sup
Teaching English to my coworkers
resignation
Gratitude
I reached out to Joshua Corbett the first day I arrived in Alaska. I had seen his work in The New York Times and wanted to pick his brain about freelance photography. Josh sat with me for hours and we geeked analog photography, film making, and Alaska (my new home). He said he’d do his best to get some work for me. Sure enough, he let me assist on a few video shoots. If you ever see this, Josh, I’m grateful for you.
lover's rock
Building a Resort
For a month I helped build an eco-friendly resort in Puerto Escondido called Barbarenas. We worked mornings from 8 to noon, sorting through piles of rocks, grouting walkways, and plastering the pools with natural mud. By midday, it was in the low 90s and we enjoyed lunch together (rice, beans, and veggies in a tomato base). I worked with my roommates (Niels (pictured), Nada, and Stijn). There was a local artist, originally from Cuba, named Yunior Marino, who was part owner and in charge of the interior design. He’s a phenomenal painter and sculptor. He enjoyed sitting in the shade and smoking cigarettes. My other coworkers were locals who worked extremely hard for very little money (although a decent local wage). On the walk home down the hill and towards the ocean, I’d enjoy a paleta. The rest of the afternoon was mine to play volleyball, surf, and swim.
Everything beautiful blooms from self love
I’m learning that the practice of self love is the single most important thing in life and that my life must be devoted to walking that path, eternally. To walk when I am tired. When I am aided. When I feel there is no further to go.
That is to say that the arrival is never further than the step that is being taken. And somehow it’s even closer than that.
Everything beautiful blooms from self love. I always thought the pain was the catalyst. The paradoxical mystery that can both shatter and erase, simultaneously. But maybe I relinquished too much to my agony. I’m starting to believe that it’s not about the pain itself, it’s the response. The relationship with it. The ability to say, “this, too.” The appreciation for the altitudes—as well as the depths, of the path. The love for one’s self.
Did I find the will to love myself in the heart of the abysmal dark night? Can I walk, one foot after the other, blindly, towards whatever lies ahead? Can I love myself for the part of me that does not love myself in any given moment? Everything beautiful blooms from self love. 30 years to even sit with that, and 60 more to remember that it’s okay to forget it.
bagel baby
Deserted in the City
trying to catch my breath
the power of a good sandwhich
it’s underrated.