Birth of the Bop, Part I
Here you will discover the motivation behind Bop-life. Our story will be broken up into six parts. Ben will speak about his life in Seattle and I will give insight on my trip across the country. We both grew a great deal, and we’d like to share with you what all happened during our time apart. We hope you enjoy our words!
LAUREN
Picturesque Montana.
In the middle of May, I had the opportunity to go to Montana for a week with my best friend, Mariana. We flew into Missoula and rented a car, as we had plans to venture to Glacier National Park to hike and camp and eat wild berries in the middle of the woods. I had heard all kinds of wonderful things about Montana and people insisted I would have a hard time coming home, to Seattle, once everything was all said and done. I was naïve, though, and had no idea what kind of effect that place would have on me. As we drove to the park, we passed serene lakes, rushing rivers, babbling creeks and meadows so green and vividly lustrous I was pretty sure I was in heaven. The snow-capped mountains pierced the scenery in a way I have never seen, adding an element of intrigue I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around. I was in awe that such a land could capture my heart in such a short span of time. We hiked for hours in a silent nestle of trees. We collected berries and made a cobbler. We kayaked for a stint and tried our hands at fly-fishing, which proved to be much harder than it appears on television. I stared at a river for what seemed like a lifetime and wrote crazy sentences in my journal, mostly detailing how grateful I felt to be alive. In that moment, every thing seemed right and true and wonderful. .
So yes, it was very difficult to come back to Seattle. It was hard to be in my apartment instead of a tent in the middle of nowhere. Already, I missed the smell of the trees and the sounds of the forest. I’ll never forget returning back to work. It was a busy Friday night at the Brave Horse Tavern, as per usual, jam packed with people, noise and chaos. As I stood at the bar, waiting for drinks to take to a seven-top in section four, I was struck by how loud it was in that restaurant. It seemed as though people were screaming over one another, and everyone was talking at the same time. Glasses clinked against tables, chairs clinked against tables, ladies were laughing and guys were yelling. In that moment, I took a deep breath, and pictured myself back in the forest, surrounded by fluttering beautiful birds and tranquility. In that moment, I knew I had to get out . .
There is something so romantic and alluring about traveling by train. I thought to myself, why don’t you hop on a train and take it across the country. You could stop in various cities, meet all kinds of wonderful people and eat like a king with the gout. I slept well that night. I even had a dream I was eating a turkey leg in Milwaukee and laughing so hard I couldn’t quite catch my breath. Was it a sign? What was so dang funny? When I woke up, I immediately started to research and plan my trip. I looked into Amtrak prices and destinations. I spoke with my family asking if they thought this trip was a good idea. I brought it up casually to friends in order to get advice and perhaps a few words of wisdom. Everyone seemed very supportive and encouraged me to follow through. Could I make this happen for myself, I recall wondering. A co-worker mentioned I should ask HR about getting my train tickets paid for, since Tom Douglas is in cahoots with Amtrak. I sent out a quick email and got an extremely positive response. Let’s just say, Tommy D hooked it up in a major way. Within a matter of days, this trip was becoming a reality. I remember getting pretty jazzed about the whole thing and it seemed pretty wild how quickly things were coming together. Shortly after, I put in my two weeks notice at the Brave Horse Tavern, which felt bittersweet but incredibly freeing. My last day of work was June 22, 2012, and I haven’t looked back since . .
BEN
- Me and my best friend spending Christmas together in a small, confined space.
In late May I returned home to my Chinatown apartment (above), opened my window to the crisp spring air and the sound of barking crackheads, and plopped down into my chair to stare at my computer screen and ponder whether or not I should scour the internet for something to pirate. It was sadly part of my post-work routine – cook for 10 hours, hop on the same bus home, walk down the same street into my uncomfortable 180 square foot apartment. It was a depressing routine, but one that I had molded into fairly effortlessly. After all, I was only there to save enough money to move to Chicago. All I had to do was wait it out for a few more months, and I would be on my way back to the Midwest to start anew. Again.
In the meantime I might as well be frugal, right? No beers after work, no dinners with friends, no trips outside the city. To be completely honest, I quite enjoy the hermit routine, always have. Moving away gave me a great excuse to sit inside and watch the “free” cable that I had discovered a few weeks after moving into my little sadness pit. Occasionally I would venture out into the world, leaving my 4 block comfort radius to meet one of my three friends at a suitable establishment for us to get too intoxicated for our own good. Depending on who you are and how you look at it, this life was either extremely sad or comfort-zone-chill. My own opinion hovered somewhere in between those two options. It didn’t really matter to me what I thought, or what you thought, all I knew was that if I rode this out for a little longer I would move again, and get that reset that I was craving. Move to a city where I knew only my sister, had no friends, no ties, no previous employers, no apartment. The first time I executed a plan like this, I was reinvigorated. I felt alive, leaving all the good times and bad times behind in my wake, riding off to the west on public pavement to find something different. I was moving from Minneapolis to Seattle, a city I had never been to before. The uncertainly led to excitement and I was so distracted by the newness of it all that I forgot how depressed I was. But this time was different. I was ready for a reset, but I started feeling a pull to Seattle. I was starting to figure this city out. It was growing on me, what with its weather suitable for a pale ginger like myself, its high wages and socially awkward natives. And although my relationship with Seattle had always been bittersweet, I felt like I was leaving something unfinished. Like I was forcing this move out of boredom. Then my friend Lauren told me about her plan.
Sitting at the Brave Horse Tavern after a shift one day, we decided to grab a beer. She told me about how she was thinking about going on a trip across the country. She listed off several American cities that she had never been to before, and told me of her aspirations to set off for the summer and visit them all. It sounded like an idea she had just thought of, something she was going to kick around for a few weeks, and eventually and most likely not do. We were millennials after all and our generation liked to talk about doing things in a grandiose and nostalgic manner. Nonetheless, I encouraged her to do so in a friendly, obligated fashion. The last city she had listed was New York. She had never been there. I took a trip out there a few years ago and was instantly enamored with it. It was a spontaneous situation and I dove in head first, eager to see how my pre-conceived notions of America’s cultural hearth would live up to the real thing. I blathered on about my time there, about how I had seen the Warriors a few years back and was obsessed with the line, “we need to bop our way back to Coney Island!”. So when I arrived in New York, I incorrectly thought it was overly-hilarious to describe my aimless and incessant walking exploration as “bopping.” I snatched every opportunity to use the word in my recap of my stories to Lauren and others alike. I had unavoidable Facebook posts that said things like “Just Brooklyn Bopping” and “Bopping through the Village” as I built the inside joke for my two other friends who may have possibly gotten it. You know, one of those jokes that was so bad it was funny, and one of those words that I overused to the point of near murder. In either case, Lauren quickly adopted the phrase and as we left the tavern that night she told me she couldn’t wait to Bop across the USA.
The next day I saw her. She told me she had put in her notice, and started planning her trip across the country. I was awestruck. I couldn’t believe she just thought of this less than 24 hours ago and now it was happening for her. I was envious but appreciative and I admired her spirit. I would of course miss her, and according to her plan, would only know her for a few more weeks before she left. I was moving to Chicago before she got back. Nice knowing you Lauren. Nice knowing you Seattle. But I made a haphazard plan to move back to the Midwest, get a cooking job and repeat the last two years over again with a brand new setting to make me feel like I was doing something different than the last 8 years of my life. I’m sure it will work out, things usually do. So as I hugged Lauren and headed for the bus back to Chinatown, the sun poked out through the clouds and showered me with light. Then a voice inside my head sighed. That’s right, an internal sigh. I’ll miss her, and I think I’ll miss this place. Oh well, I’ve made my mind up. And as I approached Pine Street to take a left into the Convention Place Bus Depot, I thought to myself, “I think I’ll walk home today.”
Bop-Life 