Arcata → Fortuna
↑ 860 feet ↓ 843 feet
It’d been a week since Cory actually had the space to practice his headspins.
We’d hoped to session in Klamath, but the adjoining room was completely filled with a second king-sized bed, its thick gray comforter pressed against the walls, the mounted television threatening to fall with any shake or movement.
He tried in the hotel in Arcata, on the carpet between the closet and night stand. But he risked knocking into the full-length mirror--instead he spun into the bed.
So when we finally made it to Fortuna, the sky heavy with sun and smoke, we discovered a paradise: a creamy carpet devoid of unnecessary furniture. Perfect for dancing.
Sometimes, it seems we fill empty space with things--words when there is no conversation, furniture when there is floor space, microwaves on working desks (there was actually a microwave dead center on our desk in Gold Beach).
We fill space with stuff. Stuff becomes a buffer for something else we’re lacking. With material things, we don’t think about the lack.
But if we can re-envision emptiness as openness, we can give shape to the space. Space’s meaning is redefined by the person instead of material objects.
On our trip, we only had what we could strap on our bikes. We wore the same clothes for a month. We ate whatever food was available at the closet market.
With so little you can do so much; with so much, you can do so little.