The Dive Motel on Film

While I’d been hoping to visit Nashville for about 4 years, my recent trip was planned in only 2 weeks, and my plans shifted pretty dramatically less than 24 hours prior to departure.

When I’m traveling, I tend to chase newness and emotion and change and adventure and I’ll probably write more on that later, but all you need to know now is that I usually choose to drive. This trip was no exception, which I realized was risky in February. However, it was also cheaper, and when you choose to drive, you also choose to pull over for sunsets and antique stores in old gas stations and the world’s biggest paintings and eggs. The intersection of slowness and spontaneity changes me in a way that flying doesn’t quite reach.

But in a twist of fate, as plots tend to do, the day before I was to leave, a storm warning was released—with ice—directly along my route. I will drive through many less-than-ideal conditions (I’m Midwestern, after all), but icy roads tend to be where I draw the line. I don’t need to spend the night in an ditch somewhere in Missouri.

Originally, I was supposed to begin driving home on Friday evening to get a few hours under my belt and lessen the load of Saturday’s drive. But now that I was flying, I could leave on Saturday instead. However, I didn’t have a hotel for Friday night and most of the places that had bed-bug-free reviews were booked or expensive. And most of the good (read: clean and safe) and affordable Airbnb’s were booked.

So I was feeling at a loss for options. Maybe it was my destiny to stay at an overpriced Tennessee Holiday Inn or Best Western. At least it would have free breakfast.

Somehow in the midst of my desperate googling for options, I recalled Urban Cowboy B&B, which was far beyond my budget, but in their Instagram bio was a link to a different place: the Dive Motel. I clicked on it, curious, and was swept away by the bright colors and 70’s themes—and the disco balls in every room. It was definitely too cool to fit into my price range, right? WRONG. And Expedia had an even better deal.

So on Friday night, I found myself at the Dive Motel. Being that it was one day it snowed in Tennessee, it was too chilly to enjoy the pool, but the bar had tea, so I cozied up in a booth for a bit, drinking Earl Gray and reading. And, yes, my room had a disco ball and different music stations. And, yes, I definitely danced in my room. You don’t have to wait to have a date or have a reason or have a big budget to fully savor the world and step into new places. You don’t need a plan free of mess to have an adventure full of magic. You don’t need a reason to dance. You are here, the disco ball is on: for tonight, that’s enough.

The Line

Distances

I’ve never been good at judging distances.

all photos are film, taken on a Pentax K1000 in Colorado in January

The only accidents I’ve been in have been scraping cars in parking lots, not realizing how close they are. I’ve hit curbs and once a bird (that was his fault).

I always think places are farther than they appear and people are closer

I think each sentence you write, you speak, is a step towards me and I think we’re getting closer to something. I think each coffee shop roadtrip afternoon adventure in a new city is like driving closer together.

Then I hit a curb and we hit a standstill and I realize neither of us was moving. We were standing still, throwing words across state lines, dancing in eloquent phrases, each with the ghost of the other.

I thought we were close and the end was far, but I’ve never been good at judging distances.

Daytrotter Downs

I spent all day Saturday exploring Davenport with my friends in Poema. I shot the entire day in film and while I don't have many words right now, here are photos from the day.

Story Coffee Company

Katie and I met in the summer in France, nearly 5 years ago. Little did we know at the time, we'd both find kinship through writing and adventures, even after the summer ended. I went back to Chicago and Katie returned to Colorado, and we didn't see each other for over 2 years. It was August and I was shooting a wedding in Colorado, so I asked Katie if I could stay with her for a few days and adventure together.

Driving through the mountains, she played me the Bleachers album and it has since become one of my favourite road trip albums. We went antiquing and bought rings. She took me to a small tattoo parlor and I got my nose pierced for $10. 

When I decided to go to Colorado Springs again this week, Katie was one of the first people I texted.

"I'll take you to Story Coffee Company," she replied. I'd seen her and our friend Hannah post about the coffee shop and it sounded perfect. I agreed and we met at 1:30 in Acacia Park.

I parked by the park and scanned the surrounding buildings for the coffee shop. Little did I know that the coffee shop was right in the middle of the park itself. You see, the coffee shop is in a tiny house. Upon walking in, the small bar and ordering area is to your right. You can select a drink from the menu and I immediately noticed the branding and attention to detail.

The photo above is my favourite part of the menu: "We're delighted that you're interested in our story, and we hope to do justice to the stories of our coffees and the people who produce them. But please know we're fascinated with your story as well. Let's be friends." And this is why I immediately liked this cafe.

Katie and I both got the same drink. I don't remember what it was called (I was soaking the whole place in), but it was both beautiful and delicious.

Due to being in a tiny house, the seating is indeed limited: a few taller tables and a couple stools by the windows and a bench across from where you walk in, to the left of the bar. However, it wasn't absurdly busy, so Katie and I sat next to each other on the bench, "Live Your Best Story," arching like a promise or an omen above us.

Above the bench was this ledge full of bags of coffee and mugs, and above the ledge were photos. We met the barista Carissa and she explained to us that every coffee they carry was chosen with intention. They chose to partner with folks who are doing good in the world. They'd traveled to 300 coffee shops (pardon me if I didn't get the number quite right) and numerous places all over the world where the coffee was grown. They didn't take the task lightly and were very thorough, and you can taste it in the drinks and see it in the cafe.

Carissa had just bought airline tickets to Kansas City for the Barista Competition and I recommended she try out my favourite KC spot: you guess it--Doughnut Lounge. By then, we'd talked to her enough that I felt brave enough to ask this sweet soul for a portrait. That evening, I googled the cafe some more, and was continually intrigued by the process of both creating the coffee shop and sustaining it. Everything is done with great craftsmanship and detail and intentionality, and I'm thankful that such places exist and such friends as Katie know me well enough to introduce me to them.

The Hills

Call me unoriginal, but just like everyone else, I find the mountains to be awe-inducing. Songs mean more. The sun feels brighter. I feel invincible. 

I can’t help but thinking of cliche lines like: “I go to the hills when my heart is lonely. I know I will hear what I've heard before. My heart will be blessed with the sound of music. And I'll sing once more.”

I go to the hills.

What could be a place of danger becomes a place of hideaway, of retreat, of rest and of renewal. 

The hills. I go to the hills. Then another poem comes to mind:

“I lift up my eyes to the hills.

    From where does my help come?

My help comes from the Lord,

    who made heaven and earth.

He will not let your foot be moved;

    he who keeps you will not slumber.

Behold, he who keeps Israel

    will neither slumber nor sleep.

The Lord is your keeper;

    the Lord is your shade on your right hand.

The sun shall not strike you by day,

    nor the moon by night.

The Lord will keep you from all evil;

    he will keep your life.

The Lord will keep

    your going out and your coming in

    from this time forth and forevermore.”

(Psalm 121)

He will keep your life. Then why I am ever so afraid? Why am I not deeply bold and deeply loving and decidedly steady? Here I am, deep in the hills, deep in thought, in the deep of night. And I’m praying that in this week, somewhere in these words and in this silence, I find strength and wisdom and renewal.

The Principal's Office

I’m sitting in a coffee shop near a window, eating fried avocaodos dipped in some sort of spicy sauce and drinking Sweet Bloom’s Columbian roast, made by a barista who called me m’dear in just the perfect way—delightfully old-fashioned and endearing.

I’m at the Principal’s Office: a coffee shop in a school that has been converted into an array of shops and cafes.  I pulled up, found a parking spot, entered through the front door, and hoped I was at the right school. Fortunately, just inside to my right there was a map that explained where each cafe was located within the building. I was relieved. I’d made it.

I swung left to an array of breads and pastries and a fresh-faced friendly fellow of about twenty. I asked him what was good. When he found out I desired coffee and food, he handed me a menu and sent me down a hallway to the left and around a corner, ending up directly behind where he was standing. “They know more about coffee over there,” he explained.

Around that corner, the area opened up to a wall of windows facing a bar. One of the bartenders greeted me and in a moment was over the take my order. Again, my query: “I’ve never been here, but I’ve heard awesome things! What’s good?” 

He explained that they had both pour-over coffees and milk beverages like lattes and cappuccinos. “If you want coffee, we can look at the options and figure it out together.” Then he opened the menu. “I like the salads; they have a lot of whatever is on it.” He pointed at a few. “The sandwiches are good, too.” “I like trying interesting things. What’s the most unique thing I can get? What’s something that I can’t get anywhere else?” His answer was immediate: the fried avocados. I didn’t hesitate. My entire life has been leading up to this point: drinking Denver coffee and eating fried avocados at a cafe in the mountains in the middle of the country. Practically perfect in every way (10 points if you know where that’s from).

I signed the receipt. “Thanks, m’dear! I’ll bring your coffee out to you when it’s ready.” Before long my fried avocados had arrived as well. I’d chosen a spot by the window, partly for its proximity to the light, partly for its proximity to the outlets. I’ll be here for a bit, catching up on editing and writing, and I’ll be praying. This week has changed me—is changing me—and it’s not nearly over yet.

Voodoo Doughnut

Tonight Amber and I visited Voodoo Doughnut for the first time.

These were my donuts: one was called the Ugly Bastard, one was like a little voodoo man, and another was covered in Cocoa Puffs.

Adulting and New Adventures

I woke up this morning in my 3rd state and 2nd timezone in 4 days. I woke up with some adulting decisions weighing heavily on my mind. Decisions I couldn’t put off. Scary decisions. So I went to a coffee shop a few blocks away to read and pray and think. I daresay I don’t spend enough time dwelling. Refreshing my soul and my mind. 

Per the recommendation of the two friendly baristas, a blonde gal in a maroon shirt and fringed boots and a tall fellow with a beard and a gray hoodie, I got the Ethiopian. They let me sample it first, which was the kindest. It is rather berry flavored but much less harsh than many of the fruitier coffees I’ve tried. In addition, Atlas Coffees offers free refills on both for-here and to-go coffee—all day. I’ve never had a coffee place offer refills on to-go coffee, and it might be the best thing.

I’ve been pondering my word for the year: fearlessness. 

I want to learn the places I’m afraid and press through them into something deeper. Something called fearlessness. Something called bravery.

In the past 3 days, I’ve driven over 12 hours across the country by myself and did acro-yoga for the first time (thanks to my friend Elaine for encouraging me to be brave). Both of these things scared me 4 days ago (hoenstly, I didn’t even know what acro-yoga was). But I did them. 

Small bits of bravery. And I’m at it again this morning. I am sitting in the table just to the right of the door, across from the trash and honey and napkins. I picked it for the proximity to the window. That’s usually how I pick my tables. I read a couple emails and made a couple phone calls and I was physically shaking partly from coffee and lack of sleep, but mostly from nerves.

But I did it. Fearlessness. I’m leaning into that word today.