Here, back home, I’m the Lily my old friends know, the woman my family knows. My mother knows me almost better than I know myself, so there’s no getting away from it here. And it’s so nice. Not to have to explain, not to have to decide, who that is. I’ve got a few more stories and a few more scars, but essentially, I’m still me.

And in the same way, my City is too. Buildings have come up and gone down, the dramatic floods early in the year have altered it’s shape and shaken it’s stumps, but it stills smells the same, people still smile the same, and Kangaroos still graze in the morning fog. Some things never change.

I left Madison in chaos, and with a heavy heart. My world there was splitting off into two different directions – one outside, one inside – and rather than decide which to go in – I left them both.

Brisbane, this is where I know. Where my constants can be constant and leave me room to figure out the rest.Where working out who I am doesn’t get in the way of working out what I want.  Where my city stands, and where I stand – afraid, brave, and intrigued – together.

What a weekend! What an extravaganza! Life begins to return to normal now, but the memory and love of such a beautiful event will stay with us forever. Looking over the photos I’m reminded of the love and community that we all shared. Friends and family from around the world, and from right here in Madison, to unite and celebrate Love!

Each one made such an effort to be here – from hitch-hiking adventures to  last minute plane departures, there was a story in each arrival. Seeing so many of the people we adore all in one place, supporting us and unifying us, was… unforgettable and indescribable.  And the unimaginable hours put into food, bikes, co-ordination, and a million other things – an extravaganza would never have been possible without so much help. We felt touched, blessed and eternally grateful for the mission effort that went into pulling it off. Thank you packages are on their way!

Head on over to Flickr for lots more photos:    http://www.flickr.com/photos/lilyluck/

And lots more coming soon! We’ll include an explanation in the thank you notes on how to upload YOUR photos to that flickr account too. We’d love to see them! Big thanks to Chris Hoppe for these snaps – the ones we have so far are beautiful!

On this same coin-sized circle, there is another place, called Brisbane, Point B. It lies next to a big bountiful river, miles of white-sanded coastline, and a whole lot of surfboards.

There is magic here. If one were to tilt the world on it’s axes, if one were to – fall in love for example – one would discover that by drawing a connecting line between these two locations,  one would pass right through the centre of a Third important point, point C.

This point is of a much smaller nature, on our coin-sized circle above, but it’s name is Port Vila. It belongs scattered amongst 80 islands, millions of fruiting coconut trees, and a lot of water – the salty kind. Now, this is really the most valuable of the points to you, dear reader, since without it – this moment would not pass. RIGHT NOW, you would not be reading this blog. You would not have stumbled on this character “Lily Barlow” and you would certainly never have heard of “Charles Brigham”. Port Vila, Vanuatu is where it all began.

Don’t worry if you missed it though, it happens. Beginnings begin all the time, and it is a rare occasion when everyone can make it. Plus, guess what? There’s a whole other beginning happening in just Three Weeks! It’s called the New Equator Extravaganza – A Commitment Ceremony. It will be held at Point A, AND it will be dutifully blogged and logged on this here very website. There will be photos of the food, photos of the people, and photos of all the decorations that have been accumulating in my living room the last few months!

Turns out, if you spin the World around a little, it lands in Perfect Balance: right in the middle of Love, Trust, and Commitment. It’s a good idea to draw it coin-sized too, so it doesn’t look so big. That way, people you really really love and miss and wish could be here, will look at it and think “oh, Point A is so close to us here at Point B, there’s a dotted red line right to it”. And Voila! You will have yourself a grand extravaganza, with people coming from far away lands just to ride a bicycle, camp in a tent, and laugh with two pretty ordinary folks

Mum and Lil in the Caribbean

Family in San Francisco

Away from what? I’ve built myself a Home in many places since, I’ve found new Friends, new Communities. I’ve relaxed on beautiful beaches, been to great gigs and slept on many a couch. But… … none of them have been Byron beach, none of them have been Mr Laneous at the Shire with the crew, and none of them have been Mum and Peter’s plush white sofa. I’m slowly losing my accent, gradually warming to the cold, and I’m even saying things like “Sofa”! I’ve learnt to spell like an American, speak like the French and eat like the Dutch.

I didn’t know what I was looking for, when I left in 2008. I didn’t know I’d find True Love,

Nomad Bases,

and Bicycle Touring.

I sure as hell couldn’t have guessed I’d be living in a small city in the Mid West, building a northern hemisphere Home. But it’s a good thing I did, since that’s exactly why I left – to explore, to learn, to grow. Now, I have new words, new (old) boots, and a Whole New Family.

But I still dream of mangoes by the kilo, signs that say “Watch for Kangaroos” and especially, I dream of waking up on that plush white Couch, or camping amongst Bottle Trees on Dad’s farm “DeHavilland”.

If I were ever to make plans, I would say: I plan on this being my last year away. I plan on catching the sailing season in February, and riding the trade winds all the way HOME. I plan on Kilometers and Capsicums and 40 degrees Celsius. But plans are for fools. I’ll just wait and see.

Advice for a hitch-hiker might be: Be as open as you can, trust your intuition, empower yourself, learn from others, and enjoy the long, free road!

As a hitchhiker, couchsurfer, solo-cyclist… In fact, as anyone involved in any kind of financially free lifestyle, there are important ways to approach things and valuable lessons to learn. One thing I learnt early on was that it is a deep-rooted philosophy of mine that we should take what we need and give what we can. That means that if you have a roof you can share, you ought to. If you have food to give, do so. If you can spare a seat, you should. And most of these ground rules have come from receiving. From being offered everything from couches to temples, caviar to bread, sports car to back-of-the-truck rides. Such generosity from others spawned in me a firm belief that I must give back whenever I can.

So to suddenly be faced with a living situation involving people who feel quite the opposite about this philosophy, is somewhat disheartening. I am trying to understand more about personal space, about fear of danger, about not wanting to give what you don’t need to… but with no room for compromise it’s feeling awfully bleak. Do we really want to live in fear of ‘something going wrong’? Do we really want to base our choices on the (more unlikely that likely) chance of danger coming our way? Because for every fear we choose to obey, a thousand loves are lost.

We could be living open, living free, giving what we can and taking only what we need. Rejoicing in the goodwill, appreciating the lessons, the stories, the help that travellers can offer us. We could swollow our fears, hitch and be hitched, couchsurf and be couchsurfed, love and be loved. We could do all of this with a clear head and an honest intuition, and in doing so avoid the dangers and reap the benefits.

And we are not powerless, even once an unsavoury situation is upon us. Often, while hitch-hiking or solo travelling, people have asked: “But what would you do if ‘the wrong person’ found you?” My answer is of course, firstly, that I choose not to live in fear, and to project positives… but then I answer: “If something were to happen, I would assert my power, remain calm, and deal with it”. It has happened, once or twice in thousands of interactions, that I found myself with someone who wanted to push a little too far. By following this philosophy and process, it has never turned ugly.

The point is though, I know where I stand when it comes to couch-surfers, hitch-hiking and this giving philosophy. But how to do I stand united with the people I live with, if our foundations are so opposed?

Which is a shame, since my new life in the Midwest has proved an opportunity for new thought patterns, critical attitude analysis, and some seriously profound lessons. With very few local friend outlets, I ought to have used this platorm to help sort through feelings.

That’s the way it goes with depression though… the less you do, the lower you get, and then the less you do. I’m really not familiar with depression – it sounds so severe to me. But I suppose being sad for extended periods of time counts. Maybe the language isn’t important.

There is a phenomenon here calld S.A.D. – Seasonal Affective Disorder… a.k.a Sun Absence = Depression. It is definitely real, I learnt that much. But I wouldn’t want to attribute all of my misery to a lack of sunlight and an extremely long winter. True, it did snow last week and I am growing quite tired of feeling cold, like inside bone cold, but there is a lot more to it too.

It’s moving to a new place, any new place. It’s having a partner with a broken leg that won’t seem to heal. It’s being ready for an Australian home then having to wait. It’s integrating into a new family. And each of those have such a huge range of emotions associated with them that putting them all in a line like that seems almost meaningless. The good news is that whatever the block, whatever the dark cloud… it’s clearing. People are slowly moving outside again, friendships are being formed, and I’m gradually learning old lessons about attitude ownership, personal power, individual freedom in relationships.

I still want more from Charlie that he can give me right now, I am still building up trust with his family, and I’m still searching for my mission here in Madison, but the sun has thawed the icy lakes, and maybe the ice in me too. Things are flowing once more. At least i”m writing again. At least i’m touring again. Yep: I am writing this from the road.

Just a little loop – Madison-Chicago-Milwaukee-Madison…  just enough. Bike touring ‘courage’ seems so hard won, and so easily lost – but after a 90 mile day yesterday, in good time and with a smile, I remember -  I can still do it. Tomorrow i’ll bike into Madison, along the same route I took in June. Then, I was introducing myself to Charlie’s town… this time I’ll be coming home. My home.

If we have an understanding of what to expect, of our tools and our surroundings, then we are much less likely to be gripped by fear and therefore less likely to be feeling Brave. An outsider, who has never ridden a loaded bicycle on a deserted road, undoubtedly encounters uncertainty, insecurity and fear at the mere mention of it. But to the rider, who has become accustomed to life at a 15mph pace, and who has a map of all the waterholes, it has become a grand expedition, a soul-building, freedom filled experience. Our amount of courage is in direct proportion to our depth of fear.

So, I think it’s safe to say that while ‘out there’ on the highways and byways of the world, I’m not being very courageous. That’s not to say I’m not a courageous person. On the contrary, I like to think of myself as being very brave and bold. In fact, I just moved into a small house in a Midwest town knee deep in snow, with my lover (short one fully functioning leg) and his mother – with the somewhat delusional intention of ‘settling down’. If that doesn’t take courage, I don’t know what does! After three years of constant movement, and a childhood built on sporadic upheaval – being in one place with four walls and a roof, and looking for a job – well, it’s a little scary. Add to that a body and mind that don’t know of weather below 10 degrees Celsius, and you’ve got yourself some serious fear.

We congratulate our explorers on their bravery and we question our comrades who stay at home, but you may not have to rage the flood, or roam the field or climb the mountains crest – for a little bit of courage, just add fear.

I’ve been outside, bare and exposed, for a long time. Sleeping in tents or buses, boats or warehouses, community couches or blow up mats or carpeted floor. Open to life around me, rarely having to design a direction – instead just following in the footsteps of what seems right. Which is to say – I’ve been free. But wandering is a limited freedom. What about food choices? Or the freedom to choose what I’m exposed to? Rambling means the ability to ramble on, but is it ever a chosen destination? I can ride my bike to the next town, but the only real question thereafter is – who do I want to be? Beyond that, I’ve already made the choice to be open, so then I must be with whoever is there, eat what they eat and sleep wherever they don’t.

Now, off the wandering highways, I have new lessons to learn. In a lot of ways, I’ve been closing doors. A sailing trip to Mexico? Nope, settling down. Building and beaches in Hawaii? Nope, I’m settling down. Bike touring New Zealand? Close that door too. And it’s surprisingly liberating. There’s no doubt it takes strength to allow options into your life, to be open to the possibilities – but I’ve found the hardest is in fact in the narrowing down again.  It requires a great power, the power of love for example, to select just one of those choices.

Now I wear pyjamas to bed, drink the same tea every morning and even have a drawer with six (6!) pairs of socks in it. I’ve been given slippers to keep my feet warm, beanies, scarves, gloves and boots – and just built my first snowman!

The weather here, in Madison Wisconsin, is grounding. Snow sticks to every surface and our hearts stick to our homes. It piles up outside our doorways – so we stay indoors. It offers time. Time to eat well, to write, to sew, to read, to learn, to develop. It’s a new found freedom. I can join the co-op and know my farmers. I can begin month long projects and acquire new skills. Especially, I can be myself, with the qualities I’ve found on the road, but simultaneously discover deeper aspects of ‘me’ that only a close community can help me find. We need both worlds I think, the road and the home, to maintain balance – but I sure have a lot of the latter to catch up on. And now, the space to do it.

From San Francisco I knew I wanted to be in Madison, WI, so I went north
up to Washington. The truth is, I wasn’t quite ready to hang up my
travelling shoes, and with the little last breath of autumn, I decided to
squeeze in one more adventure. It just felt like something I needed to do.
Often though, I ached for the warm home waiting for me in the Midwest, and
looked forward to time passing swiftly so as to get there sooner. I had
left the Northwest with the intention of returning quickly, and so loose
threads hung up there, dangling from the evergreens, awaiting my return.

Stopping briefly in the San Juans, I hugged my old friend Guisepi again,
and spent a few days with the close community there, watching everything
wind down for the winter. It snowed while I was there, an unusually early
winter, and the place looked and felt so different to my previous summer
visits. Everyone was bunkering down or packing things up, the hibernation
of the cold months ahead beginning already. I realised that seasons make
one so much more aware of Time. Where I grew up, with 90 degree
temperatures all year round, there was never a need to prepare oneself for
the coming conditions. Here though, every month that slips by brings new
tasks to be dealt with before the next shift settles in. It instilled in
me a sort of anxiety, for which the only cure I knew was movement.

I hitched a ride up to Nanaimo, Vancouver Island to see an old friend and
lover from the Caribbean. The difference in environment and seasons (from
the sunny BVI’s to snowy Canada), changed a lot in us too, and though I
was so glad to have made the trip, it was a somewhat awkward 4 days. We
went for a beautiful canoe ride though and saw the travelling Bamff Film
Festival which provided a lot of inspiration. I left a day early, partly
because I didn’t want to risk missing my ferry, and partly because it felt
finished. It was an exhausting hitching trip back to the San Juan’s, but I
was moving in the right direction again and that comforted me.

We spent a few more days on the islands, packing up the bus and getting
ready to hit the road. When we boarded the ferry, I felt a perfect sense
of closure, a much more official ending to my connections there. We rolled
on south.

A week of tea-serving, letter writing, lightfoot deliveries, and finally
we were back in San Francisco. Guisepi dropped me off at the Amtrak
station, we unloaded my boxed bike, all my gear, and then turned to
each other for a hug. Our relationship began as flirtation, grew into a
friendship over the years, returned occasionally to romance and now rested
in a love usually reserved for family. We agreed he’d always be my
‘hoboking’, and I’d always be his ‘hoboqueen’. We understood that no matter
the length of separation, we would always be close. We would always hold
huge amounts of respect for each other, and no doubt always continue to
inspire one another with our simple stories and life choices. We hugged,
smiling, and felt so much gratitude.

I boarded the Amtrak, beginning my last journey (for a while). Madison, my
beloved Charlie and his beautiful family waited for me at my destination.
I feel so whole. So utterly exhausted and rejuvenated at the same time. A
page is turning, a new life beginning. I am so completely ready to give
myself to a settled life – to rest, to create, and especially to love,
with the man that brings me home.

- Ueda Akinara -

We drive around the block a few times, looking for a good parking spot. A
wide space opens up beside a bank, perfect. We’re in my good friends home
- a half-size school bus painted white, with beautiful woodwork on the
interior, bench space, bookshelves, and a bed that rests up on pulleys
against the roof when not in use. It’s a cozy place to live, but
importantly, it’s a cozy place to drink tea too.

For the last 5 years, Guisepi has been serving free tea out of his
vehicles, up and down the West Coast, creating a warm, welcoming
environment for passers by. When asked how he got into it, he’ll tell you
“I didn’t even used to like tea!” but while in LA living out of his truck,
discovered that a warm cuppa was the perfect way to connect with people
walking past. Tea became the magic ingredient, facilitating a friendly
open connection between a huge diversity of people. College students,
business suits, homeless folks, artists, musicians, politicians – all
sitting in a school bus, sipping tea and telling their story.

That was the ideal anyway, and having never been to a ‘tea party’ before,
I wasn’t sure how close it came to achieving it. Now, having just finished
a week long tea-tour from the San Juan Islands down to San Francisco, I
can speak from experience.

There’s five of us in the bus already, warming our fingers on our hot
mugs, and someone is talking about the uniformity of people in Portland.
“This city is full of middle class white folks, you hardly ever see any
Africansor Asians.” About 5 minutes later, a tall Kenyan man, having seen
the ‘Free Tea’ sign, pops in to share the space. We talk about the
comparisons of life, food and communities in the USA and Kenya. He
describes the mangoes and papaws making us all salivate. We all laugh
together, sometimes just sit in silence together, and there is love
radiating from us all.

In another city, on another night, a homeless fellow ‘Chris’ stops by the
bus, explaining that he needs 5 Dollars for a place to sleep tonight and
asking for some help. We invite him in for some tea. He sits down, and we
share stories. He opens up, telling the 7 of us about how his wife and
child died 2 years earlier, his following depression and alcoholism, and
now his efforts to get his life back. One of us gives him a hug. He cries.
He explains that he is rarely treated like this, like a human – looked in
the eye and listened to. Once his tea is drained, he gives a heart felt
thanks and begins to leave. Guisepi tells him about the ‘give-and-take
jar’ which he keeps hidden to limit any monetary association with the
freeteaparty, but which exists for people to put in and take out of. Chris
can’t believe it, and doesn’t quite know what to do. We tell him we’ll all
look away while he takes whatever he thinks he needs. He grabs a few
crumpled notes, gives us all hugs again, and steps back out into the
world, his footsteps a lot lighter.

Stories like these happened every night, with every cup of tea, with every
new friendship. Tea, the bus, Guisepi, the space, whatever it was, brought
people together. For hours at a time, tea would be brewed, mugs filled,
smiles shared, cups washed, more tea brewed, and on and on until well into
the darkness of the night. It was an energy intensive way to spend an
evening, but so rewarding. By the end of each tea party, we would sweep
out the bus, clean the dishes, and then spend a moment reflecting on how
much love and gratitude was shared amongst strangers. Free tea parties
really do change the world.

“Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration of the beautiful among the
sordid facts of every day existence. It inculcates purity and harmony, the
mystery of mutual charity, the romanticism of the social order; it is
essentially a worship of the imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to
accomplish something possible in this impossible thing we know as life.”
- Kakuzo Okakura -