the options are endless

It has been over six months now since Gram died. I still have a hard time saying it aloud, and even writing it now is not done so without moments of hesitation.

A part of me may have shriveled up and retreated to the depths of my being that day, but the rest of me -- the greater part of me -- is still young and alive and cannot help but suppose (read: completely knows but is struggling to accept) that my grandmother would tell me to stop fussing and get on with my life. She would heartily encourage me to get out and be filled with the kind of appreciation for life that only comes with risk and adventure, with savoring each and every small moment.

"It happened, it's done, and there's no way for you to go back and change it! So what are you so sad about? Crying won't make things better; crying will only make you sad. What are you waiting for? You'll never know all the answers, so you might as well just make up your mind and do something. Memories you make now will keep you going when you just aren't able to do things anymore. You just never want to look back and feel regret. That...that will just leave a bad taste in your mouth."

So now I'm re-thinking my plans. I've spent twenty years playing it safe and sticking to the books...and well, now I'm about to have a Bachelor's Degree and then what? I know what's supposed to come next, but must I be in such a hurry? I feel like it'd be a shame to pass up all of the wonderful opportunities I have at this point in my life.

No need to guess what radical plans I'm now making; I haven't. But I can. And I may just go for it.

butterflies

all up in my insides.

for awhile now.

i don't want it to stop.

sunset

once again, cassie captured some amazing shots at sunset beach.

aunty kythira

the new wheels.

(named after this greek isle)

that which moves my spirit

I've recently brought back to life my joy journal -- appropriately dubbed "That which moves my spirit"
          and just in time to match these newly penned pleasant notes,
                                                                              a long run of wildly wonderful, fulfilling days

sunshine.beauty. sand. everywhere. pasta and good friends.sundays.lazy, hazy Saturday afternoons.wandering.purpose.thoughtful conversation.incessant giggling.harry potter.silly internet quizzes.baking.books.alice in wonderland.getting to know someone new and loving every minute. grocery shopping.cleaning. being free.getting organized.doing the dishes. making someone smile.feeling loved.family. and knowing it all just keeps getting better

super saturday

this past saturday was so wonderful and fulfilling and satisfying. it was just the right mix being productive and doing nothing. spent the morning cleaning and doing the necessities, and then spent the afternoon at the beach with two dear friends. after sunset we ambled home for music, good talks, my first avacado, and the compilation of an adventure list.

thanks for the photos and the fun, cassie!

transitory

I've always loved airports.
As much as the "waiting" part of traveling isn't terribly exciting, waiting in the terminal is one of the places I feel the most calm and peaceful.
Weird. I know. But hear me out.

As I sat staring at a curly-haired man, I began to think about him. He had brown eyes. Maybe his mother has brown eyes too. Big brown eyes that caught a man from across the room, that drew that man in and swallowed him up as he fell in love. And from that love between that man and the brown-eyed woman came this curly-haired man. Now full grown. Probably loved by women, and loved some back. Maybe he's the life of the party. Maybe he's notoriously shy and reserved. Perhaps he likes poetry -- or maybe action movies. Adventure. Hiking. Coffee shops. Jazz. Hip-hop. Maybe he's afraid of heights, or spiders. Maybe he's afraid of being alone or lost. He probably has secrets -- deeds and thoughts he's never whispered to another soul except for that freckled blue-eyed girl he used to spend nights under the stars with. But she's gone now, and he's waiting for a plane to take him from where he was to where he will be.

That's what I love about airports. That last part. Despite whatever else is going on in that curly-haired man's life, right there in the airport terminal he is in-between. And so is everyone else. Each person in that airport has a life of their own -- friends, family, a job, an education, dark thoughts, lonely nights, sparkling aspirations, quiet hopes, and a roaring appetite for something. But here they are -- not in one place or another. Travelling. Separated. Transitory. In-between.

And somehow that is a comfort to me. And strangely intimate. I get the feeling you can learn a lot about a person uprooted from their environment, with their valuables and neccesities packed at their side, waiting to be suspended in the air for a time.