Oblivious Jones And The Trail Through The Woods...

The day a man approached me in the middle of the woods.

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I’m in a weird place.

I completed walking a mile, for the first time in probably a decade. Some of you already know that there was a time when I couldn’t walk more than 250-feet before my back would begin to seize up and take me down. The years of throwing my back and shoulder into opposing teammates at full speed whilst playing the violent (fun) sport and my rapid weight gain caught up with me years ago. Being able to complete the mile trail gave me the little confidence I needed in a moment of uncertainty. But a man has already inserted himself in between me and that feeling.

I’m the type of person that needs to work to give myself a sense of purpose. But, I’m also not really wanting to do a fucking thing.

I’ve learned that I’m a person that needs purpose to thrive. Just sitting around ain’t my thing. I love to rest. But, I also love to have a routine and be able to veer from that routine. No one could ever say I wasn’t a hard worker. That’s not why I was fired or quit from almost every job I’ve ever had. It’s because I don’t do well with unnecessary authoritative figures micro-managing for the sake of…whatever makes them micro-manage.

There hasn’t been much going on in my life lately. It’s been quiet. Paid work has been devoid. Last month I got two offers alone (from corporations worth billions) to do an absurd amount of work that would require actually building things from the ground up, but being offered insultingly low pay to build it. And I actually contemplated doing it! Until one of my colleagues talked me out of it, “Why are you considering doing an entry level job for entry level pay at this point of your career?”

In 2010 I was a year into culinary school, of course the Portland food scene was definitely talked about in the “niche” circles. The niche circle was the group of people in our little community college culinary school program that knew the food industry was our calling, we worshipped the “greats” and the old guards (most of which were white men), and we snickered when the people in the program referenced the Food Network as their only source of information. Basically, we were the snobs self-proclaimed cool kids.

A month ago Andy Ricker, chef of Portland’s Pok Pok, posted his James Beard nomination and award from 2010/11 on Instagram and commented how it changed his life. I commented, “I guess you’re lucky that you won it and your world changed. I won it and my world is still the same.” To which he responded, “We live in a different world than the one in 2011.” Truer words could not have been said.

Then of course some rando-rube-troll came along and commented on the thread, “Didn’t you JUST win this year? Give it a while and wait your turn.” Needless to say, whatever I responded back to his ass was enough that Andy deleted that dude’s comment (and subsequently mine by default), but left our (me and Andy’s) original exchange up. I felt a little protected. That was sweet of him.

I’ve had to create these little wins in my current routine just to have something to feel good about. Like, being able to walk a mile for the first time in 12 years.

I didn’t get a chance to read the classics in school. That in itself is not a long story. But, the inevitable Q&A that will come after it will be a long story. I just sort of stumbled across some of the classics because of my love of reading and spending a lot of time at the library. Of course I became obsessed with all of the white men: Hemingway, EE Cummings, Kerouac. Specifically, I became obsessed with Henry David Thoreau’s Walden. It was the book that has made me want to dart of into the woods and write.

Recently I’ve been visiting a nearby trail (sort of nearby) so I can walk…out in nature? I mean, being outside is nature. The trail is at a regional park and there’s like redwoods, migratory birds and wild bunnies and deer and turkeys. Mountain lions. The only thing I’m running into if I walk in my neighborhood is my neighbors.

When I finally completed the mile loop at the trail, it gave me confidence to take the trail that’s tucked more into the woods. Something I’ve never done because I don’t do the woods alone. I’ve never even been camping! The next day I set off onto the mile loop through the woods, alone, and passed a few people at the beginning of the trail. For a good stretch of the loop, I was all alone. It was nice. It was so quiet. It really felt like a teeny tiny accomplishment. I sat down at a picnic bench to stretch out my back. It’s the end of the loop for me. Here comes Oblivious Jones. It’s the beginning of the loop for him.

Oblivious Jones was of average height and weight. He came across the trail bend and immediately made eye contact with me. He shouted “hello!” towards me until greeting crossed the 50-foot distance between us and landed into my ears. I waved. “You come out here often?” he shouted. I replied, “Out here?” “Yeah.” “Yup.” “How long is this trail?” “About a mile.” “The other one?” “About two to three miles.”

As this exchange is happening, he’s slowly creeping his way up the 50-foot concrete slab that connects the trail and the picnic table; closing the distance between us. Slowly encroaching my tiny personal space in the wide open woods. The only way off the trail is through the trail. Then his request cuts off the small talk, “Could you take a photo of me?” as he’s already handing me his cellphone.

Do I have the confidence to decline the harmless request?A harmless request that could be the Trojan Horse to get closer to me and grab my wrist and beat the shit out of me until I’m unconscious in the woods with no one to hear me scream other than the bouncing wild bunnies and their fluffy ecru cotton tails. Or, do I simply entertain the harmless request as a way to sooth the beast by cosplaying lyrical femininity of Antebellum hospitality? A month ago I probably wouldn’t have thought twice but to go full on radical “I’d rather not.” But, getting spat on by a man has definitely changed my perspective.

Every time I seem to carve out a safe space for myself, someone seems to come and sully it with their existence. From something major like getting spat on. To something small like my partner being gone for a week and coming home and totally and utterly wreaking havoc on my clean kitchen (clean house/clean mind). Now I know why women go camping on their own and hiking in Yosemite on their own! Although sometimes don’t make it back…

I took the photo of him. I slowly tried to separate myself from the now closed in space, in the wide open woods, and told him, “I hope the photo is okay.” As I am trying to walk off, he’s still side by side with me. I slow down so that our bodies are staggered and not parallel. He’s looking at the photos I took on his phone while he mumbles something about his knee and I’m trying to part ways on the path. Much like the rules that apply to the ocean, I do not want to turn my back towards him.

“Have a nice day,” I say. “You too.” he said and started walking away from me on the trail. I pick up the pace and get the fuck out of Dodge. This interaction made me ask my friend Rodney if he’d come along for walks with me, which would help me feel protected. Except that I don’t want to have to call upon a chaperone!

Was it a harmless interaction? Yes, thankfully. But, a man approaching a woman (on her own) in the middle of the woods is a fucking wild ass concept. And I’m more mad at myself. I used to be the pitbull that would (and did) fight men. Sometimes fueled by alcohol. I used to be on a co-ed team (of a violent sport) where I would attack men on the opposing team.

Now I’m just this…weakling. A Pitbull turned into a Chihuahua.

The next day I set off onto the mile loop through the woods, alone, and passed a few people at the beginning of the trail. For a good stretch of the loop, I was all alone. It was…kinda nice. It was maybe too quiet. The interaction with Oblivious Jones had already altered my relationship with the trail and I haven’t been back since.