Being A Tourist In Costco

Yesterday, for what was the second time in my life, I went to Costco. Mike and I were recently gifted with a membership card from a good friend of ours and we decided to venture in and get the lay of the land.

It’s worth mentioning that neither of us wanted to go to Costco on a Saturday afternoon. But I’d been putting off my inaugural visit since receiving the card, which was about 2-3 weeks ago, basically because I’ve allowed Costco to frighten me. I needed Mike to go with me the first time in with a membership card – and with his work schedule that meant we had to go on a weekend day, when everyone and their dog would be there.

We were like strangers in a strange land, upon entering the doors of our local Costco. Here was a place that pretty much everyone we know goes on a regular basis and we were like greenhorn country folk entering a big city for the first time, eyes wide and heart racing.

Soon after we landed inside the store, Mike made a really helpful observation. He said: We’re like tourists! His statement changed my whole perspective. I love being a tourist in a new town. Being a tourist means that I’m open, receptive, interested in, and curious about my surroundings. So I got my tourist on and it changed everything.

As we strolled leisurely up and down the aisles hand-in-hand, we noticed how easy it was to get pulled into wanting to buy things we didn’t really need. We found great entertainment in discovering what items were placed in the same aisle – our favorite being the aisle displaying toilets directly situated across from boxes and bottles of Cabernet. And we felt a wave of relief and satisfaction that we were able to leave the store, after roaming around for an hour, empty handed.

Now that we made the inaugural plunge, I’ll go back solo at some point and purchase a few things. And I’ll practice to keep my tourist energy alive when I do, as that proved to be a really helpful support in doing something I super didn’t want to do.

I’ve said it many times before and I’ll keep saying it: everything takes practice.

Here are some additional pics Mike took of me being a tourist in Costco:

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On Comfort Zones, Waiting in Line, and Home Touristing

The Missoula chapter of Tenacious Dames (Montana’s only all female motorcycle club)

So, there’s a good chance that this blog post will only track well from my own vantage point, given the last few days I’ve had. Translation: I’m fixin on covering a few topics that might not string together in a neat and orderly fashion from an outsider’s perspective :)

On Thursday, I decided to try something new and step outside of my comfort zone. I joined the Tenacious Dames (TD) – Missoula’s chapter of Montana’s only all female motorcycle club – for their monthly ride. I just recently found out about them from a woman rider I met at a car show in Phillipsburg, a couple of weeks ago. I looked them up on Facebook and reached out. Jeanette, the Dame of Affairs – seen up close in the pic above – got back to me and warmly invited me to join them for their August ride. So I did!

Normally, I’m a solo rider. And now that I have a bigger highway-worthy bike, I’ve been getting out quite a bit. I’ve had my new bike for about a month now and I’ve put over 1,200 miles on it already. I decided to join the TD partly because it was outside of my comfort zone. I’m someone who intentionally seeks out things to do from time to time which allow me the opportunity to expand my perspective and bubble of familiarity. And it’s also good to mingle and mix with folks I wouldn’t otherwise get the chance to know.

Not only do I usually ride solo but I also have an irrational aversion to joining groups which are designed for women only. So saddling up with the TD was a double whammy, in the stepping outside of my comfort zone department. The TD were super welcoming. And I really enjoyed the pack ride experience and meeting other women that were as much into riding as I am. I’ve done only one other group ride before, just a few weeks ago with my husband and stepdad in Glacier National Park. I’m realizing that pack riding blends something together that I really enjoy but don’t often get the chance to engage in, which is to share space and energy with others amid a certain level of quietude and personal spaciousness. For instance, I love meditating and sharing silent retreats with others. It gives me the best of both worlds: being with others and also being with myself. In short: I like being amid others without the added activity of conversating. So pack rides are great! I’m able to share energy with others on a different, more personal level.

The TD were great, and I’m sure I’ll join them for another ride soon.

Lesson I continue to learn: Stepping outside of my comfort zone is the only way I grow and become more resilient and dynamic.

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Yesterday morning I found myself – for the second time in the past month and a half – waiting in line at the Motor Vehicle Department (MVD) at the courthouse. The first time was to transfer the title into my name for my new/used Subaru. This time it was to do the same action for my new/used motorcycle. Having been to the MVD a little over a month ago, I knew to expect a long wait. I arrived about 40-minutes prior to the office opening at 8am and I was the 11th person in line. The dude behind me came supplied with a folding camp chair. People are getting hip to this waiting line epidemic here in town at the ol’ MVD. All in all, I spent a little over an hour and a half at the MVD.

As someone who is intrigued by observing human behavior – my own and that of others – waiting areas offer unique and ripe opportunities. We can learn a lot about ourselves in moments of waiting, such as: what our patience level is, how kind we are to others when our system is taxed, how we occupy our time and minds, what our quality of heartfulness and connection is to those around us.

There was an array of line conversations I overheard and a menagerie of reactions and responses to the whole waiting game that I witnessed, ranging from light-hearted to angry-ridden. Some knew what to expect and seemed to have a certain level of acceptance (and humor) about the situation, while others were clearly not anticipating the MVD to be such a hot spot at 8 in the morning and were quite affronted.

How well-balanced we stay amid such conditions as waiting in line, speaks directly to how we show up in all sorts of places in our life. If we regard waiting in line to be separate from life, as something we’re not “supposed” to encounter, then we’re setting ourselves up for pockets of misery and discomfort whenever we find ourselves waiting for something, which is to say: a lot of the time. The more I can infuse my mindfulness practice into all the things that I do, the more ease I experience as a result, and the more open and expansive my life becomes – whether it’s when I’m doing something I enjoy or something I’d assume avoid.

Lesson I continue to learn: There is no such thing as an insignificant moment. I am always practicing something.

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On Being A Tourist, Comparing Ourselves to Others, and Some Other Stuff

On Thursday, I strolled about on a Main Street in a town I’d previously only visited by driving on through and was wonderfully reminded of how much I enjoy being a tourist, even if it’s in a place situated just 2 hours north of home, which it is – and I am.

It’s worth mentioning, as a point of clarity, that I most enjoy being a lone tourist. As in: not saddled by anyone else’s agenda or having to negotiate with another human’s dynamic experience. This also includes not being terribly interested in getting led around on a local’s points of interest tour. Though, sometimes I do prefer that. It depends on where I am, both physically and spiritually.

As I meandered through downtown Kalispell, I came across a plethora of posters with my name displayed as: Headlining Poet Nicole Dunn. It was a rather exhilarating/peculiar/other-worldly experience – especially given that I’ve had very little to do with putting this particular event together and not done all the organizing/advertising/designing/postering myself, as is customary. And, hence, this is the reason I’ve come here: to teach a poetry workshop and regale an audience who’ve never heard of me with a one-hour set of spoken word.

In my Main Street/downtown walkabout, I ducked into some local shops and took my time poking around. Upon exiting a particularly delightful store with an assortment of uncommon wares, I had a total of 3 new items in the bag I’d brought along to cart my zafu (meditation cushion) in, to a meditation group I would be attending a little while later, which was located in the downtown area, a 10-minute walk from where I was staying. The three items were as follows: a pair of colorful socks with narwhals and scuba diving rhinos, to give as a gift to a friend with an upcoming birthday; a pair of colorful socks with sloths hanging from palm trees with gold gangster medallions a dangle from their necks (for personal use); and a novelty note pad with post it’s stating NAILED IT, at the top, followed by a list of options you can choose between for how you deemed whoever you’re giving the note to “nailed it.” And at the bottom of every note, it says: GOOD FOR YOU, PAL. Once I got in the spirit of thinking about all the possibilities that existed for using the NAILED IT notes, I couldn’t not get it.

I arrived Thursday afternoon to the house of a friend of mine who is away on a trip, along with her husband. So not only do I have the house to myself, but I was left to feel a bit nervous when I rolled into town, having never been to their place before. What if I had jotted down her address wrong and wound up situating myself in someone else’s house who also happened to leave their door key under the mat, which is not an uncommon practice? Would there be other telltale signs (pictures on display with no one I recognized; decor and nick-knacks that told a very different story of the friend I thought I knew…) that I had made a ghastly mistake before the residents – who were assuredly not well-acquainted with me – made their way back home to find me there with my feet up, sipping tea? Thankfully, crises was immediately averted when, in looking for the best place to park, I drove around back through the alleyway and saw their last names scribed on a wooden plank atop the garage door. Found it for sure! Whew!

Switching…sort of.

We all have ways in which we compare ourselves to others and come up short. My ways take shape through people who are either artful/masterful at baking or cooking or at tending a garden. As in: so-and-so can bake amazing bread or craft complex meals with an arsenal of liquids in bottles that I would have no idea what to do with – like raspberry balsamic vinegar, avocado oil, and cooking sherry. Maybe I should be a better cook or learn how to bake bread from scratch. Or: so-and-so has a bustling garden filled with wonderfully greening leaves in a variety of shapes and sizes. Sigh. That’s what people do, isn’t it? Garden. I really should be more into gardening.

The wildly entertaining and hilarious part is that we took out our garden plot a year ago – allowing the backyard grass to reclaim its swath of ground – and it was the best decision ever! It’s soooo nice not to have the neglected garden plot we installed years ago sneering at me to become a gardener. The pressure is off and it’s glorious! I’m the sort who loves the idea of gardening more than the actual act of gardening. It’s rather like how you might be super into a romantic interest but then once you get to know them more you’re all like: I think I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’m the sort who would revel in watching a garden grow and equally delight in its bounty of edible content, as long as someone else tended to all of its needs along the way.

So, the thing is, I don’t want to be a gardener of things and I have no desire to be a masterful baker or chef, either. And yet, I STILL compare myself to people who are! How peculiar! We are a strange and complicated people folk.

I mean, there’s only so much time in the day, is what I’m saying. And I choose to fill my time with other things. Gardening and fashioning together gourmet meals and baking artisan bread simply aren’t high on my list of priorities. I think we have a very ingrained, very detrimental, collective mindset that we should be able to do, like, everything. We set the bar so incredibly high that we’d need superhero powers to even get close to reaching it.

It’s been extremely liberating for me to do the work of cultivating a deep and penetrating understanding of how everything I do with my time is a choice. And with this work, I’ve been able to accept and embrace my limitations of time and energy and interest in things. It’s allowed me to set realistic goals and drop the bar down to a level that doesn’t taunt me and hold me slave to ridiculous notions of how a life can NEVER by ANYONE under NO CIRCUMSTANCES be led.

So, I’m learning how to befriend the non-gardener in myself; the non-gourmet chef; the non-master-baker. To stop the powerfully common tendency to compare myself to others and come up short. It’s such an incredible drain and waste of my precious time.