this i love

presence, unfolding/peeling back layers, hickies, string lights, corner houses, when you’re cooking and somebody walks into the kitchen and says “it smells so good in here”, hanging laundry on the line, West Cliff, sharing a bottle of wine, bike gangs, The Things They Carried, sticking my face in a fat rose, garlic powder, charisma, when sunflowers are exploding all over the place, space (holding it. feeling it.), being witness to people doing things they love, sleeping outside, cut off shorts, cut up shirts, falling, turnover (this list is only about one person), gravity, middle of the night sex, bouldering, slow burners, feeding my friends, “I love you Grace.”, turning the corner on Pennsylvania and peddling down the street to the church - no hands just free, when the waves wash over my feet and I immediately need to pee, Nootka Island, the difference in skin tone between me and my mom, my scars, the tension in uncertainty, sun dappled shade, the air smells so good right now, all the time I’ve spent in my bathing suit this summer, summer moments in the garden at the church, where we were when I started writing this list

things that make me sad

shoes on the beach, waiting, missed opportunities, being dehydrated, water (ocean, river, rain), the fact that i’m having trouble conjuring up that emotion that breaks my heart [I really really really don’t want to write about you right now, I only ever write about you. I’m going to be too ashamed to post this.], commencement, that we’ll never again all be together in the same way, STILL, the playlist I make every year (I know it’s perfect when I can’t even listen to it), when people tell me that my name is fitting - I’m still learning what Grace means, turnover (this list is about two different people), that it’s always going to make me feel like shit, the pressure to “do something”, this undercurrent of emotion running through my body, feeling the distance

a prediction

I can feel myself starting to like it. And I’m so afraid that I’m going to like it. His hands on my ribs, his eyes on my back, his face on my thighs. I’m so afraid that I’ll smile and laugh and fit perfectly along his side. I’m afraid of falling into place. I’m afraid of the look that will sit on his face when I tell him I love the way this drought makes the air smell. When he realizes that my shine doesn’t come from my hair -> it’s underneath that. I don’t know how it’s going to feel when he’s touching me and I can’t keep myself from tallying the ways he falls short and you overachieve. I’m afraid that I won’t even be bothered to do that. I’m afraid that I’ll step into him and he will allow it and that will be that. Because, no. Because I don’t want to be embedded in another person.

I’m afraid that he gets me now, when self-assuredness lulls me to sleep. I’m afraid that you’ll never get that girl - that your toxicity overrides that lullaby. And fuck, I love you so much. But I can feel my heart loving despite your lack and if somebody steps in the direction of its projection it would be unhealthy to tell it ‘no’. It’s been told to wait too many times.

I’m afraid that I’ll laugh deeply and love simply. That I’ll lean my head back and dance with wild security and that people will look at us and say “I love you together”. I’m afraid that I’ll love us together.

- journal entry dated exactly four months ago, 4/9/14

things i love

mornings at the church house (it wakes up in layers), the rav, buying nice beer at Safeway, being alone, looking inside, breath of fire, not knowing anyone in a social setting, clothing swaps, cooking dinner with friends while music plays in the background, sitting in my room doing nothing except listening to music, clothing with stretch, saisons and IPAs, people that rock chacos, sitting back and observing my friends (i think they’re a song), feeling cross-faded after drinking caffeine, my bike ride off campus at the end of the day, the smell of hotdrydusty air, taking off my clothes when i get home, backpacking, the smell of burning white gas, temperate rain forests, yoga classes that bring up resistance in me, chocolate covered fruit, “You’re in my phone as [first name] [weird last name]”, making these lists, watching the songs my best friend plays on spotify, Davenport, guava jelly in the morning, practice - all comes

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

viewfromthetent:

Nootka Island, British Columbia
November 2013

I took this photo November 4, 2013. We didn’t even have half a day of hiking ahead of us so we got to sleep in. Instead of the beepbeepbeep of my watch, my alarm was Joey saying, “You should really check out the sunrise right now,” as Johannes peeled back the rain fly. It was the end of 17 days backpacking along the coast. 18 days climbing before that. 22 days of mountaineering before that. 17 days of sailing still to come. I was ready to go home. Exhausted by the lack of anchorage, craving my community, tendonitis raging in both feet. Weary of the limbo created by movement.

It always amazes me how poles exist so close to each other. How they both create one another and sit happily side by side. The pair of friends that make you scratch your head, wondering what their connection is - how they bridged the obvious gap between them. Confusion and clarity, hurt and generous love, discomfort and joy. 

When I took this picture: stagnant and excited.

Sometimes I crave the moments of limbo that being in the backcountry provides. Existing in a separate world. All of life’s opportunities transform into real possibilities, the fear dissipates. It’s all potential lying in wait. Nothing but potential.

viewfromthetent:

Nootka Island, British Columbia

November 2013

I took this photo November 4, 2013. We didn’t even have half a day of hiking ahead of us so we got to sleep in. Instead of the beepbeepbeep of my watch, my alarm was Joey saying, “You should really check out the sunrise right now,” as Johannes peeled back the rain fly. It was the end of 17 days backpacking along the coast. 18 days climbing before that. 22 days of mountaineering before that. 17 days of sailing still to come. I was ready to go home. Exhausted by the lack of anchorage, craving my community, tendonitis raging in both feet. Weary of the limbo created by movement. It always amazes me how poles exist so close to each other. How they both create one another and sit happily side by side. The pair of friends that make you scratch your head, wondering what their connection is - how they bridged the obvious gap between them. Confusion and clarity, hurt and generous love, discomfort and joy. When I took this picture: stagnant and excited. Sometimes I crave the moments of limbo that being in the backcountry provides. Existing in a separate world. All of life’s opportunities transform into real possibilities, the fear dissipates. It’s all potential lying in wait. Nothing but potential.

things i love

image

image

the transfer of energy, looking at somebody and understanding that they are love, graduations, operating with my heart, looking back and seeing how far i’ve come, the crazy look people get in their eyes when they are inhabiting their body, wounds (they’re the places where the light enters), teaching, the perfect set list, communities of people that feel loose and true and love and trusting and believing and free, seas of multicolored mats, 2pm saturday afternoon sun streaming through one window lying in happy baby surrounded by a group of people brave enough to look inside and give themselves over with “orange sky” playing while we all giggle and sing along, breath(life)

image

image

whole

adjective
1. all of; entire.
2. in an unbroken or undamaged state; in one piece.

noun
1. a thing that is complete in itself
2. all of something

things that make me sad

the last bite of food, driving around this town at night, the way I put things aside to share, pictures of this summer, this inexhaustible love, this is my third year, i think i lost my green watch, the fact that I never listen to hip hop anymore, the way you examine yourself in other people, the way you examine yourself in me, the way i examine myself in you, the end of a long drive, songs by Dawes, the way I remember (every little detail), the way you forget (every little detail), growing up, the poetry I read, the music I listen to, looking over at my passenger seat and realizing you’re not there, getting into bed and realizing you’re not there, taking off my clothes and realizing you’re not there, [it’s always about you. this is all about you], rehearsing conversations, the look in animal’s eyes, an unappreciated outfit, loss, change, time, birthdays without, holidays without, when things get easier (it’s confirmation that they’re the past)

This is about me and the things I like.