Saturday my sis and I departed from home up to the San Juan Islands.  We were in pursuit of good local food, wild inspiring views, raw rugged wilderness, and above all…. color.

It is easy to stop seeing in color.   Most people around you plod through life head down, simply making the steps to finish the course.  So many live in a home they did not create, decorated by things that have no sentimental meaning as they were purchased from the local chain store, eating food they did not grow or do not know where it was produced, watching a show about people they do not know, rooting for a team they have not met, driving a car they do not own fully or know how to fix themselves, admiring the lawn they did not mow, sitting across from a table of children they send elsewhere to educate after working at a job for a company that knows little more than their name and social security number, after having completed several years in a college that told them what to think.  This may be an exaggeration in that it only fits one demographic, but it fits enough individuals, that I think we all know or are some or all of these.

This is the colorless american nightmare.  I think the majority of our country dreams in black in white.  We’ve forgotten how to see in vibrant colors, to imagine, create, and be passionate.  We forget to pick our heads up off of the beaten path and look around.  What if we stopped following the path and created our own?  As we struggle to create our way we would feel ownership and satisfaction as we navigate this wild new journey.  What if we each considered the reason for our routine each day, perhaps we would make the effort to connect more and mindlessly consume less.   It isn’t that we’re not all trying to reach the same goal, being purpose and happiness,  but rather that we have let a single few decide how we should get there and which path is best, and those few are usually making a profit off of our delusional efforts.

We stayed at a small resort/retreat on Orcas Island.  I am completely infatuated with this tiny spit of land floating out in the Puget Sound.  I saw more colorful people on this tiny island in a matter of a few days than I have seen in several years of living in the Portland area.  And Portland is full of interesting people, but few are carving out their own niche.  People making their own way, connecting, creating, passionately pursuing a life of meaning.  Colorful wild gardens were in almost every yard, fences and homes were crafted resourcefully from things found and forged, and rarely purchased specifically for that purpose.  The people were as the land, etched and rugged, but grounded and real.  Growing strong and wild like the forest of greenery on every inch of usable soil.

That isn’t to say there weren’t those with troubled souls, or hurting hearts.  I saw hardship written on many faces, but the majority of the locals owned their life.  They were connected to the community, the soil, the seasons and the greater good of the land they lived on.  There’s something to be said for that.

The air tasted like nothing but air.  No exhaust or taste of concrete.  The few restaurants we visited proudly served their own grown morsels, or from someone not far away.  We dined on kale salad and potato-ramp-fennel soup.  The sauteed clams tasted as though they had just jumped from the ocean, bathed quickly in butter and garlic and thrown themselves merrily into the pan.  Everything tasted like food, not just calories.  Earthy and hearty and healing.  Real food.  It made my heart so happy.

I felt the roots of my natural self begin to tangle and wrap themselves around the essence of this little land.  I felt like I could be part of it, contribute to it and be part of it’s color.  But our trip came to a close and so I carefully wrapped those feelings up inside myself and brought them home.

I will unfurl and bring my color and creativity here in my little town and my own little home.  I will not be convinced that life is about that muddy dull colorless trail of no-meaning.  I will not live the nightmare that has been created to simply consume and eventually become consumed.

Where is the abundance in that?!  Where is joy in that?!

As I start to wrap my mind around a life of creative expression, abundance, and fullfilled dreams, I cannot help but imagine that this is in the same thread as my own creation.  I was carefully and thoughtfully made, with purpose for a purpose so that I might find joy.  I was not created in an assembly line to be just like the one to my left and right.  I was created by the hands of my Maker.

When you find what you can live without.  When you recognize that your image cannot be purchased.  When you find that your acceptance will not come from your paycheck or the approval of peers.  When WE decide that WE are better at making decisions for OURSELVES than a collective group of governing officials… then we will live.

And we will begin to see in color again.

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