Tag: Storytelling

Six Weeks in Southeastern France

October 4, 2018 / KKRegan / 0 Comments

I spent six weeks in the foothills of the French Alps and it wasn’t long enough.

My daily view

This house sit is one for the record books. Don’t let the months that have elapsed since I was there tone down my enthusiasm at all. This place was beautiful. It was peaceful. It was conducive to productivity. I could have stayed there for a very long time.

On an evening in late June, I landed at the Geneva airport. I was instructed to meet my hosts in the jazz club as soon as I exited the airport. Jazz club. Airport. Sure.

From the backyard

The first sign that this was a different place was that they were right. There was a jazz club, in the airport, with actual live jazz music. People were there. Listening to jazz. Okay, Switzerland, you got me.

At first glance, my hosts were very lovely and very British. I was pleased immediately. We drove the hour or so to their home in France and chatted the whole way. As we drove through the hills and little towns, I stared agape at my surroundings. I couldn’t get over the beauty and the quaintness. Everything was SO quaint. The hills were rolling. Everything was green and perfect and out of some sort of fictional tale. I couldn’t believe it. As we went on, the sights just got better and better.

When we pulled into the house, it was dusk. We were surrounded by mountains and hills. Vast fields dotted with a few homes stretched in each direction. I couldn’t believe it. I was going to be waking up to this for over a month? Pinch me now.

This was a wonderful place for me to be. Despite the relative seclusion and loneliness (I really don’t speak French beyond being able to order some things while really butchering the accent), I could have stayed for a much longer. While there, I got into a real groove with my productivity and writing. They had so many places to sit and write, read, or think. There were multiple outdoor tables, patios, and indoor tables with beautiful views.

Something I have encountered a lot of, and I don’t quite understand, is people who have outdoor spaces, but nowhere to sit in them. I simply cannot comprehend such things. I’ve also learned that I am far more productive when I’m in natural light, either actually outside or near a large window.

This is a part of France that I might never have thought to come and see. There weren’t many tourists. Perhaps partly because of this, I highly recommend it. It was such an authentic, beautiful place; the picturesque, French countryside. Read on for some specifics.

Little Town

The walk into town

I’m pretty sure this place is exactly what Belle was singing about. Little town, it’s a quiet village. Every day like the one before! The little town of Lescheraines only had the things it needed. There was the boulangerie (bakery) which made the most amazing croissants and pastries. It may come as no surprise, but baked goods in France are really no joke. They had a butcher, a small grocery shop, a cheese shop, a couple of boutiques, two restaurants, one ATM, and that’s it. A short walk away was the little swimming lake/beach which also had a restaurant.

The swimming lake

Siesta time kept getting in my way because I would wake up and immediately start productivity. By the time I was ready to head into town for lunch or supplies, it would be 1-2pm and shops closed from like 12-3pm. Essentially, they were trying to starve me. It was a challenge.

Driving Stick

The homeowners had quite generously left me a car. Of course, it being Europe, the car had a standard transmission. I had not driven a stick car for probably over 10 years, and I hadn’t even fully gotten the hang of it back then. I watched some YouTube videos to remind myself how and took to the cul-de-sac to practice. The problem with this, though, was that as I did this (not very well), every single time at least one neighbor would come out and just stare me down. This made me incredibly self-conscious, as I was stalling a bit, and I had no real way to explain to them what I was doing. I couldn’t really get off our road until I was comfortable because there was no way to avoid hills in any direction. Eventually, I gave up on the idea of being able to drive anywhere and I stuck to moving around by foot or by bike. This is fine because it was good for my health and also stopped me from trying to do too much, so I was able to really dig into my surroundings.

Night of 1,000 Spiders

Modern Weaponry

My first night there was action-packed. After arriving, and having dinner, and not being able to wipe the wide-eyed smile off my face, I retired to the little in-law apartment on their ground floor. At about 2 am, I woke up to use the bathroom. When I came back, I noticed a spider. Then another. Then another. Then another. They were EVERYWHERE. I usually try not to kill spiders if they are just chilling… But, the sheer amount of these guys meant that the mathematical probability was that at least ONE would crawl into my bed while sleeping. I couldn’t have it. I pulled my bed away from the wall and sat there for ages not knowing what to do. How could I reach them? The ceilings were high. I didn’t yet know where any cleaning supplies, or really anything, was. They were everywhere. I was awake for hours, sitting in the middle of the bed just looking at all of them. Finally, I found a broom and put my Birkenstock on the end of it and went to town on them. I killed 8 before dawn. One or two got away but I was able to get them in the bathroom in the morning. For the rest of the trip, I was more or less able to keep them at bay due to some hefty poison and vigilance.

The Animals

Miss Mimi

The stars of this show were the three hens. The homeowners affectionately call them “The Girls,” and would even sign off on emails saying “from, HO1, HO2, and ‘The Girls’,” no joke. This house sit consisted of two separate trips for the homeowners, and during the first trip, one of The Girls, Brunhilde (is there a better chicken name? I dare you to find one), started losing her feathers. This put me into a bit of a panic because I didn’t want it to seem like I was neglecting her in any way. During these days it was pretty hot, but I always made sure they had plenty of water scattered all over the yard. I also kept an eye on the other chickens to see if maybe she was being bullied, but I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. By the time they came back the first time, she was on the upswing again and was fine for the remainder of my stay. I guess she was just going through her own thing.

Brunhilda, Samantha, and Portia

The Girls were hilarious because the three of them would walk around like gossipy little old ladies. The 2-3 eggs I got a day were amazing. Fresh eggs for breakfast, egg salad, french toast, you name it. They had a bit of mischief in them, too. One of the things the husband asked of me before they left was to water the lettuce patch, as he had some really nice young lettuces in there. Well, every time I turned my back, those ladies were in the lettuce patch and I’m sad to say, the lettuce did not make it. I tried to put up barricades and everything but nothing worked.

Morning cuddles with Mimi

They also had a mostly outdoor cat named Mimi. Mimi was super adorable, and every morning we would have a very serious cuddle. She would get so excited about these cuddles, she would drool and it was ADORABLE. The best thing about Mimi is that since she was mostly an outdoor cat, she didn’t touch her litter box, which meant I didn’t have to either. She was super easy to care for because of this and I just made sure she was filled up on dry and wet food and water. Oh, and I couldn’t forget the cat milk. That’s right, people. Cat milk. The main question that ran through my mind every time I poured her some cat milk was, “But who milks the cats?!”

Cat Milk!?

An Unwanted Guest

There were a few cats in the neighborhood that would come calling from time to time. One of these was a little grey kitten from across the way. He was full of mischief, always trying to hunt the chickens who were easily double his size.

One night, I was sitting and watching something on Netflix. It was storming outside, which was wonderful. All of a sudden, I heard a commotion outside. I know that the first rule of any horror movie is not to open the door when you hear a commotion in the night. However, I was there looking after some animals and what if Mimi had gotten herself into trouble or something? As I went over to open the door, there was more commotion and I could see the silhouette of a cat climbing the door through the frosted glass.

I was thinking that maybe there was a fox or some other predator out there, or who knows what. So, I opened the door and it was the kitten from across the street. He jumped off the door and ran off. I figured that was about it and I went back inside. As I closed the door, however, I looked up and saw this:

Uh oh!

This little squirrel, or sugar glider, or whatever it was, had clearly run up the door to evade the kitten, and now he was stuck in my little apartment. While he was super cute, I had no interest in getting my mitts near his little teefies. I was in a pickle.

I stood around and laughed for a while, but eventually had to make my move. I turned off the lights inside (bugs) and opened the door. I had to chase off the grey kitten who was still lingering. I, then, got the broom and gently encouraged the little fella out the door, which you can sort of see in the videos below. Eventually, he made it and bounded off into the night. It was a very silly predicament.

Meeting People

“Les Boeufs”

For the most part, this was a pretty solitary stop. As I do not speak French, meeting people was pretty challenging. I can be decent at reading it, but I cannot pronounce that language for anything. The neighbor was super friendly and would come over to check in every now and then. If she caught me without my phone for translating, our communications would be pretty hilarious. One day, the farmer up behind us let his herd of cattle come flooding down to the fields right by our houses. When the neighbor came over, I wanted to explain why the chickens had to remain in their run. I did not know the word for “cow” but I did know the word for “beef,” so I essentially said, “The beefs! The beefs!” over and over while gesturing. She politely corrected me.

Watching the World Cup Final

Toward the end of my stay, France ended up in the World Cup final. I was excited by this. I also am convinced that I have great World Cup luck. Spain won while I was there, and now France. Just in case people want to sponsor my travels each World Cup season. Anyway, I biked over to the slightly larger neighboring village to go to a pub and catch the game. Everything was pretty tame. Surprisingly tame. In fact, I missed the first goal because nobody made a peep.

I kept catching what I thought were snippets of English from a neighboring table. Eventually one of the men came up to the bar and I asked him, “Do I hear you guys speaking English?” and he was like, “We sure do! We’re Scottish! Come sit with us.” And friendships were made. They were two couples, one of which has a vacation home in the area. I very quickly became betrothed to one of their sons (unbeknownst to him). We had a good time, AND I made plans with one of the women to attend the American Party with her the following weekend. I ended up staying later than intended because I was having fun finally socializing. This meant that getting home involved barrelling down the pitch black hilly road on my bike. Luckily I had my headlamp.

Ready to ride!

American Party

One trip to the boulangerie, I saw this sign for a USA-themed party. Line dancing! Cars! Trucks! Teepees! Hamburgers! Hot Dogs! This is basically the equivalent of us throwing a French party with striped shirts, berets, neckerchiefs, and baguettes back home. I couldn’t WAIT to see the USA portrayed in whatever lens this was.

I made plans to meet Scottish Christine and her future daughter-in-law for some good craic. As we walked in, the first thing I saw and heard was a few people outfitted in Native American garb, dancing a Native American dance. I cannot speak to the accuracy of any of this, but I can only hope they did their research or perhaps that at least some of them had native ancestry. The Scots were amused and surprised at how uncomfortable all this made me. I had to tell them that this sort of thing would not fly back home in the present day. However uncomfortable I was with my white guilt, I suppose it was cool that the native population was at all represented when people from France thought of the United States.

You know when you go to a festival and you need to buy tickets in order to get food or beverage? Well, here you bought American Dollars that you then used to “pay” for beer, wine, and food. I got a huge kick out of this.

American Dollars!

They had booths selling all kinds of wares: handmade leather goods, lots of denim and biker gear, cheesy wolf and eagle t-shirts, 50’s retro kitsch, flags, etc. The confederate flag was pretty present and I had to explain its history to the Scottish ladies, who upon hearing what it symbolizes exclaimed, “I can’t even believe it’s legal to fly that flag!” Ya know, me neither ladies.

There were teepees, face painting, cars, trucks. At one point, the Scottish ladies stood next to a Dodge Ram expressing disbelief, “Do people really drive trucks this big? WHY? Why do they need to?” Not really sure, ladies.

Overall, it was a super fun day. I ended up staying past dark again and barreling down pitch black foothill roads on my bike. Must be the Scottish influence.

Quaint French Towns

Annecy

During my time here, I had an opportunity to visit many of the surrounding towns (Annecy, Chambery, Aix les Bains). The verdict: they are ALL quaint AF. They all had little medieval town centers with winding streets and surprise nooks and canals. Annecy has a big, beautiful, impossibly blue lake that I regret not going back and swimming in. I tried some bakeries around the area but none were as good as our little small town bakery in Lescheraines. At this point, I’m convinced that it is a prerequisite to be quaint as hell if you want to be a little town in France. I’m looking forward to performing more research on this hypothesis.

Things I’ll miss: Fresh eggs daily, beautiful vistas, fresh air, the boulangerie, quiet country living, cat drool

Things I won’t miss: consistent buzzing, always being on the lookout for spiders, bug corpses, everything “bug”, chicken poop, relative immobility, siesta time (So what if I want to eat lunch after 1p? Ohh, you’re going to starve me at LEAST until 5… maybe even 7? Great!)

Lake Annecy

One Year Job Single and My First Time Doing Comedy

August 17, 2018 / KKRegan / 0 Comments

Bookending a Year with a Failure and a Triumph

One year ago last week, I was let go from my last full-time job, sending me on a wild whirlwind of anxiety, self-doubt, and under-employment. Exactly a year later, I did stand-up for the first time.

Maybe the office cat pushing everything off my desk daily was symbolic of things to come…

Since I lost my job, a few things have happened:

I hit bottom enough to entirely change my approach and take some real risks (how successful this will be is still TBD)
I met and connected with a wonderful fella, and perhaps we wouldn’t have really seen each other had I not been on my way out the door
I met numerous amazing humans: at part-time jobs, in fleeting locations, humans everywhere!
I sold all my belongings, for better or worse!
I’ve been able to travel all over, experiencing different environments, cultures, and cuisines
A woman who used to work at that company found me on LinkedIn and told me about the emotionally-abusive revolving door that has been operating there since well before me. This is essential in letting me know I’m not alone.
- Hot Tip: if you have left a bad work environment, please leave a review on Glassdoor. It could save people so much heartache.
- Hot Tip: If you are applying to a job, do your homework. Find people on LinkedIn who have worked there and ask them about it. Worth the effort in spades.
I did stand-up comedy for the first time, after months and months of saying I would

The day before I got laid off, I celebrated Sunday with a breakfast sandwich and a milkshake. Little did I know, every day was about to be Sunday.

Being let go from that job has allowed me to have many experiences that I other wise would not have had. That being said, I’m still too deep in it to say if actually working there was worth it or not. I still think back to the red flags I ignored and wonder if I might have been better off staying at the library and continuing my job hunt. However, I do know one thing, I am glad to have been away from that environment for a year. If three office cats can’t make a work environment pleasant, you know you’ve got a real problem.

The significance of being underemployed for a YEAR was not lost on me. And as I recalled the feeling of packing up my office (I guess decorating your office too soon IS a jinx), and driving away from that place— the mix of relief and fear, disappointment and elation— I was inspired to do something. Something I have been talking about for months, but hadn’t yet dug up the cojones to do.

I did stand-up comedy.

I had already looked up all the open mics in the area that were reasonable for me to attend. I had talked to a few people about it. I kept putting it off, however, because my tight 5 “wasn’t ready.” As I was sitting and reflecting on the year I’ve had, I realized:

Doing comedy is like having a baby. You’re never going to be ready.

So, I sat down with my jokes and scrambled to put them in some kind of sensical order. I knew if I didn’t at least GO to this open mic, that I never would. I wasn’t sure if I would actually go up, but I wanted to have something in my pocket just in case. At least that’s what I told myself in order to get out the door.

I fiddled with my bits until 5:50. Yes, I fiddled with my bits. Sign-up started at 5:45, the show started at 6:00. I was pushing it, probably hoping that I’d get there and the list would be full. Or, maybe there was no hidden meaning and I’m a terrible procrastinator. Maybe a little bit of both.

When I walked in at 5:55, I greeted the hostess and put my name on the list. Didn’t even think about it. I immediately wanted to puke. I went to the bar to get a beer, which helps.

Once the comics started, I felt a lot better. This is only the second open mic I have intentionally attended, but so far, they seem very supportive. Everyone is here for the same reason. No one is expecting perfection. The thing is, I’ve been a teacher before. If you can stand up in front of a room full of 14 year olds all day, you can stand up in front of a few adults for 5 minutes.

As expected, some people were really funny… and some were not. A curveball was thrown during the third comic’s act, however. A large dinner party was shown into the room. They were not there for an open mic, they were there for a post-work dinner party. Immediately, the mood of the room changed. These people were legit not even smiling. Comics were trying to do crowd work with them and they were not having it. What an excellent scenario for someone’s first foray into stand-up.

The other thing was, since I arrived just before 6, I was the last person on the list. Generally, when people were done with their sets, they would leave. By process of elimination, this meant by the time I went up I would be facing the two hosts, maybe one or two comic stragglers, and this stone-faced party of 12 who didn’t come for amateur comedy. What could go wrong?

Finally, I was the last one in the room that hadn’t gone up. The second hostess, who was not in the room when I signed up, got up and accidentally introduced me as the headliner. Oh good lord. She corrected herself, but I was thinking, “Man, I really hope these people aren’t expecting a headliner.” If anyone should have been the headliner it was the guy before me as he was probably the best guy of the night.

So I got up, I thanked her, and I fucking did it.

And, guess what? GUESS WHAT?

I did. not. bomb. I didn’t bomb! People laughed! I got pretty consistent chuckles. Some more pronounced than others (feedback!), but it was not some deadly black hole of silence. I know this crowd was capable of that, because I saw it with TWO comics who went on before me. This green, inexperienced little wank was able to get up and elicit laughs from complete strangers.

It felt amazing, and was such an important thing for me to do on that particular day. When I told them it was my anniversary of getting laid off and not having a full-time job, they cheered. CHEERED. For ME! I left there feeling like a million bucks, like I had my own little cloud to whizz around on (like my buddy Lakitu). I now know why addicts are so often drawn to this line of work. I could definitely see chasing that high indefinitely… and I hope I do.

I didn’t really like sharing my morning burritos anyway

After I got home and called my mom and my cousin and bragged to all the people, I sat down to write some notes about the experience. At the top I wrote:

“As someone who normally doesn’t follow through on anything. Tonight felt really good.”

Last August, I was thrown into the too familiar abyss of not knowing what was next. Once again, I was left wondering, “Is there something wrong with me? In what ways am I so deficient that I keep ending up in these professionally questionable situations?” This year, as I reflected on that, I somehow mustered the cojones to do one of the bravest things I have done to date. It felt spectacular, and was much needed. Sometimes it’s incredibly important to remind yourself that you CAN. Because you totally can. I promise.

The Breaking Point

February 27, 2018 / KKRegan / 9 Comments

Imagine it was a cold, grey evening. Except don’t, because I was so far in the hole I wasn’t paying much attention to the weather, I’m just trying to set the scene. Actually, considering that it’s Denver, it was probably infuriatingly sunny and crisp. A perfect day out of many, many perfect days. I believe it was late November as I was sitting down to pay my December mortgage. I was feeling alright. Sure, I had gotten laid off in August. There had been some hairy months there, but I had just picked up a seasonal part-time job. Surely, that income would help me to meet my mortgage, buy me a little more time.

I pulled up my accounts. Reality, in the form of numbers, came rushing at me. At first, it was crystal clear, then blurry, then clear again. I didn’t necessarily expect to avoid dipping into my savings at all, but I was hoping not to make such a big dent. Math strikes again. After I paid my December mortgage, I would have $400 in my account. Four. Hundred. Dollars. January mortgage was a thing of fantasy. A joke, really.

What the weather SHOULD have looked like

My world swirled in and out of focus. I couldn’t pay my mortgage. I could not pay for where I lived. I was 34 with no job prospects, working as many retail hours as they would throw at me to try to, what? Buy myself some time? Heroically attempt to make my mortgage, but not do much else? Live no life but to keep this roof over my head?

I was sent whirling. Falling. Spinning. Down. Down. Down. This was a dark day. Potentially the darkest. I was at the bottom of hopelessness. Denver has not been kind to me, friends. And this was the culmination of many years of repeated defeat and disappointment. Many, many years of job hunting and (wrong) job getting. Some awful jobs and bad decisions. Now, the newest iteration. I had been applying and applying for months (years, really) with no light at the end of the tunnel. Any jobs I thought I wanted, I couldn’t get a call. Even with jobs I didn’t want, I would find myself deep in the middle of a panic attack on the way to interviews. Wait, why did I pluralize interviews as if I got many? I didn’t.

I feel fortunate because I have a strategy that serves me well on these darkest days, a strategy I used on this day. When I get knocked over, I wallow. Not forever, but for one day I allow myself to really FEEL it. I sit in it and writhe around. I let the pain, fear, loneliness, and hopelessness wash over me. I think on it, I learn from it. I don’t chase it away. Then, nine times out of ten, I’ll wake up the next day with a clearer head, ready to take action to actually get out of the hole– or at least make the hole a little more comfortable.

The resulting moment of clarity was my biggest one to date. And I’ll tell you, fair reader, that once I made the decision and figured out the answer, it was like a cloud lifted. While I certainly didn’t have anything figured out, and I certainly would run into a lot of trouble along the way, taking control of my own destiny gave me back much of the agency that I had lost in recent years.

Starting to feel a little more like normal Denver weather

I realized that I was working all these hours at my retail job, supplementing it with temp assignments and substitute teaching simply to pay my mortgage. I was not giving any time to passion projects or actual future plans because I had to focus on certain money. And I had run out of time. Time would keep moving, my bank account would keep shrinking, and I had no control over my trajectory. I could apply for 1,000 more jobs. I could NOT control if they’d call me, and I could NOT control what a job would be like once I got into it.

I decided to take my mortgage out of the equation. If I took my biggest bills off the table, I would have to make much less money to survive, which would give me the time to actually create something worthwhile. This way, if I ever chose (or needed) to pursue a brick and mortar career again, I would have something to show for myself beyond an array of experiences that only show me trying desperately to find my place somewhere that maybe I don’t belong.

In order to regain control, I plan to either sell or rent out my apartment, sell my belongings, pass off my cat to a loved one, and go rogue.

I am not a religious person, but I do believe in some things. I believe that the universe has been screaming at me for years that Denver is not the right place for me. I have ignored these screams out of convenience, or misguided hope. Year by year, those screams have gotten louder and louder. It just so happens, right as I was getting let go from my last full-time job, I was simultaneously gifted free flights on a major US airline. The best gift I could ever, EVER have asked for (thanks, Marie!) landed in my lap right as I lost the last thing tying me here. The universe had now started jumping up and down in addition to the screaming.

So, I am going to take my flights, and whatever meager cash I get from selling my stuff, and I am going to travel. I am going to live nowhere and everywhere all at once. I am going to housesit (using Housecarers.com) as much as possible (that’s free living!). I am going to get out of my comfort zone and see what that does for my creativity. I am going to make money any way I can. I’ll teach English lessons either in-person or online, I’ll freelance write or edit. Maybe I’ll land in a place where someone needs any kind of help and is willing to hire me to do it.

Additionally, I will work on my projects. One of those projects will be this blog. At first detailing all the emotions, struggles, and victories of preparing to leave, and then reporting my experiences on the road. Come along with me, won’t you?

Me, soon

Tag: Storytelling

Six Weeks in Southeastern France