be a fascinating meal—there was a police standoff just down the street, and I can now say I've seen both the Austin SWAT team and their bomb squad (Ignore that, too, Mom)—with people who were even more interesting than any police standoff and much warmer, too.

Someone else offered to drive me home when it was late, took the long way, and showed me a great deal of the city, complete with history and other context to help me understand all that we travelled through.

People offered up their homes and their hospitality just about everywhere I went. I'm not yet sure if it's an Austin thing or a general kindness-to-travelers thing, but either way, I have met some pretty incredible people, and I have learned so much about myself in meeting them.

I was sad to leave Austin, but I am so looking forward to my time in San Antonio and beyond and all that I will learn along the way.

Jonah: Swallowed by a Giant Plane

It's late Monday night. I should be sleeping; I will take my little brother to camp for the penultimate time (at least for a long time) tomorrow morning. It occurs to me that I am going to miss him. A lot. I should sleep so that I can be fully rested and enjoy what little time I have left with him.

I'm too excited to sleep though. I cannot wait to find myself in Texas, and there is something so endlessly strange about that, being excited about Texas. My thirteen-year-old self would be appalled and furious if it weren't already preoccupied with gaping at me in utter disbelief.

"Texas?? But we HATE Texas," it is protesting. "Let a black hole swallow the entire state! Nothing good comes from Texas!" I grew up with a very big "thing" against Texas. Blame it on Bush, I suppose.

When I was about fifteen or sixteen, my best friend, on whom I had depended a very great deal, decided that they absolutely hated my very guts in that way only fifteen- or sixteen-year-olds can. It was one of the most painful losses I have ever experienced. It sucked. I was miserable.

In the midst of my grief, anger, pain, and swirl of incomprehensible emotions, my iPod played a song I had never heard before. There's a long, logical explanation for how it ended up on there, but in retrospect, I think I was just supposed to hear it. To use only a little hyperbole, it changed my life.

Imagine my horror when I found out the person who wrote that live-saving song, Bryce Avary (The Rocket Summer), was from Texas. It was a bit of an existential crisis. How could someone who seemed so nice, who wrote things to which I related so well, who clearly cared about the world, be from Texas??? It was impossible to comprehend. I knew the answer, but I didn't like it. I frantically fled from the suggestion that Texas might not be simply a hell-hole of pure evil.

Going to Texas feels like finally submitting to something that has been calling to me for the past four to five years. I feel like Jonah: I have been running and running from Texas, determined that nothing in Texas could possibly be good, and at last I will be swallowed by a plane which will, after three hours in its belly, spew me out in the very capital of Texas.

A few months ago, when I finally made my decision to go to Texas, I was mostly just terrified. I had already known for a couple years that I would have to face my (irrational) fear of Texas at some point, but it didn't make it any less scary. I lost plenty of sleep being afraid and nervous.

Tonight, I am sleepless with excitement. It feels so right to be rocking out to The Rocket Summer right now. "Let the revival rattle me and open my eyes, open my eyes!" I cannot wait to be rattled. I cannot wait to have my eyes opened. Texas, here I come.

Blogging Update

Over the next two months, this blog will be serving a new and specific purpose: to document my journey through the U. S., volunteering and learning and immersing myself in the communities I will be visiting. I won't promise a specific posting schedule, as I cannot predict how much time and wi-fi I will have throughout my seven weeks, but it would be reasonable to expect updates while I fly/bus between cities.

I have been fundraising for this trip for a few weeks now and am almost to my original goal of $700! I had to update my goal to $1000 when I found out my trip was being extended a few more weeks—read more about that on the page (check out the "Updates" tab to see how things have been developing). You can find the campaign at indiegogo.com/elizabeththraen.

I will try to get a post with all of my pre-journey thoughts up sometime in the next week and a half before I leave. Until then, thanks for all your support and I look forward to sharing my journey with you!

P. S. Yes, I know it's been a stupidly long period of time since I last blogged.