River City

I put on my short, tight shorts to go to work. I'm painting my parents' house, and I'd do it in my nearly-dead, the-crotch-is-made-entirely-of-patches Europe jeans, but this is Florida, and it is hot, and I had to borrow one of Anna's pairs of shorts the other day when I was at her house just to survive the humidity; so, since I only own two pairs of shorts here, and can't afford to spatter any of them with paint, I've borrowed my dad's painting shorts which, on anyone except my brother or I when we were seven, would be considered much too short, and much too tight. Even Sasha the white dog fixes me with a mixed look of awe and shame.

The deck falls under my brush before it can even know what to expect, serenaded by all Coheed and Cambria and all sorts of screamo and prog rock my mom just hasn't wrapped her mind around yet (though I've myself tested whether the sound from my little, portable speakers can penetrate the Florida underbrush between our lot and the one adjacent and adjusted the volume accordingly, she still comes out, turns it too low for me to even hear the words ten feet away, and says, "I just don't want to disturb the neighbors"). Honestly, though, getting my mom's reaction to things is half the fun of playing that kind of music.


Originally I thought that this blog would have to end in Jacksonville, then begin again in the same place as we dip our rear wheels in the Atlantic Ocean for Bike and Build next month. Yet, if I am to be honest, this is not home. I have rich relationships here, have seen many of these stores and shops since I was born, then moved away, then when I came back in Kindergarten (aside from the Publixes -- or Pulices? -- that have all seemed to tear themselves down and rebuild on the other side of the street, which totally threw me off). I left here to dive into the places I felt God wanted me to be, and as such fell in love with other cities, monuments, bicycles, poetry, foreign countries, and more. Rather, I'm here (and I'm writing) because I'm here like I've been at every farm and monastery and church that I've been in this past year: I'm here to serve, to make a difference, however small, and to share; though in this particular case I'm sharing with people who have the same accent, culture, common history and familial bonds and a whole host of stories and commonalities that, like all of us, will take my entire life to unravel.

So far, there has been adventure, service, romance, spirituality, culture, creativity (there's even an impromptu poem), and very short shorts. Now there is a new addition: exercise; or, whipping this slightly-padded body into shape into something that not only seeks to make the world a better place but also rides a bicycle 60-110 miles per day. Watch out, straight, flat streets of Jacksonville, because you've got mad business headed your way.