tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59404026118043373692024-03-13T14:30:24.098-07:00Mackenzie FieldAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-87746844311845226142015-10-23T14:31:00.002-07:002016-01-19T13:35:33.327-08:00The 15<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P2raQYjnMbM/ViqnEY-yUNI/AAAAAAAAB9s/jT75xMu10iM/s1600/bus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-P2raQYjnMbM/ViqnEY-yUNI/AAAAAAAAB9s/jT75xMu10iM/s1600/bus.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
It’s just after 8 am and the morning light illuminates the buildings downtown, searching for a place to rest before the universe decides it’s time to move on. The streets below are humming with activity and my new commute is verging on routine.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I walk past the valet crew at the Westin and we engage in a game of pleasantries. I do the same to the man who faithfully sells Street Roots newspapers on the corner of 6th and Washington. I’m growing to depend on these daily interactions and I know I’ll be surprised to feel their absence when one of us inevitably moves on to something new. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I worry that one day these exciting happenings will become mundane. Eventually I'll stop studying the faces I pass with intense curiosity that only comes from the uncertainty of whether or not I belong. I'll realize that I’m no longer playing a part I have yet to prove. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Soon enough I’ll wait for the 15, ticket at the ready, looking for all the world like someone who’s already there.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-6671520470591024962015-06-04T21:48:00.001-07:002016-02-05T13:54:38.478-08:00Trattoria Contadina<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uNgn1ugfd1U/VXEp8t807EI/AAAAAAAAB4Y/X04_TGHSpxw/s1600/SF.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uNgn1ugfd1U/VXEp8t807EI/AAAAAAAAB4Y/X04_TGHSpxw/s1600/SF.PNG" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Every street in San Francisco eventually leads to a hilltop. It’s as if the whole city has an unspoken agreement to salute each other from afar, perched upon each of the highest peaks. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It was along one of those quintessential hills that I stumbled upon <a href="http://www.trattoriacontadina.com/">Trattoria Contadina</a>. Aaron, my boyfriend at the time, and I had just finished exploring <a href="http://www.citylights.com/">City Lights Books</a> and we were ravenous for food. We started walking west and inevitably began to incline. In addition to overpriced hardcovers and a city map, I dragged a bad attitude up that hill. My blood sugar was low and I needed to eat. Immediately. We stopped at the corner of Union and Mason to catch our breath.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The universe must’ve listened to my plea because just then, in my peripheral, I noticed a dimly lit Italian joint and the promise of free tableside bread. I could almost feel the button on my jeans pop. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Inside, Trattoria Contadina feels like walking into the home of the Italian grandmother I never had. It’s unapologetically unfussy and so tiny that the wait staff stands in the walkways, eager to sprinkle pepper and refill wine glasses. The cable car hurled by every few minutes, but I never noticed. I was too busy locking eyes with the plates coming out of the open air kitchen, each dish more beautiful than the last. I ended up ordering the first thing on the menu, Aaron too. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We were fresh in love and this was the first trip we’d taken together. I can’t remember what we talked about, but it didn’t matter. Everything he said to me during that time seemed profound. We were in college, hungry for experience, and the only plan we shared was to stay together through it all. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The thought of him came back to me last week when, years later, I spent the weekend in the city with a friend I’d met through work at Nike. We were staying a few blocks from the restaurant and decided to go one evening. It was May this time and still light out when I realized I could see Alcatraz from the entrance. We walked in and were seated right away. At once it felt both familiar and foreign. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
When the waiter came to take our order, I chose the dish with creamy tomato sauce, sun-dried tomatoes, bacon and peas. I knew before I took the first bite that I’d inadvertently ordered the same meal as the last time I’d eaten there. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Even though I was a stranger to the person I was back then, eating that pasta returned me to her. She would’ve had no way of knowing that in five years so much would change.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wanted to tell her so many things. </div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-51166060342382016992015-04-28T15:03:00.000-07:002015-10-23T14:32:58.629-07:00Jeep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cpO4kKwYxEQ/VUADcFYlwgI/AAAAAAAABwA/4TWGUwjWRb8/s1600/Jeepandme.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cpO4kKwYxEQ/VUADcFYlwgI/AAAAAAAABwA/4TWGUwjWRb8/s1600/Jeepandme.PNG" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I like to collect other people's things. Heirlooms picked up from garage sales, flea markets -- I'm energized by the thought of making them feel new again. My house is essentially a second-chance program for unwanted stuff. I'll never know the original owners of most of them, and they're not my stories to tell.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There's an elk antler that sits on my entryway table, accompanied by old records and an outdated globe. When I look at it, I think about the person who stared down the barrel of a gun one foggy morning in rural Oregon, eventually loading the elk in a Chevrolet pick-up under the Harvest moon. It's the same person I called "Grandpa Jeep," and aside from a few photos tucked away, this is the last I have to show for it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What I lack in tangible evidence, we made up for in memories. Him and me, laying in a tent over the 4th of July while he told me about his family's farm in Hope, North Dakota, and about the Shetland pony he rode to his one room schoolhouse. He got the attention of the older kids by standing without a saddle, arriving to class by perfecting a graceful lunge off the horse.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He told me about the day his parents and all five of their boys headed to Oregon, and how everything they owned fit in a single car. As the Midwest dust grew heavy so did his heart, longing for the only place he knew.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He didn't know then that on the other end of that road was a woman he loved so deeply he'd run six miles to see every day, and a basketball career that made the front page. It was all waiting for him, he just had to get there.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He's gone now, but it doesn't feel that way. Every Easter, I think about the spring break my sister and I spent with my grandparents. Jeep had fallen asleep one afternoon in his favorite recliner, positioned in a way to watch TV with minimal glare from the window's incoming light. My sister laid a chocolate cream egg on his shoulder - a surprise for when he woke up. Later, when he delivered ice cream to our bedroom, he stopped and started talking about his stint in the Navy.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"You know girls, when I was in the Navy we had to do the About Face," he said, performing 90 degree pivots in the overcrowded room. "About Face, About Face, About Face," until he had turned completely around. My sister and I both realized the egg had made its way down his shoulder and landed on the back of his pants, melting as he slept. What remained was a large, light brown mess on his Dockers and we contorted, urged on by mutual spits of laughter. The three of us sat there, unable to breathe looking into each other's squinted eyes as the night drifted away.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He's the guy who taught me to be a warrior for adventure, the one who reminds me that everything will be okay because it has to be.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There would've been no way for him to predict, as my grandpa stared through the rear window at the disappearing farm all those years ago, what would become of his life. I think it was greater than anything he could've imagined.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Photo: Grandpa Jeep and me on Diamond Lake, the day I caught my first fish.)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-10319171027767671322015-02-15T15:17:00.002-08:002015-10-23T14:50:16.818-07:00Stories we Tell<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nq7cIetweIg/VOEpFAT1i9I/AAAAAAAABuY/VDN6oHiAZTE/s1600/books.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Nq7cIetweIg/VOEpFAT1i9I/AAAAAAAABuY/VDN6oHiAZTE/s1600/books.PNG" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
I’ll learn how to budget more effectively soon. I’ll stop working weekends in the next couple months. He’s out there somewhere. True or not, these statements temporarily take the complication out of the unknown, and lately I’ve found myself saying them more and more. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
In one way or another, we all want to make sense of our lives. We tell ourselves narratives to justify our behavior. It's easier that way. Chaos has us looking for answers and comfort has us seeking the questions.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The truth is our lives <i>are</i> messy. People we love leave and ones we never thought would come into our lives do. The unthinkable is happening right now and the plans we’ve mapped won’t materialize. How we handle the uncertainty becomes in many ways who we are. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Religion seeks to answer why evil exists and tells us where to find hope. Science explains our interconnectedness and the evolution of the things around us. Therapists ease matters of the heart and the mind by wrapping up the loose ends of our spiraling thoughts. And we tell ourselves stories because we don’t allow ourselves to see what we don’t have the strength to oppose. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I want to experience life unfiltered, as it is and without agenda, but I still hope it has a happy ending. </div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-43145868791905585392015-02-09T01:00:00.000-08:002016-02-05T14:09:10.487-08:00This direction<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-srWq5fI8AuA/VNfnjVo-W7I/AAAAAAAABr0/SmbLY4y0frA/s1600/falll.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-srWq5fI8AuA/VNfnjVo-W7I/AAAAAAAABr0/SmbLY4y0frA/s1600/falll.PNG" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
At the beginning of every week growing up my dad and I watched Monday night football. He looked forward to Viking touchdowns the same way I looked forward to half time. Those 15 minutes seemed like an eternity then, and we filled the space by playing “tackle the guy with the ball.”</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I would wait all week to hold that foam football in my hands and run from my dad’s outstretched arms. It was familiar. It was ours. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Through the ensuing years, routines ruled. Electives followed classes and my identity hinged on how I combined the two. My classmates and I experienced life at the same pace. First kisses, getting buzzed at the expense of our parents' liquor cabinets, scoring the game-winner, graduation. We were in it together.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
As we got older, the same milestones we once shared dissipated and marks of progress became more subjective. We had traded syllabuses for diplomas, and it felt like starting over. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I look around now and there are retirement funds and double shifts. There is settling down and traveling the world, and a thousand choices in between. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It’s hard, really hard, not to wonder if I’ve made the right decisions. What if all of them mattered? What if none of them did?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What I know for sure is that no matter the answer, everything that's happened got me here, standing in the living room on Monday night, deciding which direction to run. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(Photo) NE 26th Street, Portland, OR. Taken on a ride to the store. The tires were flat, and I forget what I bought, but it was one of those perfect fall days. </div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-1846984702616810332014-04-21T09:14:00.001-07:002016-02-05T14:14:39.516-08:00Wandering Around: Casco Viejo, Panama<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nLhfu8exDnE/U1VDY3D1IPI/AAAAAAAABmM/CWTNVVDvNwY/s1600/cascoviejo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="421" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nLhfu8exDnE/U1VDY3D1IPI/AAAAAAAABmM/CWTNVVDvNwY/s1600/cascoviejo.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Some call it the last true Panamanian neighborhood; locals
call it a tourist trap. Either way, there’s no denying the simple beauty of Casco
Viejo, Panama. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Located in the southwest corner of Panama City, Casco
Viejo is the more laid-back cousin of other, livelier neighborhoods such as Amador Causeway and Calle Uruguay. We took our time
strolling through the narrow alleys, which are often lined with wrought iron
balconies covered in drying laundry.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now designated a UNESCO World Heritage site, Casco Viejo
was completed and settled in 1673, following the near-total destruction of the
original city in 1671 when pirates, including Henry </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Morgan, attacked its center.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The evidence of Casco Viejo's resilience is clear in the faces of the locals, in the Panamanian flags hung on windshields of cabs, and in the foundation of its buildings, which refuse to budge even when the whole world sails through its city. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The magic lies in what's left behind. </span></div>
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-84264445287802277522014-04-14T15:03:00.001-07:002016-02-05T14:16:57.634-08:00Wandering Around: Positano, Italy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tCwKBfJIhtw/U0xabnmSK9I/AAAAAAAABl8/PZV4eaA50mE/s1600/215734_1003196836974_1484_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tCwKBfJIhtw/U0xabnmSK9I/AAAAAAAABl8/PZV4eaA50mE/s1600/215734_1003196836974_1484_n.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The buildings in Positano, Italy are almost an afterthought. Each stacked on top of each other like legos, they're connected by
cobblestoned alleyways and flanked by bakeries and butcher shops.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And as picturesque as the landscape is, the people are what make Positano so beautiful. There's no missing Maria, the owner of the grocery store adjacent to the lone Duomo. She’s happy
to pair ingredients for the night’s meal and have her two sons run your loot up
the 200 steps to your rented house.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Francesco is the town artist who makes magic on canvas. He sets up his easel on the main drag and waits long after the sun sets to return home again. </span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The owner of the sandwich shop overlooking Fornillo
Beach is named Fabio, and the name fits him perfectly. During humid afternoons he sits in the open windowsill, smokes another cigarette and watches the beautiful, bronzed, topless women swimming in
the Mediterranean Sea. You can find him at the Discotheque tonight.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are fishermen hauling the day’s catch to restaurant owners eager to grill it, and women crafting sandals from a single piece of leather.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There are kids playing football in the sand and commuters racing
Vespas around every turn. There are Catholics streaming out of morning mass and there's you, out of place but right at home. </span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-50326053576327080222014-03-07T13:28:00.004-08:002016-02-05T14:40:12.446-08:00Wandering Around: Balinese Temples<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0aIZ20jwGCI/UxoxdlXsAQI/AAAAAAAABjI/33hrzA5hevI/s1600/312071_2128769215580_1842492872_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0aIZ20jwGCI/UxoxdlXsAQI/AAAAAAAABjI/33hrzA5hevI/s1600/312071_2128769215580_1842492872_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tirtagangga Temple</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
After spending a couple weeks in Bali, Indonesia, I was both renewed and exhausted. There is no shortage of things to do—surfing in Padang Padang, power yoga in Ubud, tea and coffee tasting in Goa Ganja, but possibly the most shocking and memorable activity was witnessing the diversity and splendor of the Balinese temples. After all, there are more than 10,000 of them to see. Needless to say, I didn't see them all, but here are my five favorites.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oNKD7Aa_7qc/Uxo53DjzBvI/AAAAAAAABkA/-b1-ZFSzYIc/s1600/390450_2128626252006_7570447_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oNKD7Aa_7qc/Uxo53DjzBvI/AAAAAAAABkA/-b1-ZFSzYIc/s1600/390450_2128626252006_7570447_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
1. <b>Uluwatu Temple, or Pura Luhur Uluwatu</b>, one of six key temples believed to be Bali's spiritual pillars, is renowned for its awesome location, perched on top of a steep cliff about 70 meters above sea level. Pura Luhur Uluwatu is definitely one of the top places on the island to go to for sunsets, with direct views overlooking the Indian Ocean and daily Kecak dance performances. Balinese architecture, traditionally-designed gateways, and ancient sculptures add to Uluwatu Temple's appeal. Beware: you'll also be sharing the spectacular views with thousands of monkeys who call this sanctuary home, and they're so keen on sharing the space with humans.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FSr4dOqrdM4/Uxo5g_QJ1TI/AAAAAAAABjo/iTfeODqUruo/s1600/321606_2128791336133_1100444552_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FSr4dOqrdM4/Uxo5g_QJ1TI/AAAAAAAABjo/iTfeODqUruo/s1600/321606_2128791336133_1100444552_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
2. <b>The Tirtagangga Temple is surreal.</b> Somehow it escapes the list of top temples to visit, which often leaves visitors with the place to themselves (see picture). The water is swimmable here, and is believed to have healing and cleansing powers. The former royal palace of Tirtagangga (which means water of the Ganges) has everything from tiered fountains and gardens to stone sculptures of mythical creatures spouting water into bathing pools. Just outside the palace grounds, the views of the lush rice paddies of northeastern Bali are stunning. We spent about two hours here, but we could've easily spent more. It's stunning.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c5YZngQeScM/Uxo5pwCNRMI/AAAAAAAABjw/adSEKEEUIqQ/s1600/302047_2128727854546_1469426805_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c5YZngQeScM/Uxo5pwCNRMI/AAAAAAAABjw/adSEKEEUIqQ/s1600/302047_2128727854546_1469426805_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
3. <b>Tanah Lot Temple is one of Bali’s most important landmarks</b>, famed for its unique offshore setting and sunset backdrops. An ancient Hindu shrine perched on top of an outcrop amidst constantly crashing waves - it's one you can't miss! Thousands of monkeys roam the temple as well, and the site is dotted with smaller shrines alongside restaurants, shops and a cultural park presenting regular dance performances. The temple is located in the Beraban village of the Tabanan regency, about 20 kilometers northwest of Kuta, and is included on most tours to Bali’s western and central regions. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hqo4hwX7XAM/Uxo5wunPSFI/AAAAAAAABj4/iRi8qLS3wKc/s1600/381804_2128688893572_740274820_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Hqo4hwX7XAM/Uxo5wunPSFI/AAAAAAAABj4/iRi8qLS3wKc/s1600/381804_2128688893572_740274820_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
4.<b> The Ulun Danu Beratan Temple</b> is both a famous picturesque landmark and a significant temple complex located on the western side of the Beratan Lake in Bedugul, central Bali. The whole Bedugul area is a favorite cool upland weekend and holiday retreat for locals and island visitors alike. The smooth, reflective surface of the lake surrounding most of the temple’s base creates a unique floating impression, while the mountain range of the Bedugul region encircling the lake provides the temple with a scenic backdrop. </div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GgYNq9zqoqU/Uxo5LRAMHuI/AAAAAAAABjY/zKBBrDUzXIQ/s1600/383556_2128752015150_1369600617_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GgYNq9zqoqU/Uxo5LRAMHuI/AAAAAAAABjY/zKBBrDUzXIQ/s1600/383556_2128752015150_1369600617_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
5. <b>Goa Gajah’s name is slightly misleading</b>, lending the impression that it’s a gigantic dwelling full of elephants. Nevertheless, Goa Gajah Elephant Cave is an archaeological site of significant historical value that makes it an interesting place to visit. Located on the cool, western edge of Bedulu Village, six kilometers out of central Ubud, you don't need more than an hour to walk around to its relic-filled courtyard and view the rock-wall carvings, a central meditation cave, bathing pools and fountains.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-4905996584074313952014-03-04T09:49:00.000-08:002016-02-05T14:43:42.530-08:00Wandering Around: Granada, Nicaragua<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Owt9NGsSLX0/UxYWNJVi-tI/AAAAAAAABiU/j6LCfUQfAfQ/s1600/love+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Owt9NGsSLX0/UxYWNJVi-tI/AAAAAAAABiU/j6LCfUQfAfQ/s1600/love+(1).JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span>
It’s hard to imagine that Granada, Nicaragua was ever a blank canvas. Between vivid local banter and rainbow-lined streets, there’s nothing dull about this UNESCO World Heritage site. However, after several invasions and a civil war, locals were left each time with a chance to start over. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Because of its location on Lake Nicaragua, pirates including Henry Morgan invaded the town several times in the 17th century. Trading bright-colored paint for local gold, the pirates sailed away rich and Nicaraguans, thinking the paint was valuable, got busy covering their homes with it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The result is a dizzying array of hues along cobblestoned streets where shoes are rare and stray dogs rule. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Doors are almost never closed, and men and women choose to lounge in front room rocking chairs or the stoops outside. Some homes double as fruit stands and clothing stalls, while others are full on marketplaces filled with topless children buying marbles to entertain themselves through the humid afternoons. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Public transportation is a spectacle of its own. The local bus doesn't need a horn, as the brakes do an adequate job of letting pedestrians know it's close. It's not unusual for commuters to stand on top of the unmarked vehicles due to overcrowding. Needless to say, balance is a must.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Donkey carriages are lined adjacent to the bus stop and surround the central marketplace. They transport smiling locals, ready to fish for their dinner in Lake Nicaragua. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The country is now one of the safest in Latin America, a stark contrast to less than 20 years ago when Nicaragua was in the midst of civil war.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ronaldo Castillo, who I was visiting, grew up in Granada. When he was 11, troops broke into his private school, gave the boys guns and told them to fight. That night, Ronaldo’s mother had him smuggled on a mattress truck through Mexico and into the U.S. where Ronaldo lived with his aunt in Miami until his mother could join him... five years later. One of Ronaldo’s friends from school hid in and out of a meat locker for nearly a year until troops dismantled. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What was left after the shots were fired and the money was gone was indeed a blank canvas. One that Nicaraguans have filled with vibrant culture, a gritty work ethic and loving local pride. </div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-90023648517005257022013-09-06T12:25:00.000-07:002016-02-05T14:44:05.913-08:00Wandering Around: Oregon Coast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I may be biased because I grew up less than two hours from the Oregon Coast, but there's something about the saltwater meeting the forest that seems unparalleled. Here are some photos I snapped on a recent hike through Ecola State Park near Cannon Beach, Oregon. She really is a beaut!</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4qyoj8MF1No/UioooBSPpmI/AAAAAAAABdU/-EXf3-pty4w/s1600/ecola1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="609" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4qyoj8MF1No/UioooBSPpmI/AAAAAAAABdU/-EXf3-pty4w/s640/ecola1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EGp_060iG7s/UioqrIaIdTI/AAAAAAAABdg/ra7deV-6XV0/s1600/ecola2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EGp_060iG7s/UioqrIaIdTI/AAAAAAAABdg/ra7deV-6XV0/s640/ecola2.jpg" width="635" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8N4bfwWGzF0/UioqtvLJqrI/AAAAAAAABdo/ex98nFE2484/s1600/ecola3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="636" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8N4bfwWGzF0/UioqtvLJqrI/AAAAAAAABdo/ex98nFE2484/s640/ecola3.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1BdOMTXBVTs/UioquoVt5ZI/AAAAAAAABdw/LhFrLlVN7Kc/s1600/ecola4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="636" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1BdOMTXBVTs/UioquoVt5ZI/AAAAAAAABdw/LhFrLlVN7Kc/s640/ecola4.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xtNQUUMDJaM/Uioq9hPz_bI/AAAAAAAABd4/-sHhHEf8Nds/s1600/ecola6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="636" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xtNQUUMDJaM/Uioq9hPz_bI/AAAAAAAABd4/-sHhHEf8Nds/s640/ecola6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LTnifgUoUKs/UioonUrjAuI/AAAAAAAABdQ/58fyAR4mK4Y/s1600/ecola.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LTnifgUoUKs/UioonUrjAuI/AAAAAAAABdQ/58fyAR4mK4Y/s640/ecola.jpg" width="616" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kl0CvZBipGk/UiorXyZnelI/AAAAAAAABeA/Yk4SxNVZ-oU/s1600/ecola7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="638" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kl0CvZBipGk/UiorXyZnelI/AAAAAAAABeA/Yk4SxNVZ-oU/s640/ecola7.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o-CJLk4KLqI/Uior3keQVjI/AAAAAAAABeM/0_cxAgVM6Vw/s1600/ecola9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="636" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-o-CJLk4KLqI/Uior3keQVjI/AAAAAAAABeM/0_cxAgVM6Vw/s640/ecola9.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_TqE1TVkaPU/Uior3Kjy_jI/AAAAAAAABeI/jqghnXNXuHs/s1600/ecola8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="638" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_TqE1TVkaPU/Uior3Kjy_jI/AAAAAAAABeI/jqghnXNXuHs/s640/ecola8.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-21838211517000931892013-08-26T16:57:00.000-07:002015-02-10T14:49:30.489-08:00Nothing is Permanent<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yx-R79VyB6k/Uh4tM_bQbRI/AAAAAAAABbc/G7T5hsff2M4/s1600/665ba9dac930745eed0d9374044293eb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Yx-R79VyB6k/Uh4tM_bQbRI/AAAAAAAABbc/G7T5hsff2M4/s1600/665ba9dac930745eed0d9374044293eb.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Late last week I was laying with my dad under the tree I
grew up climbing in my parents' back yard. Overstuffed from too many corn cobs
and mashed potatoes, we let the vengeful </span>mosquitoes<span style="font-family: inherit;"> have their way with us. He’d
been telling me that the moon is the reason the leaves change color and fall
from their branches each year as I complained that I’m never able to notice the
sky turn from grey to black. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Clouds began to swarm us. They changed shape slowly, simultaneously. If the world were a concert hall, it was like the clouds were the audience and we the main act. </span><br />
<br />
It got me thinking about how nothing seems to change from day to day, but when we look back, everything is different and we don't know how we got from one place to the next.</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-20223489932533310882013-07-31T15:35:00.002-07:002015-02-25T17:25:28.204-08:00Summer is Renewal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s2SZ3qADP_c/UfmRFTSuXRI/AAAAAAAABZw/Sw0bH_24BH8/s1600/3548876921_d1bd79d378_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-s2SZ3qADP_c/UfmRFTSuXRI/AAAAAAAABZw/Sw0bH_24BH8/s1600/3548876921_d1bd79d378_o.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I reminisce on childhood, I almost always think of summer.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The season that once meant overnight camp and backyard sleepovers now means long days spent staring out the fifth-floor window until happy hour, but there are still things that remain in my memory
as quintessentially summer. The reminder that </span>I've<span style="font-family: inherit;"> always had too much skin becomes
relevant again. Boots are replaced with sandals and coats with swimsuits. These
excessive layers of clothing begin to scatter my bedroom floor. Stale
relationships become unnecessary and with the sorbet skies they fade until it’s
like they never existed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It’s a time to find new places to keep coming back to. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bodies of water still have their way of cleansing dirt and
sweat off my lightened hair and darkened skin.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Summer is renewal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-75158542293895404422013-07-15T09:41:00.001-07:002015-08-26T15:02:06.458-07:00Sometimes <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iOsZP_uZZFM/UeR2j1uUiOI/AAAAAAAABZY/j5r5S6RT_h4/s1600/me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iOsZP_uZZFM/UeR2j1uUiOI/AAAAAAAABZY/j5r5S6RT_h4/s640/me.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beat Museum // North Beach // San Francisco</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Sometimes you are 24 and you wake up on a Sunday morning to the daylight sweeping through your rented shutters and the smell of your roommate making coffee. She pours corn flakes into a bowl and the sound takes you back to when you used to sleepover at your grandma's house and make a fort under the dining room table. You remember that she is gone now and that some things don't last forever and maybe sometimes that's ok. But it's still Sunday morning and you don't know what do to today or tomorrow or the next day and you wish you could go home and have your parents tell you what to do even though you know you still have to figure it out on your own. Your ceiling fan is on full blast from the muggy night before and your limp hair dances in its artificial wind and you feel like you can make a difference. You remember you are only 24 and you are not sure if you are crazy enough to do that yet. But then you remember that you have everything you need because the sun is shining and coffee is waiting and it might be kind of fun to prove yourself wrong. </div>
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-40316493818992698292013-07-08T16:32:00.000-07:002015-02-25T17:26:47.060-08:00Less than Lovers, More than Friends<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N0cg5At0_SA/UdtLvR4NeyI/AAAAAAAABYI/p2WkiRd9L28/s1600/large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-N0cg5At0_SA/UdtLvR4NeyI/AAAAAAAABYI/p2WkiRd9L28/s1600/large.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We've been caught<br />
in this kind of dance,<br />
of less than lovers<br />
and more than friends.<br />
<br />
Did you know that human pupils dilate<br />
when eyes rest on someone they love?<br />
Sometimes I don't look at you<br />
because I'm afraid all you'll see is black.<br />
<br />
Maybe you're too bright<br />
and my eyes will never adjust.<br />
Maybe someday I'll grow tired of the dark<br />
Maybe someday you'll see the light. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-73506748546810052192013-06-24T14:35:00.000-07:002013-06-24T14:37:38.159-07:00The Head and the Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4am2szil6PY/Uci8G-a3AEI/AAAAAAAABTg/YY5_sK6ipug/s1600/7774a8f11a2026f74b2c0b9030e8d61b_web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4am2szil6PY/Uci8G-a3AEI/AAAAAAAABTg/YY5_sK6ipug/s1600/7774a8f11a2026f74b2c0b9030e8d61b_web.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0Heeo6mEmyA/Uci7W5znnmI/AAAAAAAABTY/wVgAvh8o8T0/s1600/7774a8f11a2026f74b2c0b9030e8d61b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
<br />
Scientists can show X-rays of broken bones and CT scans of people's brains after years of drug use. They can even show us how lungs change from a stoney grey to the charcoal black of a chain smoker and what livers look like after years of filtering an addict's alcohol consumption. <br />
<br />
But what about the heart? What if there was a machine that showed us the results of mourning the loss of our family members, pets, lovers and broken dreams? Would it help?<br />
<br />
I think that's why we're all so fascinated with love. It's one of the only things that can be felt, but not measured. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-35197192079765592612013-06-18T11:30:00.000-07:002015-08-26T15:04:53.635-07:00On Change<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n0OMx8fgALA/Vd43-12LaAI/AAAAAAAAB6E/A8j4-VHEsY8/s1600/k.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n0OMx8fgALA/Vd43-12LaAI/AAAAAAAAB6E/A8j4-VHEsY8/s1600/k.PNG" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
My little sister graduated college on Saturday and I made the trip to my alma-mater to help her celebrate. What I ended up finding is that in the midst of congratulatory hugs and toasts of champagne, there were terrified faces of the freshly graduated. <br />
<br />
Some were moving to new cities for their first jobs and knew no one. Some were so blatantly clinging to new relationships in the hopes it would last because they are so uncertain about the upcoming months and years. Most were avoiding commitment all together—from relationships to jobs to new leases on apartments.<br />
<br />
I wanted to hug every single one of them and tell them it would be okay, but I remember hearing that on my graduation day and I wanted to punch that girl in the face. It is scary. Your friends move away, relationships and feelings fade, moving in with your parents after four years of independence is daunting, your childhood bedroom is now your mom’s craft room (or maybe just in my case).<br />
<br />
So my love letter to all recent graduates is as follows: <br />
<br />
Embrace the uncertainty of your life and don’t treat any decision as permanent. Even though you are educated and poised for a successful future, don’t take it all so seriously.<br />
<br />
People will say that college is the best time of your life, but you know what’s also pretty great? Choosing to travel on a whim, and having the money to do so. Picking up and moving to the city you’ve always wanted to experience, and actually doing it. Making new friends there, friends who you are drawn to because of their passions and their minds and their interests. Being able to make a fresh start.<br />
<br />
You are not at the end of anything unless you choose to be.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-60998953769247874402013-06-11T13:57:00.004-07:002013-06-18T11:39:36.147-07:00A Room With a View<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xJiVZeH1QOo/UbeMIjzwIII/AAAAAAAABSM/M_Fq_2E2Ptg/s1600/photoinsta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xJiVZeH1QOo/UbeMIjzwIII/AAAAAAAABSM/M_Fq_2E2Ptg/s640/photoinsta.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Irvington Neighborhood view from my bedroom // Portland, OR // iphone 4</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">"turns me on so loud it's like no sound, everybody yelling at me hands over their ears from behind a glass wall, faces working around in talk circles but no sounds from the mouths. My sound soaks up all other sound." - Ken Kesey, <em>One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest</em></span></span></span></div>
<br />
Lately I've felt like my life is moving in fast motion. I've been finding myself in a sort of out of body experience where it seems I'm watching myself run every which way; to work, on a date, to dinner, to walk my dog, to the gym, while my mind somehow remains comfortably still. It's like I'm one of those cartoon characters who just so happened to accidently run off a cliff, yet I'm still suspended in mid-air, waiting for the inevitable fall. This captured moment from my bedroom over the weekend helped me realize that some of the most beautiful time spent is when you are doing nothing at all and you have nowhere to be. <br />
<br />
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-24998518933994617862013-06-04T10:39:00.001-07:002015-02-12T18:04:18.737-08:00Wandering Around: Sayulita, Mexico<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EK9ZcodmD8g/Ua4mPhG9FqI/AAAAAAAABP8/4dan_Eajec8/s1600/397447_10200242415039832_1529083564_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EK9ZcodmD8g/Ua4mPhG9FqI/AAAAAAAABP8/4dan_Eajec8/s640/397447_10200242415039832_1529083564_n.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It always made sense to me that Sayulita's streets are like a string of veins, each veering in one direction or the other. They all end at the ocean - there to serve the city's heart. </span><br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-23133620985614117632013-05-16T10:14:00.000-07:002015-08-26T15:07:43.803-07:00In Defense of Rain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SLFWDhGUDec/Vd44puFaO-I/AAAAAAAAB6M/y8KeUO3qtI8/s1600/j.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SLFWDhGUDec/Vd44puFaO-I/AAAAAAAAB6M/y8KeUO3qtI8/s1600/j.PNG" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
When my sister and I were little, we used to go outside in our underwear and dance in the rain. After we were properly soaked, we ran inside and my mom had hot cocoa and the wood burning stove ready for us. We wrapped in one huge blanket and watched the millions of droplets hit the window, eventually meeting their demise. <br />
<br />
There's something about the rain that clears the mind and awakens the senses. There's nothing to chase, nothing to do, and inside of my covers with the window open is exactly where I feel I need to be. Time seems to move in slow motion and everyone retreats back to their homes and their couches and their blankets and their families. <br />
<br />
I think of all the reading lamps and candles set ablaze, illuminating all the words in all the books around the city. It's the same light leading the rest of us, through frizzed hair and fogged glasses, home.<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-71978421954275801312013-05-13T16:46:00.001-07:002013-05-13T16:46:39.503-07:00Any Minute<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SFQESebG5-M/UZF7I48cjAI/AAAAAAAABLo/C8j5pLPy0NY/s1600/NYC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SFQESebG5-M/UZF7I48cjAI/AAAAAAAABLo/C8j5pLPy0NY/s640/NYC.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">"I remember walking across Sixty-second Street one twilight that first spring, or the second spring, they were all alike for a while. I was late to meet someone but I stopped at Lexington Avenue and bought a peach and stood on the corner eating it and knew that I had come out out of the West and reached the mirage. I could taste the peach and feel the soft air blowing from a subway grating on my legs and I could smell lilac and garbage and expensive perfume and I knew that it would cost something sooner or later — because I did not belong there, did not come from there — but when you are twenty-two or twenty-three, you figure that later you will have a high emotional balance, and be able to pay whatever it costs. I still believed in possibilities then, still had the sense, so peculiar to New York, that something extraordinary would happen any minute, any day, any month."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Joan Didion</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-11633672461683010122013-05-07T17:00:00.002-07:002015-02-08T18:02:33.422-08:00Holes in the Wall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CGOBQ3FgMq4/VNgTazlmP2I/AAAAAAAABsQ/SoH6JzSeCXM/s1600/us.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CGOBQ3FgMq4/VNgTazlmP2I/AAAAAAAABsQ/SoH6JzSeCXM/s1600/us.PNG" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We often receive awe-struck expressions when my three roommates
and I explain to guests that yes, we only have one bathroom, and it’s down the hall
to the left.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">What the house lacks in practicality, it makes up for in character. Like laugh lines, the creaky stairs are evidence of life. </span><br />
<br />
The holes left in the walls once hung framed souvenirs of places appreciated and memories made. The mirror in the bathroom is no different. It's met hundreds of faces - the first time a child learned to brush his teeth, a Boston terrier terrified about her first bath, and four friends unsure of the future yet full of hope, ready to add holes in the wall of their own.<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-25391922414248571802013-04-16T15:21:00.000-07:002016-01-12T12:05:16.264-08:00On Moving Away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EQobWa2SH1Q/UW3OxoUqFdI/AAAAAAAAA8E/qzgU_mk8BEk/s1600/152137293631593249_svsy4MlP_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EQobWa2SH1Q/UW3OxoUqFdI/AAAAAAAAA8E/qzgU_mk8BEk/s400/152137293631593249_svsy4MlP_c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<br /><br />I chose to stay in my hometown after graduating college. It wasn’t so much a conscious decision, but a result of all the little pieces happening to fall into place. After I graduated college and traveled in the Southern Hemisphere for a few months, the public relations internship I had before I left offered me a temporary position. I haven’t left my hometown since, nor have a majority of my friends. However, there are some of us itching to leave the confines of the familiar in search of fresh experiences. I totally get them! I do happen to love my city (Portland), but I’ve often daydreamed about what it would be like to live in NYC, Austin, or the deep south. <br /><br /><br />My friend Audrey knows the feeling all too well. She left Portland in search of her dream job as a production assistant in LA. Here, in her own words, is what she felt upon leaving her hometown to take up life somewhere else. <br /><br /><br />1. What are some experiences you’ve had since you moved away that you most likely wouldn’t have had the opportunity to do otherwise?<br /><br /><br />Audrey: Since moving to LA, I actually have a tan! But in all seriousness, most of the new experiences involve me doing activities that my hometown doesn’t offer as easily. For example, I’ve roller-bladed along the beach, partied in old Victorian-style mansions, and gone surfing in February without a wetsuit. There is so much diversity in a big city like LA, I’m able to feel anonymous, which is refreshing. I’ve also been able to explore who I would like to be without the influence of close friends and family around. I’ve had to make a lot of my own decisions, which is often scary, but also fun.<br /><br /><br />2. What do you like most about living in LA?<br /><br /><br />Audrey: I love the atmosphere in Los Angeles. It’s fast-paced, but laid-back at the same time, and everyone seems to be accepted no matter their quirks, or addictions, or crazy outfits. I’ve also cherished the ability to do what I love in a city that supports the film industry so heavily.<br /><br /><br />3. How have you been able to develop professionally?<br /><br /><br />Audrey: I’ve been able to network with people higher up in the industry, as well as talk with people my age about their experiences and goals. It’s been amazing to be in an environment where other people share your passion and where you can see yourself growing in the career of your choice. It's also pretty cool when Bruce Willis holds the door for you at a restuarant, or your dog plays with Kirsten Dunst's dog at the dog park.<br /><br /><br />4. What are some things that make you homesick?<div>
<br /><br />Audrey: The film industry is often cut-throat and intimidating. It’s a lot of hard work and it can get really stressful. I’m really close with my family and especially my mom. Often times I just want a hug and skype isn’t enough. I also miss the green everywhere in Oregon and doing things with close friends back home. I miss going back to my alma mater to watch football games and going to the annual Brewers Festival, but I’m finding that there are events like this here that I can participate in as well. <br /><br /><br />5. Do you have any advice for someone stuck in their hometown and looking for a new experience or to move away in search of a career?<br /><br /><br />Audrey: I would say to network as much as you can. If you have a specific place in mind you’d like to move, check in with people who already live there if you can. If you have some funds saved up, go visit them or just go there and stay in a hostel. Apply for as many jobs as you can in-person because it shows true initiative. I know quite a few friends who have gotten jobs in a couple weeks by applying for jobs and sleeping on friends’ couches. If you just want to get away, start applying for jobs all over the country, or world for that matter. And remember it's okay to start at the very bottom. It's a foot in the door if nothing else. <br /><br /><br />6. Will you ever move back home?<br /><br /><br />Audrey: As of now, I can’t see myself moving home. I’m too focused on my life here to think about what it would be like to move back home. In the future, it would be beneficial to move back home to be closer to family, but I’ll make that decision when the time comes. As for now, I’m just taking each day as it comes and trying to visit home whenever I can.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-79472212886363368552013-04-03T15:50:00.002-07:002013-04-10T09:31:45.214-07:00Muse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pPoK4mLyI1w/UVyyCv1ufLI/AAAAAAAAA2I/0tlEEHo47ik/s1600/Edie+Sedgwick3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pPoK4mLyI1w/UVyyCv1ufLI/AAAAAAAAA2I/0tlEEHo47ik/s320/Edie+Sedgwick3.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">"You have to put up with the risk of being misunderstood if you are going to try to communicate. You have to put up with people projecting their own ideas, attitudes, misunderstanding you. But it's worth being a public fool if that's all you can be in order to communicate yourself." - Edie Sedgwick</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword"></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword">
</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">She wore an elegant mask of dark eyeliner and chopped,
bleached locks. She wore leotards and mod dresses. She was different, and she
was lost. Edie was seen through the eyes of the camera as a fashion icon, but
when the film developed all she saw was a stranger. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Edie represents something in all of us<span style="font-size: small;">. </span>We all like to watch train wrecks. One thousand cars pass a
billboard advertising coca-cola and five people look, one thousand cars pass a
three-car pile-up, one thousand people look. Edie was a spectacular train
wreck. She was one of the mad ones whose soul was lit on fire and she burned
until there was nothing left. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">
</span></span></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Through the wafting curtain inside the window of her Chelsea
Hotel room, Edie Sedgwick was fearless. She made it ok for the rest of us to be
train wrecks too if it meant finding other lost souls along the way. And in the
end that’s all we can really hope for. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span class="firstword" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">
</span></span></span></div>
</div>
<a class="mainquote" href="http://www.searchquotes.com/quotation/You_have_to_put_up_with_the_risk_of_being_misunderstood_if_you_are_going_to_try_to_communicate._You_/269474/" title="You have to put up with the risk of being misunderstood if you are going to try to communicate. You have to put up with people projecting their own ideas, attitudes, misunderstanding you. But it's worth being a public fool if that's all you can be in order to communicate yourself."><span class="firstword"></span><br /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-31459704365485256982013-04-02T16:23:00.000-07:002015-02-12T18:01:17.086-08:00Wandering Around: New York City<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l2IHPwdPU3o/Uxe5pMRKQcI/AAAAAAAABi4/S9Fa9oot_68/s1600/539227_4760719612695_1421300779_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l2IHPwdPU3o/Uxe5pMRKQcI/AAAAAAAABi4/S9Fa9oot_68/s1600/539227_4760719612695_1421300779_n.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First subway station on the Upper West Side</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The smells wafting from each neighborhood’s restaurants erupt before they can float above the skyscrapers… linguini mixing with lamb chops mixing with won tons until it all becomes too much.</div>
<br />Lane lines are rendered useless as cabs dart in every direction to drive cosmopolitans to cocktail hour. Each building is larger and more elaborate than the next, as if they’re mirroring the pedestrians below and competing for popularity. <br /><br />I dare you to take one ride on the subway and not see every race represented, every age, every gender, it's all there. I dare you to look out your window at 4 a.m. and not see a crowd still wandering the sidewalks, moving in slow motion under the lights of the Lower East Side. <br /><br />Neighborhoods demand allegiances, and each one has its own calling card. <div>
<br />Heels stomp, horns honk, peddlers sell, cameras flash and the homeless jiggle their nearly empty cans.<br /><br />New York City is everything, all at once. I got lost and became anonymous in a place that moves faster than I’m capable of. And that’s when I realized it.<br /><br />Maybe people come to New York City to be alone.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5940402611804337369.post-54783320457499301552012-06-30T09:43:00.000-07:002015-02-08T17:26:11.870-08:00Airports<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J94Wvqv-bFg/UxpEX5lIgKI/AAAAAAAABkQ/qbwyaseHKTY/s1600/e6cba91cb218d9ce1376b53d655087a4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J94Wvqv-bFg/UxpEX5lIgKI/AAAAAAAABkQ/qbwyaseHKTY/s1600/e6cba91cb218d9ce1376b53d655087a4.jpg" height="640" width="425" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">There’s just something about the airport. Maybe it’s
that sweet mix of relief and heartbreak that means I'm going home again, or the fear and excitement of finding myself en route to
somewhere new. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">There's that few-hour span where I'm in limbo, leaving the place I came from in exchange for where I'm going. It's like the summer before high school and college, the commercial break before the next segment of my life. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">After being assaulted by the x-ray machine, barefoot and vulnerable as my passport is scrutinized and my water bottle is emptied, I'm free to join the airtight space on the other side of the tunnel. In the mix of complete safety among thousands of bustling travelers, there's an overwhelming feeling of anonymity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">At the airport I could be anywhere in the world; each is its own unincorporated space. They’re hubs placed on the outskirts of town, housing
hoards of people from every dot on the map. Itineraries have brought so many of
us together, and there's beauty in knowing we won’t stay in the same place for long. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Businessmen in suits carry briefcases and smart phones. They
have traveling down to a science. Children with tiny suitcases adorned with
Nemo and Dora are moved to the front of the line.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Backpackers with dirty faces and unwashed hair swap stories before nestling in a makeshift bed otherwise known as the floor. Flight attendants
with their starched uniforms walk in a group, full of purpose while their silk
scarves float through the stale air. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">Money emits from
the bottom floor machines as currency from every culture is converted, conformed to the
new place it will economically support. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br /><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;"></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit;">As we came together, we’ll leave together, forgetting we were
ever in the same place.</span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11015656854857117388noreply@blogger.com0