Monday, September 24, 2012


I needed the open space and to twirl underneath the aspen trees- to feel the Wyoming wind tangle up my hair and then set it back on my shoulders.

I was feeling greedy; for more time and more passion and for more understanding. Those brilliant yellows and oranges and reds of fall aspens always set me back into place- almost like they lift me up and set me back down a little lighter. 

I laid down in the middle of the grove because to me, it feels like a hammock, knowing that all the roots connect. Isn't that divine? A ground hammock. 

I'm taking some time off professional photo-shooting for the rekindling of my creativity. I'm just feeling so shy with these photos lately- so self conscious and fearful. I don't want my images to feel like that. I bare fractions of my soul with each one, and to be afraid is so unfortunate. 

The bravery will come with time.

There is something really comfortable about plans. But there is also something hideously boring about them. I always tend to have a rough one sketched out, but this fall there are hardly any...other than jumping on a plane and then taking a train down the coast and an additional stop in Yosemite to pay some tributes and thoughts to loved ones in one of the most beautiful places on earth.

I'm embracing the cooler autumn temperatures and the cool breezes in the mornings. While I was living in the van, my favorite part was waking up to our pups cuddled down into our down sleeping bags, tucked in tight along our sides. 

And even though I complain about not having plans or consistent work, or traveling too much, or not traveling enough...I have to let you know, I am deeply happy with the people I am able to surround myself with. I am just too lucky.

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

I drove to Pavillion, Wyoming. The sun was sinking as I drove past green fields and hanging spiderweb telephone lines. I went to see my aunt and uncle who live outside of town on a lot of land. My cell phone doesn't work out there, which is a great excuse to explore and run around outside and never check e-mails.

I turned 22 while I was there. I woke up in the morning and took a long walk through the alfalfa fields with the pups to think about the past year of my life. I saw the most magical moment:

I went out on the desert and went rock hunting. My aunt taught me how to make jewelry and then cooked me salmon for dinner. I helped them irrigate their alfalfa fields. It was a simple celebration of another year spent. And that's really all I wanted. I've had a rough couple weeks learning some serious life lessons on love and decision making and passion and business. It's added a couple years of wisdom onto my life, I think. Because there's something about serious things that push additional creases around your eyes, and you see a little more clearly because you have to. A little more wisdom settles into your bones.

To find a solution, we climbed to the top of a mountain to see the world where you could almost touch the clouds they seemed so close. We talked about life and the weight of heavy things. And then we scrambled down the hills to avoid an incoming storm. 

Now I'm in a small Wyoming town living in a van with one of my best friends. It's only about 100 sq ft of space, but most of that is full of two beds, seats, tables, closet space, a kitchen and a small bathroom. It leaves about 8 ft of personal space if we are lucky, but I don't mind. It's been really nice to see familiar faces and know people and where to drive. I miss Bozeman a bit, but this space feels like home, too. 

It's been a month for the books, I'll tell you, but things will look up. 

Sunday, September 2, 2012

mountains of storms

Mountains Of Storms (Album Version)

My, what a crazy adventure it has been to settle down somewhere. For someone who hasn't spent more than three weeks somewhere in 5 months, it's been nice being able to have a space to my own, a mailbox and to not live out a suitcase. The transient part of me is able to live through the different things I've been throwing myself into (most of the time).

But on days like today, after watching a part of 180* South, the restlessness stirred from deep inside my bones and within minutes I threw my camera gear in my car, packed up and was headed towards the mountains. I need to be reminded sometimes that I'm not caged up, that I don't have permanent roots somewhere. To the deep core of my being, I needed to be reminded in that moment that there was nothing stopping me from going. The other day I heard a quote, "grow where you are planted." To me right now, that means I need to pull everything I have into making this place a home. I'm not sure how long I want it to be a home, whether it's 3 more months or 3 more years. I miss my dear ocean and sea cliffs and surfing until my arms hurt and the way coastal sage smells in the summer evening.

"There is a pattern that the psychologist Geoff Powter calls the "repeating personality syndrome," the need for constant change to create excitement. Climbers exhibit it in their restlessness-at home they long to be away on an expedition, and as soon as they get to the mountains, they long to be home again."

Oh, how I fall into this.

I'll be turning 22 in a short amount of time. As I grow older, I grow more comfortable with the idea of celebrating my birthday alone in some wide open space. Last year I sat in my favorite place in Laramie and read all my favorite passages of my books- I have a terrible habit of highlighting and underlining and putting stars and brackets and circles around points I like. I don't think spending the day alone is sad, it's actually time to pour myself into a nostalgic state; to reflect on all the incredible people I've met in the last year and all the amazing experiences I've had. I've always said, I am comfortable spending lengthy times alone and thoroughly enjoy good company. So afterwards, it will be followed up with a lot of surrounding myself with lovely people. This year, I'll be gone for most of September around various parts of the country (again) and am brainstorming where to celebrate the turning of another year being alive and well. All I can assure you is that it will be grand.