I hold two deeply-rooted fears: being alone, and not knowing the outcome of things.
As a way to challenge both of these fears, and on the quest for some serious recalibration, I decided to stage a little eat-pray-love in a place where I knew nobody and had zero knowledge about: Phoenix, AZ. (In reality, it was more of an eat-drive-hike, but I digress)
All I knew was that Arizona had really pretty rocks, required more driving than I’ve ever been confident with, and that I’d likely see a lot of cacti, which I was immensely looking forward to. I booked an AirBnB experience for a flight lesson in an open cockpit bi-plane, booked a hike near Phoenix, booked the series of hotels and hostels to ensure I wouldn’t be sleeping under said cacti, and left the rest up to “winging it.”
This trip was coming at a time where there were (are?) a lot of life categories that feel a little too in flux for someone who gets uneasy when there are too many things up in the air. Loose ends or unanswered questions gets my stomach churning like the word “moist” does for some folks. I knew that the surest way back into my element was by stepping outside of it, at least for a couple of days.
As the trip got nearer I’d book a few more things, but left my itinerary largely empty, to just see where the wind would take me. (The larger region is known for having healing energy vortexes, so I figured it’d be trustworthy wind)
Less than 12 hours after landing at PHX, having quite the questionable experience with my rental car agency, a sub-par sleep at the airport hotel, and white-knuckling the steering wheel on the AZ freeways, I was pulling up to a hangar at Mesa Airport, greeted by the actual “Most Interesting Man In the World” (sorry Dos Equis. This guy’s got your guy beat): my soon-to-be flight instructor.
The experience was just as exhilarating as you’d expect. History behind the aircraft. Hearing radio communication with the air towers. Having the opportunity to steer the plane thousands of feet above the ground. Doing a stall over the San Tan mountains.
At the end of the flight, I was in complete awe: one, that I had just flown an effing aircraft. And two, that I had just completed 85% of what I had planned for the trip, and there were still 3 full days ahead of me. Is it appropriate to say “the bases were loaded” if the itinerary was mostly empty? I’ve got all these sportsball metaphors pushing to the surface but nothing quite says “game time” to me like loaded bases.
Three hours later I was in Scottsdale, sitting at the bar of Diego Pops, a vibrant taco shop with pineapple wallpaper, just the right amount of neon, and upbeat tunes playing in the background. It was the kind of place that made you feel three times cooler just by being in proximity of the mango habanero salsa.
After arranging my margarita and sunglasses in a position where it’d be an aesthetically pleasing Instagram shot if I wanted the option, I mustered my courage and, addressing the bartender and the local gentleman sitting next to me, asked the question that would be a game-changer for the remainder of the trip, in each respective city or locale: “If I only have 24 hours here, what do I absolutely need to see or do?”
The answers that came out of that conversation were ones that I definitely couldn’t have found in a guidebook. Towards the end of the conversation, the man sitting next to me said “Oh! One more place. The Main Ingredient. Over on 7th. That place has a cashew-butter-and-red-pepper-jelly sandwich, it’ll change your life.” I was highly skeptical, but intrigued. His rescue dog with two different colored eyes seemed to nod in agreement, and so I filed it under places I miiight check out.
The next morning I had too much time before my scheduled hike to do nothing, but too little time to do much of anything, which beautifully translated into just enough time to try out this life-changing sammy. I plugged my phone into the navigation system, muttered a few “here we go”s as I sat behind the wheel, and ended up in a parking lot across the street from a handful of nondescript businesses. I double-checked the address for the restaurant-cafe-alehouse, and moseyed into what can only be described as a hidden gem.
The Main Ingredient is a restaurant in a converted-house with a front patio space decorated with fantastically funky glass decor, well-tended plants, and heat lamps present. It was simultaneously a humming-bird’s and cafe-goer’s paradise. Scanning the menu for this cashew butter sandwich, I landed on it: the “Cash Money”– housemade cashew butter, red pepper-cabernet jelly, & banana, on sourdough. There it was, this “lifechanging sammy” right in front of me, ready for my tum tum. I ordered it more confidently than I’ve ever ordered anything before, (fellow menu-choice-anxiety peeps, you know what I’m talking about!), and the server goes: “People really like it with bacon, would you like bacon added?”
Hell yeah I’d like bacon added. Because why not? New Year, more bacon, amirite?
Throughout the remaining days of the trip I would see mountains so beautiful they made me cry, witness a helicopter rescue from Phoenix Mountain Preserve, sip hot cocoa in Sedona, befriend people from all walks of life at a hostel, see the sun set over the mountains with Grateful Dead radio in the background, sample local beer from a brewery with outdoor firepits, see a violinist perform at the Desert Botanical Gardens, eat pancakes around the communal table at my hostel, and learn all about the saguaro cactus and the Sonoran Desert.
None of those moments I had planned in advance.
The wild thing is, the cashew butter sammy and being thousands of feet in the air in the bi-plane were equally memorable. Sometimes it’s important to remember that it’s the big things and the little things combined that make life such an exciting adventure. What’s more is that had I packed my itinerary as full to the brim as I’m usually inclined to, the majority of my trip highlights likely wouldn’t have happened.
I still have a deep-rooted fear of both not being able to control the outcome, and of the unknown. Uncertainty still makes me way queasy. But on a heart level and a cellular level, this trip gave me renewed proof that maybe the unknown ain’t so bad after all. And I’m delighted to make it my mission to pay attention to that proof on a consistent basis.
Trying to control the outcome and getting varying levels of undone by uncertainty comes from a fear of nasty surprises. The discomfort that something undesirable *could* happen. But when you try too hard to control the outcome or dwell too much on how things are going to turn out, you also eliminate room for the joy-filled, whimsical surprises, too. You take your hat out of the ring for the unforeseen treasures that make the days and weeks unique. When you try to engineer every last detail or get derailed by question marks, you’re unable to say yes to the bacon or see a dozen hot air balloons drift over the desert mountains.
The sandwich wasn’t necessarily life-changing in its flavor profile. Don’t get me wrong, it was freaking spectacular, and I would seek it out on a regular basis if there were an equivalent in the Bay Area. But it was anchoring in the fact that it pulled me into the present in a way that I needed. I don’t think Brody with the rescue pup was thinking along those lines when he recommended it to me, but who doesn’t love unexpected results?
This trip taught me a lot. It taught me that I definitely don’t enjoy driving but I’m still capable at it. It taught me that strangers love being able to help you out, and that there’s no shame in asking someone to help you un-do the gas nozzle. It taught me that the rocks in Sedona are just as gorgeous as people say they are. It taught me that I actually do know exactly what I want out of a relationship, and that it’s time to stop letting myself let other people define that for me (enough hours on the road gives you a lot of time to think about things) It taught me that when left to my own devices, I can problem solve. It taught me that the frustrations of 2019 didn’t suck my love of adventure completely dry– that I am still who I am no matter where I go, and that we are bigger than our circumstances.
It also taught me that it’s okay to not be able to control the outcome, and it’s okay to not know how things will take shape. Because on the other end, if you leave yourself open to possibility and let healing vortex winds lead the way, you just might end up tasting a cashew butter sandwich that changes your life.
