Just a Girl from Kansas: One Woman's Dreams Are Ant-sized Compared to What Lay Ahead

Just a Girl from Kansas: One Woman’s Dreams are Ant-sized Compared to What Lay Ahead by: Rebekah Moan

Copyright © 2012 by Rebekah Moan

Prayer for finding a soul mate from Healing with the Angels: How the Angels Can Assist You in Every Area of Your Life by Doreen Virtue. © October 1, 1999 by Doreen Virtue. Reprinted by permission of Hay House, Inc. Carlsbad, CA.

All rights reserved. Published by Inspirí Press. No part of this publication may be used or reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book on the Internet or by other means without permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions. Your support of the artist’s rights is appreciated.

Direct all inquiries to: Inspirí Press via email at permissions@inspiripress.com.

Printed in the United States

ISBNs:

978-0-9830811-3-5 (Print)

978-0-9830811-1-1 (eBook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011960958

For Baba, without whom none of this would be possible.

Contents

Preface

Part One: Free Floating

CHAPTER ONE: The Decision

CHAPTER TWO: Starting a New Life

CHAPTER THREE: The Sublet from Hell

CHAPTER FOUR: Home? Again

CHAPTER FIVE: San Francisco, Round Two

CHAPTER SIX: In the City!

CHAPTER SEVEN: Housesitting with a Friend

CHAPTER EIGHT: Mark and Cici’s Again

CHAPTER NINE: Living in a Cement Block

CHAPTER TEN: Ping-Ponging

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Carmen’s Place and a Surprise

CHAPTER TWELVE: August is Magical?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Payoff at Last

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A Place to Call My Own

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Moving Across the Country for Real

Part Two: Putting Down Roots

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: My New Home at Last

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Settling In

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Reliving the Past

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Chicago!

CHAPTER TWENTY: The Winter Retreat

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Crazy Occurrences

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: The Gurus Intervene

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: Will He or Won’t He?

About the Author

Glossary

Preface

If you’re a grammar nerd you might have noticed the subtitle for Just a Girl from Kansas is in two different tenses. (It’s technically supposed to be "One woman’s dreams are ant-sized compared to what lies ahead.) It was not without much debate that I chose lay instead of the grammatically correct lies. I may be completely off base, but to me, lay ahead connotes a sense of openness and expansion where no one is quite sure what’s ahead, not even me, which is precisely what this book is about. Lies" makes everything sound more definite, which the future most decidedly isn’t and wasn’t. Especially during the time period Just a Girl from Kansas takes place, I didn’t know what would happen to me from one day to the next and as the reader I want you to go through that with me. That’s also why this book is predominantly my journal entries because I want you to experience life as I did, with all its surprises and upheavals.

Many people have also asked why I didn’t change the names, make it in the third person, and call this story fiction. I kept it a memoir because I think it’s more inspiring that way, to know everything in here actually happened to me. To show life really can be magical. I know some people may say I’m a narcissist, writing a memoir, and that may be true, but that doesn’t mean my story isn’t worth telling. It is my deepest wish that, knowing this is a true story, you will walk away feeling inspired to pursue your own dreams, because even if they don’t turn out the way you expect, they often turn out better.

Also, please know this is my recollection of events, and I’ve related them to the best of my knowledge. I have changed some — but not all — of the names of the characters in this story in order to protect their privacy.

There are many people who made this book possible and I’d like to thank them here. First, thank you to everyone who donated to my kickstarter campaign. Without you there wouldn’t even be a book. A more extensive list can be found at www.justagirlfromkansas.com, but specifically I’d like to mention: Amit Dorf, Danny Pettry, Diane and Ed Moan, Elizabeth Ropp, Mary Wand, and Omar Joya Cardenas — your generosity touched me.

I’d also like to thank Natalie Van Arman because when I told her years ago I wanted to write the next, Be Here Now, she told me, Do it! I’d also like to thank my family for always supporting me. Thank you to Heather Busher for providing me with inspiration, and for helping me to move closer to the light. Thank you to Amal Jacobson for articulating spiritual concepts and for helping me explain them to others. Thank you to my best friend, Dawud Zafir, who reminds me anything is possible. Thank you to my stellar editor, Lucy Smith, for looking over my prose with an eagle’s eye. Lastly, thank you to everyone who makes an appearance in this book, I love you more than you know.

PART ONE

Free Floating

CHAPTER ONE

The Decision

S hould I move to San Francisco? Should I not move? Who do I know there? Is it a good idea? I wrestled with these questions as I rode the Metro on a cold January morning. I sat in the orange, 1970s-style seat on my way to work as a journalist for Drugstore Supplement, a medical trade publication whose offices are located in the outskirts of Washington, D.C.

Drugstore Supplement, where I’d been working for the five months since I’d graduated college, was good to me — they treated me well, there were a lot of perks to working there — but I hated it. On Friday nights I rarely left work before seven at the earliest, even when I had finished my articles hours earlier, because I had to stay and copyedit my colleagues’ stories. We were a small staff and we all had to copyedit each other’s writing. Inside I felt a burning desire to flee the publication. I was an idealistic twenty-two-year-old and I wanted to write about Important Things. I wanted to write about spirituality. Writing about dietary supplements and over-the-counter drugs was not a part of my plan. I was miserable and I couldn’t wait to quit, but I didn’t know what to do next.

As I took stock of my life I realized I wanted to write for a magazine so I could be more creative in my writing and, you know, use adjectives. In particular, I wanted to write for a magazine about spirituality.

I know that’s not common for a twenty-something woman but I grew up in a household where monks and nuns stayed with us on a regular basis. Not the Catholic or Buddhist variety, but yogic ones. My family and I belong to the yoga and meditation group Ananda Marga, which means Path of Bliss in Sanskrit. As I kid I gazed in wonder at our exotic-looking visitors from all over the world — India, Africa, the Philippines — who wore saffron-colored turbans or habits, depending on their gender. They passed through our town to give lectures or workshops and dedicated their whole lives to Ananda Marga. Then and now they act as spiritual teachers, giving dharmashastras or lectures on a topic such as letting go and letting God; the dharmashastras usually take place after group meditations.

Part of the Ananda Marga practice is to gather with other followers of the path, margiis, once a week to meditate and sing in Sanskrit. (Hence the dharmashastras after group meditations.) Individually, margiis are supposed to meditate by themselves twice a day. I had a passing interest in meditation as a child, sitting down occasionally, but usually engaged in other activities until I turned eighteen. It’s a long story, but at that point I had an intense spiritual experience where my spiritual guide came to me in a vision during my meditation and blessed me. In that moment I decided to devote myself to the practices more fully. What that means is I practice asanas or yoga postures daily, and worked my way up to meditating twice a day every day using a Sanskrit mantra personally given to me by a nun. I also sing and dance kiirtan using the phrase Baba nam kevalam, (BNK) which literally means Only the name of the beloved. In this case beloved refers to an infinite loving consciousness. So you could say the phrase translates as Everything is an expression of an infinite loving consciousness or more simply, Love is all there is.

Usually when someone becomes a margii, they’re given a Sanskrit name to aspire to. But because I was born into the group, one of my parents’ favorite didis, or nuns, offered a name for me three days after I was born. I honestly can’t tell you how they pick the name but I think it’s based on astrology and intuition and God only knows what else. She named me Radha. Radha is one of the central female figures in Eastern spirituality, a serious devotee of Krsna. The name means devotion, love, and one who will attain success and prosperity. Suffice to say, whether I liked it or not, spirituality has been a part of my life since its inception.

So, as I sat on the Metro that cold morning in January, I contemplated whether I should move to San Francisco, a city I knew would be more accepting of my spiritual nature because of a conversation I’d had the week prior with a fellow margii who lived there. I listed all the pros and cons and decided to stay in D.C. because moving seemed too scary. I hardly knew anyone in San Francisco and I loved where I lived. Plus, I had many friends in D.C. I didn’t want to leave. And then I looked across the aisle and saw someone reading the Yoga Journal, a magazine dealing with both the physical and spiritual elements of yoga that is based in the Bay Area. An energy bolt whomped me in the chest as I saw that magazine. I felt in my heart (literally) the universe was telling me I should move to San Francisco. I decided then and there, based on that sign, to do it. The plan I developed was to stay at Drugstore Supplement long enough to make it an even year, then uproot myself and move across the country.

For the next seven months I kept getting messages reinforcing my decision. I would go out to lunch somewhere and the people at the next table would be chatting about San Francisco. I remember walking down the street in D.C. thinking, Wow, I love this city! as I passed the patio of a restaurant, and the diners closest to me mentioned San Francisco. I saw San Francisco t-shirts on the street. I saw San Francisco hats in the Metro. At a conference I sat next to a woman — totally randomly — and where was she from? San Francisco! I told my mom it felt like I was being hit over the head with a hammer about moving out west. Yet I often doubted my decision and my sanity.

San Francisco became this utopia that beckoned to me from afar. Never mind that I had never even been to the city. I had driven through it in 2005 on an Ananda Marga bus tour and that was it. But the signs kept telling me it was the right decision.

In August, after my self-imposed year working for Drugstore Supplement was up, I quit. I packed up my apartment, put my stuff in storage, and flew back to my parents’ house in North Carolina, which we called home after leaving Kansas when I was young. It was really hard. Little Miss Independent, determined to make it on her own, had to move back in with her parents. Let’s be honest though, living in Charlotte had some perks. I didn’t have to worry about anything; I could be footloose and fancy-free. I wasn’t in charge of everything as when I lived on my own. There was a dishwasher and a washer and dryer I didn’t have to ply with quarters to use. I could relax and do whatever I wanted. Even so, I felt like a loser. I was unhappy I couldn’t head straight to San Francisco. But I had tried applying for San Francisco jobs while living in D.C. and no one called me back. I just couldn’t afford to stay in D.C. if I wasn’t working full time and being at Drugstore Supplement was intolerable. So instead I had to move back to my old bedroom, which felt like a time capsule left by the seventeen-year-old me. It didn’t reflect who I was anymore, but I had nowhere else to go. All I could do was be there and work toward my new life in California.

So there I was in Charlotte, miserable and friendless. My friends had all moved away or we had lost touch. All I had to occupy my time were TV, books, and a few hours of work each day as a freelance journalist. Drugstore Supplement gave me some assignments and I picked up another writing gig, so I had some money coming in. But that occupied me only a small part of the day. I felt confined to my 9 x 10-foot bedroom because I conducted all my interviews, wrote all my stories, and researched all my articles in there. I didn’t have anywhere else I could go. I used to be out and about all the time in D.C., but in North Carolina my life shrank to 190 square feet. Life was boring because there was nothing to do. The most exciting part of my day was 8:00 p.m. because that was when prime time TV began.

It’s hard to describe that kind of boredom unless you’ve experienced it. In the past, periods of inactivity had been spiced with the knowledge a new school year was about to start or the workweek would begin. But when I moved home I had no idea when I’d get to experience something to shake up my routine. I felt lonely and depressed and sought solace in food. It was the easiest pick-me-up I could find. After everyone went to sleep, I snuck into the kitchen to determine what I could eat that my mom wouldn’t miss. That meant no last piece of anything, no finishing bags. I ate yogurt, cookies, cake, more dinner — whatever — as long as my mom wouldn’t notice the food was gone. Every night I told myself it would be my last binge, but it never was. I kept going back for more. I looked forward to my nightly raids because they provided a fullness in my belly that I couldn’t find for my heart. I stayed up, sometimes until 2:00 a.m., watching television, then DVDs, and eating myself into a stupor just so I wouldn’t have to deal with my feelings. Then I slept most of the morning; I didn’t have anything better to do.

The only time I got out of the house was to go to my biweekly chiropractor appointment, run errands for my mom, or venture to the library and video store to stock up on new media — my life was so dull I wanted to lose myself in someone else’s. All this nightly gorging wasn’t without its effects though; my weight started to creep up, so I also went to the pool to work off my binges.

After more than a month of this, I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to do something, get out of the house, plan a trip, anything. The most logical action was to visit San Francisco because if I were going to move there, I’d better figure out if I actually liked the city as much as I thought I would. In September I booked a ticket and on a Thursday I took off.

September 20:

I tried taking a nap today after my ridiculously long travel time but there are too many thoughts running around in my head. Being here feels weird and different. Even the airport was different. It wasn’t as rushed; there were no power suits running around talking on their cell phones, dashing to get to their planes. People were more chill. And I feel so connected to the universe. Everything is in sync. Like wishing no one would sit next to me on the plane so I could sleep — which happened — to finding the perfect neck pillow, an inflatable one that takes no room to pack. And when I wished for a Bank of America ATM, there was one right there as I walked to collect my luggage. I feel so guided, so shielded. Is it any wonder I love to travel? It’s when I feel Baba the most.

(Please pardon the interruption, but I want to make sure I properly explain Baba. As I mentioned earlier, Baba means beloved in terms of a cosmic consciousness but it’s also an affectionate name for an individual. In this case, it refers to the guru of Ananda Marga, Shrii Shrii Anandamurti. What is a guru and why is one necessary? Meditation is built on the practice of seeing unity in diversity; of knowing on a fundamental level that we are all connected. At its core, meditation is connecting more deeply to the innermost Self. It’s often said prayer is talking and meditation is listening. Who are we listening to? The Self. That inner voice is the guru, so we all have one, though we may just call it something else, like intuition or Higher Power. But the guru is not limited to our corporeal being — the guru speaks through other people, through signs, through anything. So why is a physical guide necessary? Because often we cannot tell the difference between intellect and intuition since we haven’t reached a state of nonduality, of understanding everything is one and the same. Therefore, a guide, someone who has already reached that state, is needed to help us distinguish between the mind and the innermost Self. The mind cannot be used to get past the mind.

In order to break the mental barriers, to access the highest level of consciousness within and to understand permanently and continuously that everything is one, an external guide is necessary. But the innermost Self must never be discounted, personal discretion must still be used when interacting with the physical guru entity because the real guru is the entity behind the physical one. In essence the Self, the physical guru, and the formless guru are all one and the same. However, a physical entity is necessary until a seeker reaches a state where he or she realizes all of that. Not all of us have the patience or the determination of the Buddha, so a guide is needed to become enlightened. That is also why guru literally means dispeller of darkness. The guru is the one who helps us see the light or become enlightened. But again, the true guru is the innermost Self — when that is forgotten, personality cults arise. So when I mention Baba throughout this book, sometimes I mean the physical entity but I also mean the beloved within me and around me. Now back to the story.)

The weather is beautiful. It’s desertesque but still lush because the city is surrounded by mountains and the bay. Being here makes me feel apprehensive, nervous, and excited all at the same time. Granted, I’m not in SF yet, I’m staying with a friend across the bay in Emeryville, so it’s not quite the same. I guess I’m scared. I’m actually taking steps to make this move a reality. I’m not just talking about it, I’m doing something. I’m actually here, and that is just so crazy and unbelievable.

Questions are jumbling in my head and I feel out of sorts. This is what I’ve been planning for eight months. It’s happening. So why do I feel so freaked out? ∞

During my visit to the city I saw Chinatown and the Golden Gate Bridge. I went to Golden Gate Park, Haight-Ashbury, the Japanese Tea Garden, Coit Tower, and Fisherman’s Wharf. I rode the cable cars and did all the quintessential San Francisco things.

Being a margii means I know people all over the country and all over the world. Even if I don’t know them well, they are family. We take care of each other. There’s a certain level of comfort and familiarity with margiis I don’t usually feel with other people. So when I visited San Francisco, I stayed with my margii friend, Patty, and explored the city with some margiis close to my age, including my spiritual little brother Prabhat, four years my junior. It felt surreal to be there. It was strange and exciting and I loved the city.

I was there for only about a week, but it was enough. In San Francisco I knew a sense of peace and love and rightness I hadn’t felt in D.C. for a while.

I flew back to Charlotte hopeful because while I was in San Francisco an astrology website called me for an interview. Then they called for a second interview.

October 1:

I can’t sleep, as usual. I’m thinking too many things, like how I don’t want this job at the astrology website but I’ll take it if they offer. How I don’t know what Baba’s plan is. Even though I believe in free will, I also know some things are fated to happen, so I’m wondering what Baba has planned for my future. I’m thinking how I want to be in SF but I don’t. How I’m scared. How I don’t have enough money to move. How happy yet unhappy I am. How I feel sort of ashamed about still living at home. How I want to be writing for a magazine but I’m not. ∞

As soon as I got back from San Francisco I decided it didn’t make sense to continue paying for an expensive storage unit in Washington, D.C., especially since getting my stuff would complicate the actual move. What would I do, drive up to D.C. first, and then cut across the country? No. So, even though I just got back from my trip, my dad drove up with me to D.C. so I could see my friends and we could pick up my things. On the drive back, sitting in the passenger seat with the sun warming my legs, I started crying because my brief adventure was over. I no longer had the excitement of travel to look forward to. Instead I had a whole lot of nothing.

October 10:

I feel like my life is on pause right now. Just outside the frame I see the beginnings of something new and exciting. But right now I’m on pause. I know I’m incredibly blessed to be able to freelance now, to still make money while advancing my career; I am very grateful I don’t have to work at Blockbuster. But honestly, I want to start writing about things I understand. I want to stop churning out formulaic story after formulaic story. This week I’m writing about a petition to withdraw commercial authorization for oral sodium phosphate products for use as bowel cleansers. What does that even mean? When can I start writing about things I actually care about?

I’m still waiting to hear back about that astrology website job interview. What I really want instead is an internship with this vegetarian magazine. It’s unpaid but provides housing. But who really knows what will happen? ∞

The astrology website people emailed me and said I didn’t get the job, which was fine by me, actually. I really wanted to work for the vegetarian magazine anyway. I love astrology but I’ve been a vegetarian my whole life, so the magazine was a much better fit.

I became a final candidate for the internship with the magazine. Although I was excited and wanted it, it also seemed like a step backward. I had left a well-paying job in D.C. that allowed me to live on my own to apply for an unpaid internship. It seemed like a bad career move. The reason I was doing it though, was because it was a safe way for me to move to San Francisco. If I got it, it would be a nice jumping off point to find a paying job and my own place to live. I felt excited and scared because everything was starting to become real. It wasn’t a pipe dream anymore; I really was trying to move all the way across the country, away from everyone and everything I knew.

I interviewed with the vegetarian magazine and I loved them. The job and the environment sounded fantastic. The staff seemed egalitarian and friendly. I really, really, really wanted to work for them, but after the interview my stomach was in knots. I replayed every word I had said to them and felt like a moron. I went to the kitchen and told my mother, Mom, I just finished the interview and they sound fantastic, but I have this sinking feeling I didn’t get the job.

I was right. I didn’t get it. I tried to believe Baba was watching out for me, but was still upset.

November 17:

I didn’t get the vegetarian magazine internship. I’m bummed but whatever. Baba’s obviously acting in my best interest, otherwise I would have gotten it.

I’m feeling nervous about this whole money thing. How am I going to pay for 1) the move to SF, 2) an apartment, 3) my student loans? I don’t have much money in the bank. I’m reminding myself as far as money goes, Baba has always taken care of me. It hasn’t been an issue before, so I can only trust it will continue to be that way. I guess I just need to loosen my grip on the money issue. Everything always works out. ∞

November passed. I turned twenty-three and celebrated my birthday with my parents. We went to a play and my mom made me a cake. It was nice, but not a big birthday blowout. Mostly, I was excited to put twenty-two behind me so I could get on with my life. I was sure twenty-three would be a better year and couldn’t wait to get started.

December 13:

I am so frickin’ frustrated. I just want to move! I theoretically have the cash because Drugstore Supplement owes me money, but they’re behind on paying me. Everything feels so frustrating and obnoxious. I just want a job. I want to work full time and have a steady paycheck. I don’t want to have to worry about this stuff anymore. It feels like such a distant dream, I just want to get out of Charlotte so badly. Can someone hire me? Please? Baba! Help! I just want to start my life again. I want to stop being scared and I