ARTIST DIARIES

EVERYTHING’S INSANE | A SEARCH FOR WISDOM

AT THE EDGE OF CIVILIZATION

The vaccine had meant everything to me. The day I got it I felt like I was stepping out into a new world again. So many heroic efforts would be rewarded and we’d all have gotten through this together. I was seeing friends again, unafraid to hug and laugh and dance and sing. It was everything I’d ever wanted and it felt so damn good to have it back so quickly. I live in this bubble where of course I thought everyone I knew believed in science and trusted scientists and doctors and nurses and the experts to get us through this. My optimism was a mania, the best kind.

A moment of sheer freedom and elation at having finally gotten my second vaccination mixed with the kind of powerful wanderlust that can only come after the year we’d all had. I was optimistic, trying to figure out how to not waste my limited time off for the year

while still trying not to die,

and I thought,

what’s the farthest

I know

I’ll be able to go

for a week in August?

And Juneau seemed pretty far.

A Cool World Away

from Austin

in the Dead

of Summer.

I closed my eyes and dreamed

of whales gliding across smooth arctic waters,

of slowly melting gigantic crystal glaciers,

of the cool ocean wind across my face.

But now that I’m here, I feel … unprepared.

So that’s how I find myself here,

situated in the cheapest hotel I could find in Juneau, no plans, no car, just the bare essence of an idea of what I want to see and do.

I want to see glaciers and humpback whales while they are still around. Because you know the way we’re going with this insane anti-science push against vaccines and masks and just general action on climate change, we’re in trouble and those glaciers won’t be around forever. It’s kind of driving me insane, just thinking about everything we’re set out to lose — all the wildlife, all the people.

I’d spent the last few months dreaming of this place,

drawn to the humpback whales whose eyes were like black holes into the sea, magical portals into universes levels deeper than I can imagine. Soon, every cloud in the sky on every walk I took looked like a whale, moved like a whale, transformed into a whale and out of a whale pulling me in from across the sky.

I Could Not Wait.

Though the anxious pit in my throat and stomach told me to beware. People were too afraid to get the vaccine and were dying by the hundreds of thousands. It was like a scene out of a nightmare, out of my dystopian fiction.

This is why I don’t believe in manifestation. Did I cause this?

I’m literally scared shitless

but if I’m going to die

after all this… nope. I’m going to live. The whales told me so, the sky told me to go, everything pulled me in.

Juneau is a quiet tourist town with a wild side

(and by that I mean eagles) and a love for whales. It’s the rainy season and the emotional cloudy skies stretch from one mountain to another.

Here, the consciousness of nature is palpable and the world feels like it’s as alive as we are — because it is.

Here, on the edge of civilization, we are tiny and the world is unknown and unowned except by the birds of prey and the bears the whales.

Here, the mountains wear their hearts on their sleeves.

I haven’t done much yet. I have only visited the Gastineau Channel marine park, which was a short walk from my hotel room and mostly empty of people. It’s quiet here, the kind of quiet that is both peaceful and foreboding at the same time. Maybe it’s because I’m on vacation with nothing planned, or maybe it’s because you’re off the side of a mountain off the northern pacific but that “anything can happen” feeling lies thick in the air here, collecting and swirling in the foggy clouds overhead. Seabirds land on the water and fly across the bay, landing on boats and bridges and all things and you realize — birds own absolutely everything.

Other birds of prey sore through the air, performing gymnastics through the sky, swirling and twirling upside down and in circles and loops and shapes I couldn’t define, tetrahelixes and the waves conductors make when the orchestra is reaching its peak and everything is gigantic and singular and harmoniously chaotic.

Does the shape of music have a name?

That’s what those birds were doing, flying like music under the clouds.

Anyway, I wandered around the bay, birdwatching and searching and found the first thing on my must-see list: the Tahku whale sculpture, a gorgeous humpback whale statue by sculptor R.T. ''Skip'' Wallen infamous for is water fountain show - though there doesn’t seem to be a set schedule for when the fountain show happens. I went into a few open shops and stores, including a super cute consignment shop, in search of the perfect souvenir (still searching). I discovered an outdoor Smore’s and Coffee bar just two blocks from my hotel I plan on going to sometime very, very soon. (I am very hungry right now.)

(And more than a little terrified.) Life is terrifying sometimes. But also beautiful. Miraculous. Diverse. But I swear, everything has felt very life-and-death lately. I watch the birds and I’m envious because they are free and I do not feel free, even though I’m here. I feel anxious. There’s always just this tiny bit of panic lurking within these days. Maybe it’s leftover from my mom dying, from everyone dying, from the constant time bomb lurking around, from never knowing what another person is thinking. It’s just Existential Dread. But out here, at the very edges of civilization, everything is a reminder of why the fight matters. Of why we must keep moving forward even in times of fear and uncertainty, and do whatever we can to shift this timeline into a better direction.