From Seattle to the Oregon Coast.

Rather than calling or texting when she arrived, she knocked on the door.

Her name is Whitney Monge. She is a musician heading down to California to play some shows. She decided to use Craigslist Rideshare to get some help with fuel, as so many do. She could drop me off at the car rental place just off the highway in Portland, so that I can get to Astoria - about two hours west of Portland. 

I told her my story about what got me to where I was. She told me about places that she wanted to go. She named three or four places she really wanted to see. I can't remember where they were, but I do remember that I had already been to all of them. 

This was the first moment, maybe in my life, that I suddenly felt like I was "traveled". But at the same time I felt pretentious. Or privileged. Something that I didn't totally like.

I had never even been on an airplane before I was 18-years-old when I went to Denver with a guy I hadn't met long before. My family, I suppose, is content enough staying in the "safety" and monotony of what is South Jersey - a seasonal town that has a winter population of about 5,000 people (ripe with a serious heroin problem), and a summer population that can swell to as many as 250,000.

That is not me. My traveling has primarily been under my own steam. It is my addiction. I don't feel like it is even something that I have the option to stop. If traveling is something you want too, don't wait for others. Don't make excuses. Just do it.

Or, I guess, just keep reading and living it through me. I'll do my best for you.

Anyway, you should watch this music video so you can see and hear Whitney. Her music is great. Her voice is incredible! She's so full of soul!! And she has amazing hair.

We made it to Portland and said our goodbyes. We became Facebook friends too. It's a great way to keep in touch! I am really grateful for it.

I walked into the Enterprise Rental Car, buzzing with the excitement of my life. A few hours earlier I thought I was not leaving Seattle. Had I not bought the wrong bus ticket - Whitney would not even exist. Of course she would, but our lives crossed and now we were not worse because of it.

So, now I am on my own and my entire chest feels like it is on fire with the happiness. I feel as big and alive as the landscape around me.

Beautiful Oregon. Giant trees.

I stopped to just appreciate. Everything.

After two hours of driving, I arrived in Astoria. Driving into this town, across a long bridge, is absolutely breathtaking and I was so excited. (Kindergarten Cop was filmed here, too!)

I would be staying in this town with a woman I met ten years ago! Jess is in the Coast Guard so I got special access to the ship! She even let me pretend I was the captain.

When you know people in the Coast Guard.

Playing Captain on the ship from the previous picture!

Not too bad, huh?

Some things that are pretty.

 After playing on the ship, Jess and I met up with her wife and friends at a dive bar they referred to as "The Dirty D". Several people made comments, "Why would you bring her to The Dirty D?!?" and she said, "She asked me to show her Astoria like a local."

It was dingy and full of character. And characters.

While Jess was playing shuffleboard with her friends, I sat at the bar and got to know her wife, Sandy. They met a few years ago while playing Roller Derby in Texas and now they lived here in beautiful Astoria because it is where Jess was stationed, although they would be relocating to Oakland in July.

Sandy let me know how strange she thinks it is that I was staying with them, since I didn't "really" know Jess, and I wasn't "really" her friend. I wanted to explain. It is true Jess and I only met twice, and briefly, in 2005. But, we're Facebook friends, so isn't that enough? And I guess this is just something I'm comfortable with doing.

I briefed her on my trip - how I got there; what I was doing; where I was going; what I was hoping for. THIS! These moments of getting to know people.

While the exact part of the conversation has slipped my memory, the moment has not at all: Sandy was so moved by my story, she got emotional and started crying. It was about life. It was about doing it. This woman was amazing. She is really intense and passionate. I truly love meeting people like her. She feels it.

The next day Jess and Sandy took me around Astoria. Sandy and I climbed to the top of the Astoria Column, which provides amazing views of the area.

View from the Column.

Another view of Astoria from the Column.

There I am.

Jess and the little dog waiting for us on the ground.

My fearless guides. And hosts.

After the column, we went to the downtown area and got lunch, then walked around. While we were wandering the streets, I saw a man on a corner eating an ice cream cone with a bicycle that appeared to be equipped for a long trip. I asked him if he was biking across the country and he said, with a New Zealand accent, "Yes!"

Well, isn't that something?! I am going to New Zealand in just over a week by myself! 

His name is Gabe and we probably only talked for a total of ten minutes, maybe less, because Jess and Sandy were waiting for me. He told me that he had started in Vancouver, British Columbia and would be making a big loop around the United States, up the East Coast, and then back west across Canada. He ended up giving me his father's phone number and told me to contact him when I arrived in New Zealand! Okay! This would just be the first of many New Zealander's to help me. 

We made tentative plans that I would meet him in San Francisco when I got back from New Zealand and maybe I would bike with him to San Diego and beyond, even though I'm not sure that much else sounds worse than biking through Texas in July. 

Gabe and I have stayed in touch since that fateful encounter. He has changed his route and is making his way to Patagonia now. You can follow his GPS here. And you should. It's awesome. He's awesome.

After meeting Gabe and feeling super inspired by someone on such a huge quest, Jess and Sandy took me to a waterfall.

A waterfall just outside of Astoria.

Things I haven't seen in New Jersey. Or Brooklyn. Or Colorado.

After the waterfall excursion, I decided to venture south in my little red rental car to explore the tiny coastal towns that line Oregon. I had tentative plans to return to their house that evening, but I brought my bag just incase something changed.

South Bound.

Astoria, Oregon.

First Stop: Portland, Oregon

Go by Train. Union Station, Portland, Oregon

When Nicole arrived to collect me, she asked where all of my stuff was. I am the lightest traveler I know. Here is where I will offer you my tips on traveling light: wear the same thing every day, but make sure to shower as much as possible and keep your socks and underwear clean. It's easy. If I was not thinking about going to New Zealand's winter, my bag would have been smaller still, and every time I travel, it is smaller than the last time. Save room for the camera.

My small bag. Three months.

From the station, Nicole and I went to the Farmer's Market where we looked at art and tasted samples of beer and popcorn. While checking out some cool photographs at one of the booths, a vendor approached me to small talk - I love small talk! I can't remember what led up to him saying this, but here is what I remember: "People think they don't deserve art. We have to trick them into buying it." I love that.

Saturday Farmer's Market in Portland.

After wandering around the market, Nicole brought me to Huber's, which is Portland's oldest restaurant. It's really cozy inside and feels haunted. Perfect. Natural light comes into the restaurant through stained-glass windows on the ceiling.

The thing about Portland is that I've been drawn to it since about 2009, about a year after moving to Colorado from New Jersey, and I keep going back. I just FEEL like I am supposed to live there. The first time I visited was in 2011 when I bought a plane ticket after receiving one of those cheap-flight-alert emails. So I buy this ticket to Portland without knowing anyone there, without a plan, but trusting myself that it'll be okay and looking forward to an adventure. A few days before I was leaving, I found out that my boyfriend(-at-the-time)'s sister lived there. She said I could stay on her couch but she had to work the entire time and wouldn't be able to show me around. She didn't know me yet. I was prepared to fully explore the entire city solo - and that I did.

I can't tell you what it is exactly about Portland for me, because I don't really know. I like the music and art that comes out of there. I like coffee shops, rain, book stores, and breweries. I like mountains and green landscapes. I like bicycles and organic food. And then every time I'm there, I'm kind of let down. I think my expectations are too high, but I'm not giving up, and I'm still pretty sure I'm going to move there. Because I believe!

So back at Huber's, Nicole and I ordered Spanish Coffees, based on her recommendation. Besides being delicious and deceptively potent, the best part of the drink was that the bartender makes them at the table with fancy pours, and fire! And then I was kind of drunk in the middle of the day. Lightweight. 

Huber's Spanish Coffee: Who doesn't love a cocktail made with fire?

My lovely friend, Nicole, enjoying her Spanish Coffee at Huber's.

Later on that evening, another Portland transplant friend of mine, Kati, called to tell me she had tickets to the Oregon Symphony Orchestra, if I would like to go. Yes! (Here is a downside of traveling light: I definitely did not have the proper attire for the symphony. Luckily, Nicole has a great wardrobe so she let me borrow a dress and fancy boots.)

Kati picked me up for our date night and we headed to The Arnold Schnitzer Concert Hall. We were dressed up and ordered whisky, like classy ladies.

Arnold Schnitzer Concert Hall

Oregon Symphony Orchestra

Kati telling me a good story during intermission while sipping on whisky (She's holding mine, not drinking two!)

Kati is high on the list of my favorite people. She exudes kindness, thoughtfulness, intelligence, and patience. She sees beauty in the details and reminds me to see it too. She is beautiful on the inside and out. She is an inspiration.

We met back in 2008 while working at a flower shop together when I first moved to Boulder, Colorado. She's a Colorado native who speaks fluent Spanish from the years she spent in Argentina. In 2009, she got a job as an au pair in Switzerland and invited me to visit. I flew there alone and had to figure out how to get to the tiny town where she was staying without knowing anything but English. I made it. I always do. And we had so much fun. I'd like to tell you about it, but maybe it's not the time, since we're in Portland. Then again, maybe it is the time, since this is the story of my traveling. I'll save it for later, but I will tell you, Switzerland has chocolate yogurt that I still dream about.

The rest of my trip in Portland was uneventful. I spent the next couple of days wandering around looking for a sign telling me I should just stay. That never happens.

Before leaving, I met up with a friend from high school who relocated there. I didn't get her picture, but I took this while I was waiting for her to meet me! This is a downside of traveling solo: a lot of aloneness.

Where are all of the people?

After three days in Portland and no real signs that I am supposed to live there yet (even though I still feel this pull I just keep missing what I'm looking for! I know it!), I decided it was time to head to Seattle where I would be staying with my friend Rob (who I met in Boulder) and his wife. I figured I would come back to Portland in a couple of days to try again.

Onward and forward. Seattle bound.

Portland: Because if I'm not in the picture, maybe I wasn't really there!

From a Boat to a Transcontinental Train.

I was moving onto a houseboat in Philadelphia during an ice storm on March 1, 2015 when 60 Minutes aired. I knew a little about what was going on based on rumors around the office and then a meeting that was held a few days before - so that we would not be taken by surprise. A couple weeks prior, while I was at Mardi Gras in New Orleans, I received an email that the State Attorney General was raiding the office. 

Luckily for me, I had just left my Brooklyn apartment to move to Philadelphia where I would work remotely. I found a houseboat on Craigslist for the month of March where I could live while looking for a permanent apartment.

After the 60 Minutes feature, clients dropped us left and right throughout the month and the security of my job was looking less than promising. 

On March 27, I received the phone call letting me know that they would have to let me go, effective immediately. There was no more work.

Sunrise from the marina of my houseboat in Philadelphia

Some people panic. Others make plans. I knew it was time for an adventure. I was free. No apartment obligations. No significant other. No kids. No debt. And I was only about an hour and a half from my parents' house, the closest I had been since college, so I could leave my stuff and animals (Thanks Mom and Dad!).

This is when I wonder how these things come to happen. Where do the ideas spark from? It's like they just float up from the gray matter in our brains and appear. And then they become thoughts. Which become actions. There is a rush of ideas all floating up, spiraling around. My heart races as the possibilities swirl! At some point, some of them come together, like pieces of a puzzle. Options are chosen and put into motion.

On April 22, 2015 I found myself in the backseat of my parents' car as the sun began to rise. We were on our way to Philadelphia. I had purchased a one-way train ticket that would arrive in Portland, Oregon three days later - wherever I even got that idea, beats me. I knew I was going to the West Coast and I had some ideas of what I wanted to happen, but no real itinerary.

In the backseat of the car on the way to the train station in Philadelphia.

I have wanted to travel the United States by train for a few years. Taking my time and watching comfortably as the landscapes change. I never had the time - most Americans don't. And now I did. This was my chance. Not only does it take much longer, but it also costs more than a plane ticket, which besides the time, is probably another reason that so few people take trains "these days". 

I needed to meet the people who take their time. What do they think about? What brings them here? Why did they choose to go slow? Where do they come from? Where are they going? Maybe they know something that I don't and they will share their knowledge? Maybe someone will say something that I need to hear and everything in the universe will suddenly make sense. 

I am on a quest to find out. I search for it in conversations; in books and music. It may not be one word or phrase, but maybe if I find enough of them, it will happen; life will make sense.

I spent the entire first leg of the trip, Philadelphia to Chicago, not talking to anyone. I stared out the window and discovered how beautiful West Virginia is. I saw a man standing on the balcony of his old, colonial house waving at the train as we passed him. I thought about how he must wait for the train every day and he goes to his balcony, with a big smile, and waves to us. It made me happy. I wanted to be his friend. I wanted to wait on his balcony to wave at the passing trains too. 

Another thing that happened on the first part of the train: crying. I cried for a few hours after leaving Philadelphia, which is a big deal for me, but I let it go, discretely behind my sunglasses. 

While I won't go into why I cried, I do want to mention the thoughts that happened: "I have nothing", "I'm tired of being afraid," and "I'm going to go to New Zealand and jump out of an airplane, because I have nothing to lose and it sounds terrifying." 

You see? Where does this stuff come from? But it matters and we'll get there, eventually.

After arriving in Chicago a day later, I had to switch trains where I would be for the remainder of my trip. This is also where I upgraded from coach to a "roomette" - well worth it! The upgrade includes all meals, showers, a bed, and privacy. It was lovely. I felt really fancy. And extremely comfortable.

A day after departing Philadelphia, I had a chance to explore Chicago for a few hours.

Hanging out with my new friend, Vincent, on the train.

On the next train, I recognized a fellow passenger from the first train. I approached him and we quickly became train-friends. His name is Vincent. He was born in the Philippines and previously lived in Hawaii, San Francisco, and most recently, New York City (we lived in NYC at the same time!). He is a photographer and big into the Instagram - @alohacrabs if you are interested in checking out his work!

Photo Credit: Instragram @alohacrabs

Lucky for me he knew his way around a camera and I did not, even though I am equipped with my Canon EOS 60D. We spent a lot of the ride talking about traveling, life, social media, and him teaching me how to use the camera. 

He had decided to leave New York City and was moving to the Seattle area, where he'd be getting an apartment with his sister. He had all of his belongings with him. If I recall, it consisted of two, maybe three, suitcases and his bag of camera supplies. Not too bad, my friend. 

On the last night of the journey, the train splits in half. One half continues onto Portland and the other onto Seattle. We said our good-byes and agreed that we would meet up again when I got to Seattle. (You can read more about Vincent's journey on his blog.)

On Saturday, I finally arrived in Portland. The city greeted with me a bright sun and beautiful blue skies. (Of course it did - I was hoping for rain.)

Union Station in Portland, Oregon on the day of my arrival.

Even though my arrival in Portland would seem to mark the beginning of my trip, there was something about it that left me feeling heavy. It was time to get my feet on the ground and start doing, rather than passively watching. 

It was time to begin that adventure I had been talking about, but I wasn't really sure about what would happen.  My friend was on her way to pick me up from the station. Here I was. Just waiting. And worrying a little - what if nothing happened?

What if I didn't feel any different? What if I didn't find myself after all of this? 

This is typical of me. 

This is also something I hope that traveling will change.

I caught my reflection in the window of the speeding train.

To be continued...