Since early this year, I've been silent. Journals with blank pages stacked up in corners while I take a borrowed dog on long hikes near the river. We didn't have a winter, and the dog and I have a shared love of the nearly empty trail and muddy bank. I throw the sticks and she swims to get them, but I don't congratulate her or call her name, we just hike. Every 15 minutes or so she comes back from bolting ahead to place her nose into the palm of my hand and let me know I am her human, even though I'm not, really.
I don't know why I needed the space. It's not my normal barrage of excuses all involving some sort of depression. Sometimes I wake up really early and wonder if my spirit animal is not an owl, but a possum. I sure can relate to freezing up in the middle of the road, eyes wide, than I can of any other animal who feels fear.
About two weeks ago I picked up a pen and started writing again, and now, like before, it has become a necessity. I've been putting my stories away, not sharing them with friends because there is a statute of limitations on pieces of your life. In order to move forward, you might have to acknowledge the past but you certainly don't have to let it swallow you whole.
This is where I am. Letting go. And yeah, sometimes I wonder if 'lettting go' is actually 'giving up'. Resignation. So I worry about this for a little while each day. But then I pick up my lists and start making plans to prove to the world and myself that I'm still in here. I want to hike the Grand Canyon, all the way across. I want to find a new job because I often feel like I've overstayed my welcome at the one that I have. My neighbor was fired recently by her boss of 12 years, and we sit sometimes and think about what happens when decisions are made for you before you make them. Fear: the great motivator.
Once again I find myself aligned with you, throwing shit against the wall because neither of us want to become what people close to us have:stuck. Routine. For me, it's college classes where I try to use my brain again on things unrelated to accounting. And solo trips to the beach and the mountains for a day or two each weekend, mostly to write and take pictures. For you, travel writing and plans to head to NC. I root for you as hard as I root for myself. I know what we're up against inside of our minds and I am not sure of a LOT of things, but I AM sure of this: we can do it.
In my own life coaching sessions with Dad, I've come to realize that the fear I carry around is heavy, and my body and spirit can no longer afford to carry it. I think you feel this too.
Let's move forward, shall we? What the hell.

"No symapthy for the devil; keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride... and if it occasionally gets a little heavier than what you had in mind, well... maybe chalk it off to forced conscious expansion: Tune in, freak out, get beaten."

-HST

I'm just going to start going for it, I think. I want to be that strong type of person who takes risks, dives headfirst, is brave and independent, and confident. I would hate to live a whole life without risk. I don't recall ever really making any stupid, impulsive decisions (maybe romantic?) in my life. Time to change that. As Mary Oliver said, I don't want to end up having merely visited this world. I want to inhale it deeply, dig into it with my hands and find it wedged under my fingernails. I want to wake up next to it before the sun, covered in dew and curiosity.

I am nearly 25 years old. At the quarter mark. I have decided there is no longer time for excuses, for time lost because of fear or over-analyzing. Now is the time for great lunges, leaps of faith, Hail Mary passes. I want to remember making an active choice to stop getting in my own way and to start propelling myself forward with the force of my own momentum.

As a birthday present to myself, I am going to register for the travel writing and photography courses at MatadorU. What the hell? I've never tried to do anything at all with my writing. Not that it amounts to much, but I don't have any other marketable skills, so... why not? What's $350-$600 bucks in the grand scheme of things? I want to get a job that allows me to travel, preferably encourages me to do so; here's an option. I am also going to book a flight to North Carolina in time for the Iron Festival and start networking around Penland to see if I can't get an internship in the photography or iron department, maybe drive to Asheville or Boone to see what employment possibilities look like there. And finally, I'm going to put in some applications for jobs teaching English in Southeast Asia or South America.

All forward motion counts.

These are the things I want to be doing:

: Having a glass of wine with Stephanie

: Learning to knit in the round

: Making kombucha with Dana

: Helping my mother learn to work with whole grains

: Warming my hands on a mug of tea

 : Painting boxes and filling them with treasures

: Biking

: Reading travel memoirs

: Sounding out French words with Matthias

: Taking photographs with you

: Studying bird skeletons

: Exploring abandoned buildings

: Making a mess

: Putting up photographs in my room

: Writing stories

: Cooking with wild mushrooms

: Getting callouses

: Listening to cello music

: Planning a trip

: Seeing magic

Too heavy and for too long

"Once upon a time, there was a boy. He lived in a village that no longer exists, in a house that no longer exists, on the edge of a field that no longer exists, where everything was discovered, and everything was possible. A stick could be a sword, a pebble could be a diamond, a tree, a castle. Once upon a time, there was a boy who lived in a house across the field, from a girl that no longer exists. They made up a thousand games. She was queen and he was king. In the autumn light her hair shone like a crown. They collected the world in small handfuls, and when the sky drew dark, they parted with leaves in their hair.

Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend the rest of his life answering."

Ten things in my life right now:

: A History of Love by Nicole Krauss

: Lonliness

: Bed bugs

: Cumin and paprika rubbed pork tacos with cilantro and sauteed portabellas

: Abandoned tea

: Worry

: Pressure behind my eyes

: Plastic

: Frustration

: Silence

Sometimes the Universe piles it on too heavy and for too long.

Dread.
This morning I woke up from a dream that involved an owl. It was flying through my home, not afraid of the cats or of being indoors. I remember letting it outside, and noticing that it didn't fly away, it simply followed us (the cats and I) out the door.
Cue several moments later, where I was trying make myself a cup of coffee, feed the cats and wake up all at once...daunting multitasking at it's finest. My internal dialogue stopped on this: "What if owls in dreams count, too?"
A few years ago, after seeing an owl up close in my own backyard, my life went through some major changes. Some of them I was ready for, others I was not. My mom loved owls, she collected glass figurines of them, and then I suppose because it is what people do, she started getting them as gifts. At that point in my life after seeing the owl, I thought maybe my mom was sending me a message, or that the owl is meant to be my animal in the same way that my neighbor Marcie says turtles are meant for her. And don't get me wrong, I love owls, very much. If it means that my mom is in touch, well, honestly, this is kind of cool too.
But, I am afraid. Even though I made a promise to the Universe that I won't go back on no matter what, there is this huge part of me playing possum in the road: stiffening up as if bright car lights (change) will kill me. Only I am less afraid of dying than I am of change.
The economy is bad, what if I lose my job? What if I am not smart enough to find another one? Everyone is hurting, why shouldn't I be hurting too? About the only fear that I find ridiculous is "I won't be able to feed the cats" because hey, I will do anything in the world to keep those monsters fed. But still. Here I am. Not where I thought I'd be. Not where I wanted to land. And I might not be keeping my promise because perhaps part of the promise was not to just stand here and wait for change. So maybe the Universe is going to step in again, and change things around me while I stand here, frozen.
I don't want to be afraid of seeing owls.

More Important than Fear

This morning all of the fear and the doubt I've tried to keep at bay landed on me with full force. 

"Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear." 

-- James Neil Hollingworth.

This morning, my fear shut down the importance of any competing emotion or rationality. I am meeting with the aforementioned photographer in a little over a week. I want to bring her samples of my work. That I have. What I do not have are photographs taken since February. I haven't taken a single real photograph since February. I don't know what's wrong with me. I seem to have just Shut Down. I used to take my camera everywhere. Today I actually had to wipe the dust off my camera bag. It hasn't left the shelf more than twice since I moved here. That alone made me cringe, but was nothing compared to the weight and breathlessness to come.

Yesterday I stumbled upon the following self portrait of Erin Johnson, a local Minneapolis photographer that make my chest cavity clench with intrigue and excitement, and had therefore saved.

The color and the clarity in this shot make my skin prickle. After rediscovering it I spent the hours before work pouring over photography websites and the notebooks I keep ideas in, and resolved to spend my time before work today taking my camera out and photographing Something. Anything. Everything. 

I started out by attempting to take a photograph of myself just to remind myself that I Can Do This. Every click of the shutter revealed an old, tired, and stressed face. There were bags under my eyes and that prominent, unrelenting wrinkle sinking vertically between my eyebrows stared back cold and affronting. The camera felt heavy in my hands. The lenses were wrong, the lighting was off, the color was bland. But I decided to pull my face around to the side of the camera it belongs and go out anyway. 

I got one block away. Every step I took I felt weaker and weaker. The pressure to take just one photograph kept mounting and muting the voice in my head trying to shout: "It's okay! Take your time. Any photograph is a success; will feel better than not having taken even one. It will get better. You will find It again. This isn't paramount." Nothing resonated. Nothing resonated except the tingling in my lips and fingers, the weight of the camera, the increased gravity pushing on my shoulders and feet, the tightness in my throat. I felt nauseous and dizzy and terrified. I suddenly had a deafening urge to throw down my camera and run away from it. My hands actually shook as a put my camera in my bag and ran home, locked myself in my room, and cried.

What if I Don't Have It? What if I lost It? How can I meet with someone who I want to, need to, impress with empty hands and a face much older than my years? Today I feel as though I am in mourning. In mourning for a gift I only ever felt I had a tentative grasp on at the best of times. I don't know if I can do this. I don't know that I am strong enough to fight against gravity. Against doubt. Against The Dread. I can't freeze up like that if I want to do this in a meaningful way. I need to discover a new way to interpret a lexicon that is lost on me. I need to learn the language of light and of color. I need to speak with subtlety and lucidity. Through all I've read and listened to about lighting and aperture and shutter speed, so little of it has permeated though any membrane of understanding, and my best work is born out of luck and timing and the kind of curiosity that moves with blind reaching and missed steps along the stairwell. I need to learn to draw from the well when I need water as well as when the reflection of the ripples on the stone catches my eye. 

Another thing that worries me about my estranged relationship with my camera: Have I lost the ability to capture the inspiring things in my life, or is my life absent of inspiring things to capture? Perhaps a little of both.

And now begins the process of rediscovering that which is more important than fear.

Here are ten things:

: Passion

: Curiosity

: Knowledge

: Excitement

: Shallow depth of field

: Candid Moments

: The smell of developer and fix on my hands

: Victory

: Contrast

: Growth

Good morning, Big U and Little Sis.
It's 6:30 am and I've been spending some time downloading new fonts for a project I am working on. My fingers are cold because the cat demands that I keep letting her outside, and it's a bit nipply outdoors at this time of the day. My sunroom is drafty but I can keep watch for coyotes and fast cars - my job as a cat mom.
The rain came, along with a small group of men who call themselves landscapers, and washed/blew away most of the bright leaves. I was angry at the men, as I always am, for removing them so soon. The truth is that one of my favorite things is crunching through those leaves each morning on my way to work. More than the color or sound, is the scent of them - so earthy and pungent that I want to lie down like a golden retriever and roll in them, covering myself completely so I can breathe it in all day.  I managed to grab my camera and take a few photos from ground level before they were gone. Now I'm on to coffee steam - seriously addicted to taking these kinds of photos. I no longer care that people stare at me in coffee shops but I don't really think they do. I feel invisible at times. I rarely wear make up anymore (outside of work) or wash my hair on weekends.
I can't decide if this is a good or bad thing.
I keep waiting for some version of loneliness to wash over me, especially once the Christmas decorations start showing. But it doesn't come. I seem to be happy enough despite (or because) of the solitary life I am living. It's as if it is part of the promise: to focus on things other than worry and dread. Instead, I go to the gym in the mornings and focus on my work outs without speaking. (to be fair, none of the hardcore gym rats speak at 5 am. We manage a nod or two, occasionally a "congrats" if one of us completed a marathon or race of some kind.)
I took a part time gig for a friend who opened two restaurants. It's something I can do from home, using a program to log myself into his computer miles away to gather what I need. I don't charge him much, and he is grateful and sends me gift certificates. I hoard these so that I can use them on visiting family.
Today I have a photo project that involves going to Home Depot and begging someone in the lumber department to cut specific pieces of wood for me. These things seem to be more of an exercise in patience than art, but I figure it's a better way to bide my time than zoning out in front of the TV. I've turned off some of my cable and I am not going to lie: it kind of sucks balls. Mostly this is when I cannot find a book that draws me in. Cracked open a new one last night "Half Broke Horses" by Jeannette Walls. So far so good.