My Idiot Brother

When I was growing up, there were two indisputable facts about my world. I had one sister, and we had different dads.  Some summers she would spend her time in Oklahoma to visit her Dad, and I stayed home with Mom.  I envied that time my big sister spent there.  From my perspective, it seemed like she had two lives, and I was super jealous of her and what, to my young mind, seemed like something awesome.  I long dreamed of the day I would meet my father, but I never imagined that I had other siblings.  When I met my dad (which you can read about here), I learned that I had five half brothers and another half sister. My family tree exploded overnight.  Learning their names was overwhelming.  I spent a lot of time repeating the list of names to myself.  Jeff, Jonathan, Amber, Dustin, Jonathon, and Montana. Yes there are two Jons in there.  Also, oddly enough, both of my sisters are named Amber. In all the years since then, there are still two of my siblings I have never met.

3 days in a truck, and
no one was murdered

The first of my siblings I ever met was Jeff.  I was driving from Colorado to Washington and I stopped in Boulder to see him.  I can't tell you how strange it is to meet some random stranger and think, "This is my brother?"   It's the strangest and most wonderful feeling.  I felt a piece of me kind of fill in. We kept in touch and talked on the phone over the years, and he came to visit me in Oklahoma City once, but we weren't ever really particularly close.  As with all my siblings, we were two people, related by chance, connected by common DNA.  When I moved to San Francisco, Jeff was in town and dropped in to visit me.  In the days following that visit, Jeff managed to get himself a job offer in San Francisco as a bike messenger.  For the first time in adult life, I was living in the same city as one of my siblings, and I am so thankful to have had that time with him.

Let me explain Jeff to the best of my ability. He is an eternal child with an ephemeral sense of responsibility.  Sometimes it's the most annoying trait you can imagine.  However, most of the time it's a wonderful thing.  Jeff lives for the moment, it's his thing.  He just lives for what he wants to live for, and he never gives two shits about trying to conform to some societal norm that wouldn't bring him any happiness.  Here is a man, who at nearly 42, lives on a boat with a couple other guys, rides a bike wherever he goes, and makes new friends every day.  He is never stuck in an office against his will, he never feels tied down to any one location for a length of time.  He lives for the moment, and he enjoys life.  I desperately wish I could do that sometimes, but I really like being mostly able to pay my bills and having a nice place to live.  Jeff just doesn't care about that. I think that surviving Lymphoma had something to do with that.  He just appreciates each breath.

When Jeff came to San Francisco, we had spent a minimal amount of time together. Over the coming months we got to know each other well.  We learned a lot about each other, and he taught me about his passion, bicycles.  From day one, he had me hooked.  I never thought my fat ass would get on a bike and enjoy it.  Jeff made it something fun for me, and I fell in love with bikes.  We would peruse Craigslist and eBay together and look for vintage components and other parts, discussing our dream bikes, and dreaming about someday opening a bike shop together.  Jeff gave me something to look forward to each day, he got me excited about something.  I started riding my bike to work, and going for leisurely rides along the Embarcadero, up to Golden Gate Bridge.  Even now that I'm back in Oklahoma, I've entered my first bike race.  This is all thanks to Jeff.  He gave me a reason to get back into something healthy, and something we could share.

During my stint in the Bay Area, Jeff and I saw each other just about every day.  We got to spend a lot of time together, watching tv, playing cards, drinking beers, riding bikes, and arguing like the siblings we never got to be. I had moments of complete rage with Jeff where he just drove me up the wall, but in the end, the most surprising thing happened.  I found one of my best friends for life.  The thing I love most about my brother isn't his devil-may-care attitude toward life, it's not his ability to make friends with a stop sign, or his ability to charm his way into any situation, it's how he loves those closest to him.  My brother would do just about anything for me, if it was within his means.  He takes a lot of abuse from people, and he just takes it, cool as a cucumber. Now I realize how much that meant to me. The best example of this was the day I broke his bike...


Jeff relies on his bike not only as transportation, but as his livelihood.  He needs it to do his job.  One day, Jeff and I were sitting in the coffee shop and he disappeared for a minute to find a random stranger to bum a cigarette off of.  I thought it would be funny to ride off with his bike, and see what exactly he might do in discovering it's absence.  I didn't think this through very well.  I forgot to take into account that his bike's gear system doesn't work quite the same way mine does.  Where my geared bike's pedals spin freely, his single speed fixed gears move as the wheels do.  I didn't make it ten feet before I crash landed his bike with all the force of my fat ass landing right on his handlebars.  If this were my bike, there would have been screaming and cursing.  Not Jeff.  He asked if I was okay, helped me up, then he assessed his bike.  I bent his handlebars, still no reaction, just a deep drag on his cigarette and a shrug of the shoulders.  It was simply a new puzzle to solve.  Just a quick ride to the bike shop where I ordered him a new set of bars, and he borrowed a temporary set from his friends at the shop, never a harsh word about my stupidity.  That's what I love the most about him.  He is kind-hearted, full of childlike curiosity, quick to forgive, and smarter than your average bear.

My brother was the man in my life for the last year, he was the person I could always count on, and he's the person I want to be like when I grow up. So in all the shit that happened in the last year the most positive thing to come out of my year in California is the relationship I was able to foster with that big dummy. There's something strange and stupendous about finding your long lost siblings.  There's something even more amazing in fostering a meaningful relationship with them. I love my brother, and I miss him each and every day. May each and every one of you find something so lovely as sibling rivalry.

Defeated? I think not.

When I conjured up this dream of moving to San Francisco, I imagined that if I ever returned to Oklahoma, it would be with my tail between my legs and a bruise on my ego.  Now that I'm back in Oklahoma City, that's not entirely the case.  The question I'm asked most often in reference to my returning home is "Why?  I thought you loved it there."  I did and still do love it in San Francisco.  It's an amazing city with so much beauty, and so many wonderful little bars and restaurants, and quirky people.  When stepping off BART and heading up the escalator to Market Street, I always felt that in that moment, I was where I belonged.  I've never really felt that anywhere else.  I felt that the very first time I visited SF nearly ten years ago and that has never faded.  The other side of the answer is that I wasn't happy with where I was at in Oakland.  I felt completely trapped there.  Honestly, not being in San Francisco felt like torture.  It was $7 round trip to get into the city, and when $7 decides whether you eat tomorrow or not, you don't go anywhere.  You stay in your apartment that smells like cat pee and you watch way too many episodes of Downton Abbey.

Oakland is unique.  It has a lot going for it.  There's First Fridays, Art Murmer, the Farmer's Market every Friday, year round, and there's also the gorgeous Lake Merrit and the many other hiking trails in the East Bay. However, when it's not exactly what you wanted, you can't help but feel like it's the poor man's San Francisco.  For one, while smoking pot is a pretty common outdoor activity in San Francisco, Oakland has a permanent haze over it.  Second, hipsters, EVERYWHERE.  Jesus, if I had to look at one more douche bag in a plaid shirt with suspenders and a bow-tie riding around on a tandem bicycle without a partner, I was going to go start picking people off with a bee bee gun.  "Suspenders!?" thwomp. "Bowtie?! thwomp. "Old timey hat or trucker hat?!" thwomp.  It was too much some days.  The occasional, hipster isn't a bad thing.  I have a couple of hipster friends, but so many of them are just trying so desperately to be cool, relevant, etc.

This guy probably drinks PBR,
hangs out at Awaken Cafe in Oakland,
and  writes with a typewriter that he
brings to the coffee shop with him.
He probably also rides a fixie
and/or a tandem bicycle.

I told everyone when I left not to worry, that I was indeed ecstatic to return home to Oklahoma. The truth is, I was ecstatic, honestly.  But here's why, and it may not be for the reason you think; As a dear friend pointed out, and as I discovered through self reflection, I find myself to be happiest when I have something to obsess over.  Yes, this just became a self psycho-analysis.  Occasionally, when things aren't great, that something  to obsess over might need to be manufactured.  I know this is a flaw, and this is what therapy is for.  Hey, at least I'm aware of that shit. Previously, I obsessed over my religious beliefs, over renovating my house, my work, my friends, my boyfriend, my car, Ziggy (Yes, he has a name, and yes, it's after the computer of the same name on Quantum Leap. Go ahead and laugh.) Most recently, I obsessed about my move to San Francisco; where I would live how I would get around, where I would work, etc.  I romanticized the idea.  Well, the same thing happened in coming home.  I was in such a rut that I became obsessed with the idea that this would fix my problems.  In some ways, coming home did do that.  It fixed the cat piss soaked, pigeon infested attic apartment problem, it fixed the "my boss is such an asshole" problem (more on that later), and the "I can't afford to eat" problem. The truth is, whatever my reasoning however misguided that anyone else may see it, I'm glad I'm back here, I needed to be here.  I needed to get out of he situation I was in. And most importantly, I needed to be grounded with the people I love most.

In my short time home, I've come to the realization what made me leave in the first place was the support of people who encouraged me to follow my dream. There are, of course, the naysayers, those who think I'm irresponsible, etc.  But seriously, fuck them.  Life is a journey, and whatever makes you happy might take some time.  A good friend said to me a few days ago, "Sometimes we don't know what the right choice is until we make the wrong one."  Granted, I think that in that moment, coming home was the right choice for me, but it isn't necessarily right in the long term.

So, the short of it...  I'm happy to be in Oklahoma City. There are some wonderful people here that I love dearly, and I've missed them so much.  I'm glad to be here for a short time, but I will be returning to San Francisco to continue my dream.  It might be a month, it might be six, who knows?  I'm using this time to get my shit together, find the right job, save some money, and spend some time with friends.  I'm filling my tank, so to speak.  So no hate Oklahoma, you are my roots.  I'm not leaving because I don't want to be here, I'm leaving because being away from there reminds me how much I wanted to be there in the first place.