we are all in ratios of being and becoming

I tie a thin strip of leather around my wrist. I drive across the country. I say “I love you” and for the first time in a long time the words make it past my lips. I take polaroids of the people I love. I climb walls. I eat sardines out of the back of my car. I listen. Tears of rapturous gratitude overtake me

“Maybe take this as a time to search in some of those dark places you don’t go to everyday”

“It’s good to see shadow – people have to take care of the shadow”







I’m beginning to see togetherness as beautiful

Wild Delight

This is a tribute to one of the best friends I have in this life. Your consistent and undeterred enthusiasm to see me, and your relentlessly amazing sense of humor have lifted my life and enriched my soul. Together, we have claimed the coffee shops and grocery stores as our places of worship. Ah! The pints of ice cream eaten in parking lots! The nights of storytelling! The languid Sundays! You taught me how to be more discerning about people and more trusting of the world and more improvisational. I feel at home with you. You taught me that intimacy with another human, even platonically, is possible and desirable and lovely. You have set the bar for all future connectedness with another soul. Thank you for giving this town vibrancy and waking me up and bringing me into your life. I love you.


( alternate songs: Drake – One Dance, Belle & Sebastian – Perfect Couples )

Nothing to write home about

On a not too distant Friday, I attended a party in a hamlet of sixty people. We drank Radler and ate goulash with thick slices of ham and chunks of white bread. We watched the bocce ball game beneath the full moon, and cheered with the old men when each team scored. We soaked up the magic as they heckled over points and bantered, loud and full of love.

On a Saturday we took a bus to the salt fields and walked along the green sea, stopping at a rocky stretch of shore to find heart shaped stones. I listened to this song until it had melted into the cobblestone streets. I let it wash me into a happy wilt atop my melancholic peninsular paradise. In the evening, we walked along the shoreline and collected a bachelorette party and three vacationing italians. We all drank homemade lemon schnapps and watched the italians teach tango to the bride beneath the streetlamp. Later we drank Gin and Tonics as we listened to a rock & roll cover band at a bar by the sea. A man let us share a table with him. He drank red wine and smoked while informing us in sincere tones that hard work pays off.

On a Sunday, we braved the wind. Inside of a frigid bus stop, we jumped up and down and sang to each other. Escaping from the cold we sat in a gas station coffee shop. She taught me about euros. Bogdan arrived, bright eyed, wearing his clogs and his wild blonde dreadlocks. The smell of cows filled the room upon his entrance. He whisked us away, and we cooked dinner and drank tea and after everyone had gone to bed we spoke about our homes and our insides and the brilliant thing we were embarked upon.

On a Monday, we picked rocks from the potato field.

When The Sweat Pours Out!

I reconcile with myself with voracity these days, and today that involved holding a hyacinth macaw while my eyes grew prickly and damp in response to genuine gratitude and joy. Every day I am peeling back skin in the search for selfhood, and it feels amazing when it is real.