Hitch hiking, Sorority Crashing and the Day I Leaped Timelines
I'm so excited to share the magic of this particular side quest (that actually ended up being more connected to the overall quest than I could ever have possibly imagined).
About a week and a half into my overseas adventure, on my last night in Nashville, I decided I wanted to go to Austin. I kept hearing TEXAS HOLD EM by Beyonce and felt really good about it. (Thank God. It ended up being one of my FAVOURITE places in all of the US).
The night before I leave (I don't plan anything more than a couple of days out) I have this powerful urge to hitch hike. Planes, buses and trains all feel really uninspiring. Even though it causes my stomach to heave and lurch like a tiny sailboat on a choppy sea, I know I can do it.
I ignore the seemingly impossible distance from where I am to where I want to be and focus instead on connecting with my Self. The sensations are intense, but I breathe a LOT and fall back on the inner resourcefulness I've cultivated over years having faith in things that have no logical way of working out. Limitations - in distance, time and space - are all playthings when I'm operating in this aligned energy. My affirmation is, "Heaven is on earth and I believe in magic."
The next morning, I leave around 4am, checking in with my intuition the whole time. I've never felt the kind of freedom and expansiveness I did walking along that highway. Alive. Wild. Powerful. Like a sushi train, the road is such a smorgasbord of humanity, and I am crazy in love with the experience of sampling it all while I'm here.
I walk for about an hour before a man named Sonny pulls over and picks me up. He's on his way to look at a house. He shares his stock tips, family gossip and some crazy adventure stories from his life so far. Together, after about two and a half hours, we take an exit off the interstate to a little town called Brownsville. Tree-lined streets peppered with historical homes dating all the way back to the 1800s emerge out of the sparse expanse all around us. A little fear kicks in.
"Don't worry," Sonny promises, "I won't leave you stranded."
At the house we meet Anna Bishop. She shows us around and asks questions about our trip.
"Will you be living here?" She asks me while we're waiting outside on the front porch for Sonny.
"No..." I trail off. I swing my legs back and forth on an old-school bench seat, fielding an internal balancing act of acute vulnerability, fear about asking for help and a genuine desire to follow my intuition as accurately as I can.
"Sonny wasn't kidding. He really did pick me up hitch hiking on the side of the road." Her eyes widen in disbelief. Either out of a sheer fascination with my adventurous spirit or a genuine fear for my safety, Anna decides to rearrange her entire day so she can help me out. (Her exact thought was, "What? Was I going to say 'No' to God?" she tells me later.)
We finish up with the house. I give Sonny a hug and promise to keep him updated on my travels. Anna and I head into town. She takes me to a diner, where I eat pancakes and drink iced coffee. She calls a few of her friends, asking if they can help get me to Texas.
We venture on into a big, old building at the end of a tiny street where I'm introduced to Michael and Joe, two Brownsville patriarchs. I tell them about my journey, and they excitedly share their history, inextricably linked with the town they call home. I feel like a journalist, training my sight on the people and environment all around me, eager to soak up as much as I can.
"My daughter is driving across the state to go back to school tomorrow, she'll take you," Michael offers after a tour of what used to be the local bank.
"Don't you want to ask her?"
"I don't need to ask her. She's my daughter. She'll take you." He smiles.
Next thing I know, I'm driven back to his house, and shown my very own exquisite guest room. I cross the cream carpet and gaze out the white French windows to the giant maple trees covering the backyard in soft, light green autumn leaves, feeling like a real southern belle.
I meet Ann-Wesley and Jeb and an hour later, I have a glass of wine in my hand, having been invited out to a family friends' "Crawfish Boil." (Southern hospitality at its finest) I answer LOTS of questions - "HOW exactly did y'all meet?" - about my life, tell stories, get to know the humans and field a few bewildered looks. At this point, I'm a little overloaded. Can I be myself? Is this okay? Surely, I can't be worth all this. Do I put on a persona to make myself seem more interesting?
The sense of community envelops me like a hug. I've never seen so many families co-existing in such a small place over such a long period of time. I let myself take it all in, marveling at the sheer goodness of humans and the miracles that happen when I follow my intuition, vowing, to say thank you, I'll capture the heart and soul of this place in words as soon as I can.
Michael lives next door to his parents, just down the street from the house he grew up in. After a decline in population, he, Joe and other town leaders have been working over twenty years to attract a major manufacturer to the area. Their hard work, faith and prayer has paid off and Ford - and the two thousand new jobs it promises - is about to move in.
The next day, Easter Sunday, we go to church, twice. I can feel my grandma with me. It's the kind of thing she would have loved. "See?" I can feel her smile, "I told you I wouldn't leave you stranded". Mike takes me shooting and I get to do the Nutbush on the ACTUAL Nutbush city limits (check out the video). As we're driving through town, he tells me all about the rich history, and the current and former residents of almost all the houses we pass. We check out an art installation called "Mind Field" (have a Google) created by a local innovator called Billy Trip.
After lunch with Mike's parents, Ann Wesley, Jeb and I head off to Memphis, then Arkansas, picking up Wallace (one of AW's friends from school) along the way.
The plan is to get dropped off at Fort Smith and take the bus, but as I'm getting to know the girls and asking a million questions, something in the atmosphere changes. As soon as they start talking about college - more specifically, their first year in a sorority - something in me LIGHTS up. (If you know me a little more deeply, you'll know I'm fascinated with Greek Life. You'll also know I'm in the process of building a home, school and incubator for creative women called @madhouse_creatorschool.)
It's a bit of a stretch, but I shoot my shot. "Can I pleaseee come back to school with you guys?!"
The girls are accommodating as all hell. Ann Wesley invites me to stay the night. Driving along Greek Row, I feel like the luckiest girl in the world. I squeal and giggle as the houses - unlike anything I've ever seen - come into view all around us. Manicured lawns, rows of tulips lining brick paths leading up to giant arch ways adorned with welcoming banners. My heart is oozing. Inside, grand staircases preclude hallways lined with decades of old photos and immaculate lounge rooms, dining halls and study nooks, with their elegance, grace and style, for better or for worse, can't help but reflect and conjure up images and feelings of worth, value, status and class.
Wallace, Ann Wesley and me outside AW’s sorority, Chi Omega
The size and scale of all this does something to my head. Whatever blocks I felt about building a house large enough for generations of girls to live and create in completely dissolve. I can see and feel it in a whole new way. Instead of being intimidated by the unknown, I'm suddenly enamored with it. THIS is what I want to create.
Snuggled up on the girls couch the next day, feeling cozy, safe and happy, I run through the last thirty-six hours... the miraculous twists and turns, the plan my Soul is clearly outworking through me. Whatever disconnect there has been between me and others - and there has been a LOT - doesn't seem to matter in this space I'm occupying. I can see and feel so clearly the links between all things; people, events, creations, circumstances. It's magic.
5.30am Tuesday morning - seventy-two hours after I left Nashville - I stumble off a bus in Austin, blown away, bleary eyed and ready for the next leg of my adventure.
With all the money in the world, I think this is still how I'd like to travel. It involves vulnerability, connecting and taking chances on other people. It's living the truth that we ALL have this ability to make a radical difference in each other's lives, just by being who we are and doing what we love. It strengthens my courage and confidence and - most importantly - it takes place in a reality where human relationships are rooted in trust as their default. It also gives me a chance to cut my teeth and pierce my heart in the intimacy of a relational dynamic where I'm receiving as well as giving, to ask and allow Life to show me how much it loves me, through the kindness, care and generosity of others.
There are many more stories to come. You can sign up to receive blog updates at jaeschaefer.com and hit "see first" on my fb profile for more.
At the risk of opening myself up (when am I not, right?) for criticism, I'd love to talk more about this. There's so much gold from this adventure - and the trip as a whole - I know will come out in these conversations. What will you do now because of this? What does this bring up for you? What do you want to know? I'm curious to here. Let me know in the comments below.
