The return to Portland: lessons learned...

So I had a pretty uneventful trip back to Portland; if you can ever call hitchhiking uneventful.

I rode into Idaho with my rice crew, but it was getting pretty apparent that at this point tention was growing; and apparently the tention had something to do with me, for some reason. I decided, both because of the mounting tention, and because most of my crew was going to Southernish Idaho, to Rexburg for the primitivist skills gathering known as Rabbitstick, and I was not going to Rabbitstick, that in fact, I needed to be back in Portland immediately, to jump back into school, that it was time to part ways. I rode up to route 90 West with Zac in the back of the pickup, and expressed my interest in doing rice camp again next year.

I was a little shocked when he replied "well there has been some discontent among the crew concerning you....do you know what I'm talking about?"

Anyway, long story short, before we really got a chance to talk about whatever it was that I had apparently done to create discord; I was dropped off at the on-ramp of route 90 W, wondering what the hell I'd done which had upset the crew. I thought that this would put me in a bad mood for hitching, but actually, since I couldn't think of the incident Zac was alluding to, I just felt a little annoyed that nobody had talked with me earlier about whatever it was that was bothering them. And so, one of the major lessons of this year in my life; the importance of clear communication, was stressed once again.

Without clear communication, everything goes to hell; people's feelings are hurt, people feel used and abused and overwhelmed, often taking on problems that aren't even theirs to deal with. I've been taking Nonviolent Communication classes at my college, and it has been an ongoing lesson in my life lately. I wish whoever on the crew had a problem with me had addressed it directly, rather then making Zac the messanger and rather then waiting until right before they dropped me off to tell me something had been a problem.

Anyway, my first ride was with this nice guy who was going camping in the mountains with friends; he gave me a Pabst and told me about his girlfriend who was studying to be a natropath in Portland. The next ride was on the back of a motorcycle, which never, ever happens to hitchhikers....I was amazed when I saw him stop..for a moment I hesitated, thinking, "this can't be happening!" Then I ran to the bike, and sure enough, he was willing to give me a twenty-mile ride through the crazy mountain passes of Montana.

TO BE CONTINUED...AM IN NO MOOD TO WRITE.

Love ya,
Carrot