the path down to short sands
Tonight I rode home in the chill through the city lights, down the long path and into the quiet streets. There is something so beautiful and meditative about these twenty minutes or so of travel on my two wheels, with music in my ears and my breath focused and my eyes drifting around to see the darkness. I drift into the driveway every time with the kick of endorphins telling me that I would rather keep going and find that I’ve been singing softly to myself.
I love to sway, whether it be swooping around on my bicycle as I turn onto my street or in the heat of the summer, out on the grass, listening to whatever gives me a release. How can you not let your hips curve when I Want Your (Hands on Me) gets played by a DJ at your show? Or fall in love when you hear Griffin House singing The Guy Who Says Goodbye to You is a Fool? How can you not croon alongside Patsy as she sings I Fall to Pieces? How can you not shake it somethin’ cute when Lushy sings French 75 at a little club in Seattle? And seriously, who can truly drive to Casey Jones on a road trip and not sing along while dancing in your seat?
early mornings waking up to fresh snow at home
It was mentioned to me about how so many people in this town hold back on their enthusiasm, don’t show full bodied appreciation, sink inside themselves instead of sharing their emotion and support. I wonder if it is the gray of winter or the darkness of the coffee. Perhaps that’s part of why I’ve never felt like I fully fit in here. My laugh ranges from a giggle to a loud boom, my energy ranges from quiet to boundless, I love without abandon, think and write and write and think, and when I get together with friends who give me what I need – conversation, laughs, closeness, ease. And all is right in the world. In some places I find that that I go into myself, observe, soften my gaze, pad around softly, hug my knees close, wrap up in a blanket on the beach and let myself open and close, open and close. Crackly shell and soft gooey center. And tonight, these thoughts remind me of January.
Ten months ago my heart resembled a crumpled up piece of paper sitting too close to the flames. I had lost my father, left an unhealthy relationship, and saw into the future that my world was about to go through even more upheaval. And I did what I needed to do. I packed up a few items in an antique suitcase and headed to the quiet of the shoreline of southern Mexico. I slept for hours in hammocks, I read countless books, I wrote volumes, I walked for miles, I swam in the ocean and I surrounded myself with sunshine and quiet. I let go of the chaos and while it took a day or two to shake off the city dust, this journey did exactly what Paris did for me 10 years earlier. It allowed me to rediscover the core of who I am, reawaken my heart and soul, and focus again on what makes me truly happy.
noticing new creatures outside my room in mexico
after my first evening swim in potosi, messy and soaked and so so chill
Inhaling the surroundings. Letting it in so I can exhale it out. Loving the earth that makes me whole. Slipping off the layers of fear and anguish and past mistakes and enjoying the air on my skin, the touch of the sea, the sounds of those I adore. And I am new again.