The Comfy Corner

Train travel: a method of travel which popularly attracts smelly people of lesser mental stability, people who highly enjoy talking about themselves and their problems to strangers, and a few normal people who are just trying to save money or avoid planes. I proudly label myself in the third category of train travelers. At least I wear deodorant (usually), I hope that I'm fairly mentally stable and I don't think I talk about my problems too much (except on this blog). I was lucky enough, however, to experience all types of travelers on first-time ever, long-distance, 13-hour train trip to Ottumwa, Iowa. Here is my story.

I arrived in Denver a couple of hours before my train was to depart. Plenty of time to grab a nice dinner, take care of my banking needs and relax at the station, right? Wrong. All of the Bank of Americas in Denver have permanently closed down (but they annoyingly still pop up on Google Maps taunting me like a mirage in the desert), Union Station is under construction so the Amtrak station mysteriously moved to a secluded, hard-to-find part of town (WHO MOVES A TRAIN STATION?!?!), and all of the searching for stations and banks left me with zero time to have dinner. So when I finally found the station (imagine me lugging all of my luggage around the sketchiest part of Denver) it turns out it was packed with approximately 300 high school Christian singers who wanted to constantly practice their Jesus tunes. These were to be my train-mates for the entirety of the 13 hour journey. When I boarded the train, however, I was lucky enough to not be seated next to one of the high schoolers. No, I was seated next to a very large, bald man with a ton of piercings who reeked of weeks of not showering and continually sniffed his shirt and asked me a ton of personal questions. Meanwhile, the mentally unstable, elderly lady in front of me asked on a continual loop, "Where are my socks?" while her twenty-something chaperone kept feeding her yogurt ("You like yogurt, don't you grandma? Isn't this train nice? Do you need your sweater?" meanwhile, "Where are my socks? Where are my socks?"). I desperately attempted to drown them out with my music, but I was sat in a seat that made me go backwards on the train. So there I was feeling slightly dizzy, surrounded by crazy strangers, absolutely starving, and all the while watching the outside world whip past me as I traveled backwards to Iowa. On top of all of this, I took a small sedative to help me sleep. This, however, affected me in the most negative of ways. I got so drowsy that that I couldn't get out of my seat to get water or use the bathroom without the fear of falling on my face. I arrived in Iowa a battered boy and extremely loath to train travel.

The ride back to Denver, I must admit, was much much better. I secured a seat all to myself going forwards not backwards. And I even took advantage of the dining car. I had a lovely dinner with wine (no sedatives this time!), however, they made me sit with strangers. More crazy people who were just competing with stories of how awesome and crazy their lives were. The type of people who talk but don't listen. Beyond that, the trip was amazing. I doodled a lot, read some, listened to music, slept a little, and had a great trip. So Amtrak, you redeemed yourself, sort of. I've decided that there is potential for a comfy corner on a train. But I will never forget the stress of my first-ever train trip. Stay comfy y'all.

It's funny to me. When I am negotiating contracts for a job I always insist that I am given at least one day off a week to relax and explore. However, when I am in the city, building my own work schedule, I don't give myself the same luxury. I always fill my schedule to the max with work, class, errands and chores and I give myself a day off every month if I'm lucky. It's cruel! But New York has this weird way of making me feel like I'm wasting my life away when I'm sitting in my apartment. When I'm at home, I always feel like I'm missing some amazing opportunity. And I probably am, but there are just too many amazing opportunities occurring at any given moment for one person to take advantage of. It's a constant anxiety for me. So I suppose I just have to embrace the fact that I'm not gonna catch everything that is happening in the world and enjoy my days off, kinda like I enjoy my days off here in Creede.

For three of my days off I have ventured down to this magical place called Pagosa Springs. I say this place is magical because it has all the things Creede doesn't have: Mexican food, pizza, a movie theatre, Sonic and the most amazing hot springs I've ever seen. It's like a real life heaven on earth! There are probably about thirty hot tubs hugging the Rio Grande and you can take a dip in each and every one of them. Some of them have waterfalls, some have jets, some are 115 degrees. It's our planet's very own comfy corner! If you are feeling adventurous, you can even take a dip in the river and then dry off by the fire that is always going. Every time I've gone to Pagosa, I've had a lovely dinner, seen an amazing movie, and then watched the sunset (and the rainbows, there are always rainbows!) as I soaked in the healing sulphur waters heated by the core of our beautiful mother earth. And the whole time I've felt completely at peace! I haven't felt like I was wasting time or missing something important or letting life pass me by. I've just embraced my relaxation and lived in the moment. I suppose it's a pretty easy thing to do, though, since I'm surrounded by old biddies who sneak flasks of white wine and whiskey into the hot tubs and drunkenly talk about absolutely nothing in particular. They know how to relax. They've spent their whole lives perfecting the art.

And so I've come to the conclusion that actors don't know how to relax. They party hard, they work hard, they are in class all of the time, in rehearsal, waiting tables, making rent, performing, on the road, but they don't plan vacations often enough. They book a job near a beach and consider that job their vacation when in fact it isn't. It is still a job. Too often do we mix work and free time. We aren't wasting our lives away when we go to the spa or take a summer off to see the world. No, in fact we are giving ourselves the fuel we need to do what we do better. Theatre is gonna keep happening y'all. Auditions are never gonna stop occurring. So why not live life for a bit? After all, it's kind of hard to imitate life on stage when you're too busy making art to live the life the art is imitating, right? So I will soak in my earth water comfy corner guilt free. Because my body deserves it. Stay comfy y'all.

Last week I was waiting tables when a woman stopped me by grabbing my arm and asked me (in the most stereotypical way imaginable), "You ain't from 'round here are ya?" I responded in my usual way, "No mam, I'm not. I live in New York." She then smiled a toothy smile and knowingly replied, "Yeah, I could tell by your pants that you've never stepped off a sidewalk before." To which she slapped me on the back in that joking Southwestern way and I politely laughed and then walked away in that state of confusion where you are trying to decipher whether or not you should be offended. I don't feel particularly "New York." I've only lived there like four months. I was just wearing dress pants. Yeah, they were skinny and fit me well, but I didn't think they particularly screamed, "I've never left a sidewalk!"

So several days later, after digesting this comment and analyzing it, I have decided that yes, I am indeed offended. I'm from North Carolina. I'm a Southern boy at heart. I spent the first 19 years of my life not caring what I was wearing just like the rest of the people here in Colorado. Hell, I was practically born in a pair of cargo pants! And I'm an Eagle scout. I've probably walked more miles on trails than I have on sidewalks. And I've probably canoed more miles on rivers than this woman ever will in her life.

So, yeah. I've changed a lot on the outside since I left the South. My clothes fit a little better, I own more than one pair of shoes, I moisturize with Mary Kay facial products, but deep down I've still got grit under my nails, I can tie a clove hitch double half hitch no problem, and I've still got a pair of waterproof camo pants in my North Carolina closet (where they will remain until I'm in the wilderness). I may have a taste for fine wine, but I can also drink Tang and eat corned beef hash with the rest of these Coloradans.  So sidewalks be damned, New York City, you will never take that away from me. Stay comfy y'all.