Let It Be
A Story About Acorns and Assumptions
The acorn landed on the running board of Diane the Van sometime in the middle of the night at a campground just outside of Fort Collins, CO.
I was on my way back to Oregon from Atlanta, GA. Denver was my next stop on the tour of Sexology: The Musical!—my one-woman show about my journey from monogamy to polyamory.
The first morning I woke up in this campground, I climbed out of Diane to head for the showers and there was a tiny rattle when I stepped down. I looked back to see an acorn lodged far to the left near the side of the running board of my van. I paused for a moment and thought, maybe I should pick it up and toss it, but something stopped me. I let it be.
When you’re traveling as a fringe theatre artist, you have to keep things cheap. When I travel, I also want to have fun. I found a KOA campground near a lake with a pool and a playground and I settled in. I had three days to relax! I can swim, there’s boats and bikes to rent on the lake, there were trails, there were swings. Perfect.
Driving into my spot, I noticed that I was right across from a Dodge Sprinter with the license plate Zen-Tao. I have to admit, I rolled my eyes. Who is this woo-woo human I’m going to have to be around for the next few days? Who has a license plate like that? What are you trying to prove?
But this was going to be my home for the next three days, so I let it be. I pulled out my cooler. Hummus, carrots, blueberries, cherry tomatoes, pretzel thins, and Lime La Croix. That was dinner. I sat at my picnic table eating and took in the view of the lake as a car drove up and parked in front of Zen-Tao-WooWooGuy, as I had come to label this situation across from me. A middle-aged man in a business suit emerged from the car and took his bag of McDonalds to his picnic table next to the Sprinter and started eating.
I clocked him. I definitely had a judgment of him. I stepped back up into Diane to put away my food and heard the rattle of the acorn once again. I opened the back door of Diane, facing away from Zen-Tao-WooWooBusinessmanGuy as I had come to label him just recently, and sat on the bumper and played some of my usual songs as the sun started to set. When I hit ‘Landslide’ I noticed I was hearing another instrument playing along.
I’m deaf in my left ear. I have been since birth. So stereo doesn’t mean anything to me and I have no ability to echolocate at all. But I had a clear feeling that Zen-Tao-WooWooBusinessmanAlsoIPlayGuitarGuy was playing along with me.
I stopped and I walked over to the Sprinter.
Sure enough Zen-Tao-WooWooBusinessmanAlsoIPlayGuitarMaybeI’mJustAGuyGuy was sitting inside in sweats and a t-shirt playing a mandolin. He looked up.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
“The walk around the lake at sunset is pretty cool,” he said. “I don’t know why, but there are these random paintings of animals on rocks. And someone has taken all of their stuffed animals and hung them on the trees. Do you want to take a walk?”
I said yes and off we went.
He was right! Walking along this paved path around the lake in my KOA in Colorado I’d catch in the corner of my eye a lion or a giraffe as if we were strolling along the savannas of Kenya. I’d look up and there was a tree full of stuffed unicorns. It was magical.
“I’ve been here for a two months so far. You’re only allowed to stay here for three months, so I’ll have to figure out next steps soon. I can come back, but I have to stay away for at least a week.”
He shared his story. His wife kicked him out of the house because of his drinking and his anger. As a ‘functional alcoholic’ he was still keeping his job as an accountant at a law firm while living out of a travel van. He had stopped drinking and was going to meetings, but was still not welcomed home. His wife told him it had to be a year of sobriety before she’d even consider having him back. That seemed right to him, so he was just figuring out next steps day by day.
As we finished the loop around the lake, the sky was full of stars. I pulled out a blanket, he grabbed a bluetooth speaker and we laid down on the ground listening to his 70s Spotify list and holding hands. It felt like being a teenager in the 1950s supporting another teenager going through some difficult time.
As I stepped back into Diane to head for bed, the rattle of the acorn felt like an acknowledgment that I was on the right path.
I spent two more days at the campground. We played music every night and ate together—me with my hummus and him with his fast food. We shared stories and watched the stars. I hate to say it, but I don’t remember his name. I do remember the feeling and our time together. It felt safe and heart-felt and temporary—as it was.
You know what? I never removed that acorn from my running board and it stayed with me all the way back to Portland, OR. It sits on my desk today as a reminder that I might as well just let things be.
I love how Zen-Tao-WooWooBusinessmanAlsoIPlayGuitarMaybeI’mJustAGuyGuy doesn't have a name, but you remember vividly how you felt in his presence. Maya Angelou had it right. People will always remember how you made them feel.
I hope he made it the year and was able to go home and start a whole new chapter of his life.
What a lovely story!