Winter Solstice

New England Open Air goers and the field at The Browne Center which hosts a mowed Labyrinth in the grass

In all the cultural hubbub of the holidays, I have found - in recent years - this has become a time of quiet.  I find my life tends to slow down to about 5-ish mph, where half the day is over by the time I've finished my coffee, I'm taking showers in the afternoon, eating chocolate for breakfast and spend most of the morning petting my cat.  December happens to be the season where I have the least amount of money and most amount of minutes.  The outdoor season has dwindled, school is done, and the weather outside is... well, mild this year, actually.

Coming home is the best because I am actually warm.  We do not watch TV in our coats and hats and I do not even need my snuggie, or socks.  In fact, sometimes we actually have to open a window because the house gets too warm as the wood-burning stove powers on.  After years of living in drafty New England spaces, I realize I grew up spoiled.

Walking through the labyrinth (think path in the field, not David Bowie) of the Browne Center for New England Open Air last weekend, I contemplated the amount of time it takes to get into something and out of something.  Fairy tales and commercials promote this idea of an instant change or fix - a sudden rescue - but in real life, it takes time to walk in and out of experiences.  Experiences linger, grown on us, change us, and we slowly learn to walk with them.

This particular labyrinth is a path mowed on a small portion of a field, where I walk through twists and turns until I find myself in the center of this cerebral-looking grassy maze.  Once I arrive in the center, I stop and sit down, taking in the 55 degree day and the golden green color of the field and grass surrounding me, before I walk the same path out of it.  Ellen Langor talks about mindfulness this way:

"And so, mindfulness, for me, is the very simple process of actively noticing new things. When you actively notice new things that puts you in the present, makes you sensitive to context. As you’re noticing new things, it’s engaging. And it turns out, after a lot of research, that we find that it’s literally, not just figuratively, enlivening."

I think emotions have a way of pulling us in, better than thoughts might do.  They are motions to slow us down enough to notice ourselves and how we are affected by everything.  My dad showed us the video of Carson and Ernie the UPS deliverer... and well, if you don't think you're a particularly emotional being, try watching that.  Langor goes on to talk about what stress is:

"...when there’s stress, there’s an assumption that they’re making that something is going to happen — number one — and that when it happens, it’s going to be awful.  Both of those are mindless.  You want to open it up, both ways.  First, the belief that it’s going to happen.  All you need to do is ask yourself for evidence that it’s not going to happen.  And you always find evidence for whatever you ask yourself."

"I think that it goes back in some sense to Epictetus, who said, not in English, and not with my accent, but that “Events don’t cause stress.  What causes stress are the views you take of events.'  ...almost everybody is mindlessly driven by these absolutes and part of these absolutes are these evaluations of good or bad.  If it’s good, I feel I must have it.  If it’s bad, I must avoid it.  When it’s neither good nor bad, I can just stay put.  And just be.  So we get a lot more control by recognizing the way we’re controlling our present and our future."

Why wrap presents?  We're just going to throw the paper away.  I venture it's because we value the present (double-meaning intended).  We are bringing attention to that present moment, inviting surprise - creating space for joy.  My mom still loves watching us open presents. 

What I love about this season, is that humans decided to invite celebration, merriment, and gift-giving into the darkest days of the year (well.... if you live in the Northern portion of the Northern hemisphere).  To me, it is somehow reflective of the the human spirit's need for community.  We allow ourselves this time to connect with others, value those relationships, check in on people, and delight in giving.  Even if Adele is really what brings us all together, at least we are making an effort. 

The shortest day is upon us and it will take a few months to fully lengthen that light again. 

Time to take a shower. 

Then We Broke the Internet

Based on Real Events

A world without Internet... what?  Luckily, Jaclyn and I grew up in the 90s, so we are familiar with how to live without it.  Remember those days of phone calls, landlines, TV antennas, Blockbuster, letters, and film cameras?  Us too.

At first, we thought, "Oh no! I was going to do a million things..." and in the next breath, we thought, "Oh... I don't have to do a million things."

So we made ourselves some whiskey ciders and sat down.

There are a million reasons why I love the Internet, the first one being that we were looking forward to watching the most recent episode of Fargo.  This world wide web makes my life as a graduate student, long distance relationshipper, photographer, and just plain human navigating Christmas shopping a million times easier.  We can keep up with others, endlessly socialize, and explore the world.  And, at the same time, when it goes out, I appreciate the reminder that I don't need it for connection.

In Wilderness Therapy, a client might ask, "What do you want me to do out here?" or "I don't think I'm making progress out here.  I want to go home to all my normal coping mechanisms." What is hard for them to do, is to sit with themselves.  "I want you to sit with these emotions," the therapist might say, "To me, that is progress."

And it's so hard to do - particularly in the everyday - especially when combined with the amount of guilt one may feel in certain contexts - for not doing anything.  In a culture that equates not taking your vacation time with being a more promotable employer, it can almost feel awkward and vulnerable to admit how many naps you take (and wonder if you're depressed?).

In a world with so many comforts often at our finger tips, you'd think we'd typically feel really good.  But it seems if you want to prove your value, you may feel a push to speak to a stressfully busy life (often I wonder if this is particularly in New England).  I can see how anxiety and depression have become so pervasive.  Setting up boundaries and saying no is such an art.  I admire those who can truly do it well.

I often try to view these dark Winter months as ideal for slowing down, enjoying a meal with a friend - or tea, or drinks - and indulging in the comfort of my space heater.  Somehow the low-lying sun sets a tone of contemplation.  I imagine I have bonded more with the people I've lived with in these moments when we are forced together, inside, and to sit face-to-face.

And so, Jaclyn and I shared our drinks together, and did nothing.

(And the world did not fall apart.)

Finishing Things

I have a friend who used to say he was good at finishing things, and that this is a skill (finish the bathroom, Dad!).  This was in the context of finishing artwork (graphic novels).  As I am nearing my graduation from graduate school (praise be! hallelujah!) I find myself thinking about finishing things - finishing this piece of work I have been working on for a long time.

I realize that I’m not just finishing graduate school, but I’m moving away.  I’m moving away from the Northeast - this region of the country where I have grown all of my community, from childhood through now.  This is where I grew up, went to camp, went to college, worked, and endured graduate school.  Not only that, my skip across the Atlantic to Scotland will now become a double skip across a country and then an ocean.  I can no longer easily hop the Canadian border to visit my brother.  I am making it harder for myself to see the people I know so well and love. 

Why do we do this?  I know I’m not the only one.  It’s funny how you can feel out of place in a place - how you can travel elsewhere and think, “I like this elsewhere” so much that you move to live there.  That’s how I feel about the West.  I love living there.  And I’m probably idealizing it and romanticizing it - of course.  Because you don’t know a place until you truly live there - and to live there is different than visiting.  We all know that.  

And so, I will finish my time here.  For now.  

Me and my Gloucester friends

Winterrrrrr

Lobstah

Hey Rockport

Hey!

Family Portrait Time

Setting Up

To the Prop Shed

Ropes Course Mornings

My CAT

Montreal <3

Dear Friend and Her Dear Alice

Tribute to the Ropes Course

It's 8 AM.  I'm standing with a few people, next to a tree - a few trees - waiting for the sound of a big yellow bus - or two, or three - to fumble its way down a tiny dirt drive.  We're talking about activities you can do with foam rings, or two drum sticks with colored tape, or how education paradigms are changing (or need to).  Foam pool noodles, hula hoops, yarn balls, bandanas, and of course, rubber chickens, pigs, and fish, clutter and stick out of our backpacks.  We're drinking coffee, eating a snack, and gathering ourselves before the energetic 6th graders run out from their bumbling yellow and black striped container.

Run away!  Run away! (I joke or think to myself)

The busses arrive.  "Welcome to Project Adventure!"  Little faces peeking out of brightly colored jackets bob their heads up and down from inside the school bus.  Sometimes their arms.  Sometimes their mouths.  I stick two widespread hands up in the air, "Group 10 over here!"  12 of them find me through the sea of little humans with their neon footwear and water bottles.

"I like your blue jacket!" (one says)

"Are we doing the zip line?" (says another)

"My name is Zack!" (says he)

"I'm so EXCITED!" (one exclaims)

We walk up a large hill.  Once in a circle, a voice booms, "Stick your finger up in the air! Ah ha!" The facilitator continues, "This represents a good idea.  Now flatten out your other hand and place it in front of the person next to you.  This represents an open mind.  In a moment, I'm going to invite you to place your good idea in the open mind next to you.  Sounds are strongly encouraged."

"Doodledoodleydooooooooooop!"

"Whrrrrrrrrppppp!"

"Booooommmmrrcchchchchch!"

"You have entered into a game of capture and release. When the word 'Gotcha' is said, simultaneously escape from the person on your right while trying to capture the person on their left."

After the tone is set, these energetic participants are invited to play: escape from a noodle by saying the name of someone else; try to step on the moving spot; steal the rubber pig; get your team through a turning rope; swing to the other side without touching the ground; appreciate the person next to you; find the clothespin; balance the 10x3 platform; walk across a cable 30 feet in the air while your team belays you.

"How did challenge, communication, respect, trust, or support show up?"

At the end of the day, we meet back in a large circle.  Everyone is encouraged to shout out something they would like to celebrate and we all pat-pat our legs, clap-clap our hands, snap-snap our fingers, and say, "Oh yeah!"  We funnel down to the busses.  We wave them off and on their way.

***

The sun sets on the ropes course.  Deep orange November light cuts through the trees creating long dark shadows on the ground.  I am walking with colleagues and stepping onto a platform that we balance together in a circle.  We celebrate the day.

"I'm so thankful that in light of such terrifying world events, I am part of a community that is trying to make things better."

"I want to thank everyone for showing up today, reminding me that we're not alone in the work that we do."

"I want to celebrate the people in this community - the ones I know and the ones I got to meet today.  I hope to see more of you."

We feel warm and fuzzy in our warm fuzzies.  Inspiration appears as golden air lining all of the world surrounding us.  Extending our arms over each other, we give each other and ourselves pats on the back.  Covered in evening light, we begin to exit this space which has held so much meaning.

Goodnight, ropes course.  Thank you for another beautiful season.

Crazy Maisy

I'm not really a dog person.  I think someone told me that once:

"I see you as a cat person."

It's true.  I am.  Absolutely.  However, I have been spending my lazy graduate school days with a dog; by the name of Maisy.

I'm not really the throw-the-ball type of owner.  I'm more of the attach-you-to-a-leash-if-you-bother-me type of owner.  I feel no guilt.

I like to think Maisy respects me for this.  I think she has realized that her pleas go nowhere.  She relinquishes herself to the couch and rests all day until the fun owners come home.  Then she pounces on them and begs them to play with her.

That being said, I like to think that we're closer because of it.  I heard once that "boundaries are connections".  I can't remember who said it.  I feel this way with Maisy.  My boundaries are also my connections with her.  When I decide to throw the ball with her, it means something.

I believe she understands me now.  She has learned to accept her restful fate on the couch and carefully chooses her moments to ask to go play.  She knows me.

And isn't that the most we could all ask for?

Jaclyn and Alex

Last Autumn, Jaclyn began noticing the light - when the leaves ignited with color, what time the golden hour began, and which day would likely host the perfect scene for her wedding.  Everything revolved around what would be most beautiful - and I was afforded the rare pleasure of photographing my old friend on her golden day at this the golden hour. 

Not only has she been my friend since freshman year of college - which now counts her as one of my long-standing friendships - she is currently my housemate, along with her now husband.  Little did she know that the freshman year floor-mate who ate crackers on her dorm room bed - getting crumbs everywhere - would stick around this long.  Little did I know, one of the few people on our floor to have a car and never offer me rides anywhere, would become more of the most generous, caring, and hospitable people I know.  Here we are: 12 years and counting, dozens of wine dates, countless conversations, and thousands of moments shared.  I am so thankful for all of the laughs, food, cocktails, and quality times shared that have gotten us both through so many ups and downs. 

As for Jaclyn and Alex, well, they've known each other even longer - age sixteen - and here they are today.  They are two people who - if they had truly had it their way - would've preferred to quietly sign marriage papers and have a small dinner with family and friends afterwards.  Yet, here they are, intentionally sharing this moment with their closest friends and family.  Many people idealize having a simple wedding, but the reality is that it can be very challenging to pull off - with everyone suggesting what you "need" to do and who you "need" to invite.  I think these two pulled it off though, in the only way that I know the-girl-who-collected-recyclables-in-order-to-pay-for-college-books would know how to do. 

Cheers to Jaclyn and Alex! 

I like [the United States of] America.

From my float down the Deschutes River

Identity is often thought of as this fixed sort of thing and I also find that my identity shifts depending on location.  Being on the West Coast, I cling to traits of an East Coaster - relishing the word "wicked" and venting about the humidity and unfriendly, abrupt, and grumpy people over there.  When in Scotland, I become an American - searching for tasty beer, using "awesome", and defending aspects of America's worldview and culture to people.  When in developing countries, I become a Westerner - mindful of individualism, efficiency, and competition.  When on the East Coast, I either become a New Englander in New Jersey or a Jersey-er in New England or a Northerner in the South. 

Being an American boils down to these instances at times (for me): 

I ask for coffee "to go" when abroad and walk with it in hand, down the street - and notice that I am the only person on the street doing this - and I feel, for some strange reason, satisfied. 

I pass through Times Square and feel this energy in the air - this vibe that I attribute to an "immigrant energy" or "anything is possible" still alive from all the people who first entered through there, and still do.  As I look around the streets, I can't get over the incredibly diverse amount of people walking alongside yellow taxis and beneath hovering skyscrapers.  

On the red dirt road of Uganda, I listen to my big white original Ipod while walking to my homestay.  I can see tall shadows in the dirt of a couple boys following behind me.  I stop and let them listen and they are beside themselves - squealing and laughing until they run away. 

I buy a Vitamin Water and a pack of gum.  I don't know what exactly is in a Vitamin Water but revel in the creative description on the label and the idea that they're created for different moods and personalities.  I chew this gum that I know will last longer than any other international kind. 

***

I'd like to say I feel proud to be an American (and I do), but at the same time, I didn't do anything to become it.  I feel grateful to have grown up here.  Despite traveling other places - and really loving life there, too - there's something about coming home.  I like my life here and I also struggle with it sometimes - the consumerism, white noise, stale air of shopping centers, not to mention a variety of other "issues".  I get angry with Americans and I love them, too.  When I see a person dressed and painted with red, white, and blue, waving that American flag and drinking a beer, I think, "Yep - I get that!"  

Cheers to this big ole mess of a crazy country. 

And Then I wrote a "Rap"

"Haha, look at your pants!" laughed one of the wilderness girls as I appeared out of the darkness, through the tall grasses, and marshes of the meadow.  I walked towards her with my "cookie monster" jacket on (a blue fluffy jacket), headlamp beaming out of my forehead, and dressed in red, white, green plaid pajama pants.  Navigating a tornado of a crisis at the moment, I had forgotten that yes - I was romping around a meadow, in the dark, still wearing my pajama pants.  

"I was all nice and cozy in my sleeping bag, staring up at the stars, when I heard the sound of footsteps running on the road and saw a head lamp go by."

That signaled a turn of a events. 

"Unconventional" is one way I could describe moments out in the field.  After that: "raw", "fragile", "rich, & "magical".  Hearing myself explain the situations we find ourselves in, I can find myself laughing, bewildered, fearful and at times wanting to let all the thoughts in my head explode for just a second.  There are extremes of joy and fear we encounter; vulnerable moments we traverse together.  Pajama pants reflect the immediacy of our attention and concern at times.  

Recently, the same client mentioned above challenged us to write a rap about "Therapy".  I don't listen to rap very often, but above is one of my favorite rap songs (perhaps a softer rap).  Thank you, Frank Ocean.  The live version is a bit different from his recorded one, but I like it because you can see his emotion.  (I think this one also relates to some of the clients we work with in the field.) 

She said that we would probably write "Therapy is blah blah blah".  I can't say mine is a true "rap" - because I don't have a beat yet (for one).  I think it's a mixture of myself, inspired by this girl, and thoughtful of therapy. Here's what I came up with:

My face smiled

inside of my mother

for nine months I grew

pushing, squirming, kicking -

moving - rearranging herself

making room for myself

pain connected ourselves -

until the final cut.

I breathed as my mother’s face lit up,

sparked by my cry -

I wish I could remember.

Up we grew -

my parents did, too -

they watched me walk

heard me talk

while my feelings hide

I laugh and I cry -

looking for a place for me

to cut myself free

and decide who I am

and am not meant to be.

I’ve built wall after wall

keeping them out there

as I stay close to me

I want to get out -

I can’t see

why I’m here

no one seems to care

wish I could remember -

what good is it to share

I feel pain I hope means I’ll be born

into something new

I’m trapped in this body, and -

I don’t know what to do.

I want someone to listen -

to listen and hear -

to the words

I’ve got to say

I just want to say

be tied to you again -

let me breathe.

Often we talk about how sharing vulnerable moments in the field is an honor.  It was an honor to hear this girl's rap; it was amazing.  And when I read my own, I felt honored that she liked it and sat cross-legged, tying up a blade of grass, seeming comtemplative.  I thought about how music, poetry, art - these creative movements - can communicate more deeply than words in a normal sentence seem to be able to do. 

The-rap-y.

The Field

Around Bend

Meet Bend.  It's a nice lil place. 

Hissing of the Summer Lawn

Hey, Elliot. 

Backyarding

Mountains, Bikes, Trees: Check check check

Yes.

Mmmhm.  Except for pets. 

Des Chutes

The Town of Colorful Chairs

Aqua Chair

Courage!

Green Chairs

Gray and Green Chairs

Tiny House - maybe?  And Kayak. 

Swing Chair

Colorful Porch

Wooden Bridge

Hammock by the River

SUP

Back Streets Back

Biking

Hi hi

Rock Down To

Ander!

Such a Good Idea

Seedling

Health!

Macha & Sarah

Art + Books = Good Day

By the Ford

Sunglasses

When You Extend the Bendy Straw, You Don't Need to Even Bend Your Neck to Have a Sip (of Kombucha)

Cheers to good, sunny, adventurous days!