Watching someone you love and respect work on something passionately with focus, drive, and serious intent makes you want them to achieve the success they’re reaching for that much more. In this case it’s been one of my best friends, partner in crime, and influencer Nick Casanova.
I feel everything so keenly and bluntly today. A grade A example of a seemingly bipolar being, sensing each moment pointedly and on each end of the spectrum. Some fill me with what feels like a hot cup of tea, filled with surprising lemon tartness and smooth honey and warmth and safety, making it difficult to breathe in a way where everything seems to skip a beat- some are ragged and painful and sharp around the edges, making it difficult to breathe and not in the lovely way where everything seems to skip a beat.
A departure.
The lust to wander is back full force and I don’t quite know what to do with this familiar feeling. It’s a bit of a chicken or the egg situation: I purchased a ticket for a brief stint (hopefully filled to the brim with work and collaborative ideas) back to Phnom Penh and since then haven’t been able to take my mind off getting out. Did the desire to make my way across the world again force me to finally buy a ticket or was it purchasing my flight that’s got me all riled up to go?
Jane Heng‘s “Baby Man Hand“
Yesterday I was awakened from a hazy sleep with a text from my landlord asking if I had a check ready for rent and I popped out of bed, immediately wrote one out, and handed it to her as she ran by with her dog, Pepper. Even though I felt a bit chagrined that I had forgotten to put the rent in the dropbox a day before, ran out with a sweatshirt hastily pulled over my slip and was caught sleeping in like a teenager- I was grateful.
Andy looking groovy, Mom so mod, and Pops a true gent.
I had the joy of celebrating this past weekend– and celebrating hard. With friends and family clustering around at every side throughout, it was well worth putting my phone down, laptop away, and simply being with my most adored ones.
This week I shared drinks on the sunlit porch of Hank’s conversing about life, work, projects and everything in between. When my home came up in conversation, my friend jokingly but truthfully mentioned that I’d never invited him over to hang out. Strangely enough, I didn’t feel bad about my lack of hospitality at all.
I dream a lot. I dream vividly and lucidly and remember clusters of them like they were pulled from a photo album or notes in a journal from last week. Sometimes my dream world becomes so rich and evocative that it comes close to a dangerous escape from reality, my pillow a ship to worlds unknown and the sheets wings of creamy high thread count to adventures that await.
I’m sitting in my dimly lit living room with M83 playing in the background, grapefruit La Croix in reach, snuggled into my new little body pillow covered in cats (thank you, Lisa) thinking about… marriage.
As my mom and I walked outside her house across craggy little Washington rocks along the beach in Gig Harbor, I scanned the vast landscape of a million eco systems with expert eyes: eyes that have taken in creatures and the skeletons of creatures year after year, eyes that hone in on a special little gift from the ocean or a fumbling, tumbling miniature crab trying to make its way back under a comforting rock.
