“The point of simple living, for me has got to be: A soft place to land A wide margin of error Room to breathe Lots of places to find baseline happiness in each and every day”

— Leo Babauta (via observando)

And then we began to climb. The heat was relentless, and the hills unyielding. After each rise in elevation, we’d turn a corner to see the trail continue to climb up and up. We stumbled over rocks while trying to keep our balance; the extra weight made not only our bodies, but our hearts heavy. In the middle of the beautiful, beautiful woods, we quietly surrendered to its unsympathetic splendor.

see you in five days, AT =) 

“I wanted to quit and to do this forever, sleep in a bed and in a tent, see what was over the next hill and never see a hill again. All of this all at once, every moment, on the trail or off.” 
― Bill BrysonA Walk in the Woods

one of my faves. prescott national forest 

one of my faves. prescott national forest 

it pulls me in like a thick wood: the way you smelled against the pine. it cuts against the incense swirling, which pretends location next to the bed. you are playing a piano on my back. you take the cold beer bottle and run it up my spine. every movement is like ringing a dirty sponge with week-old wet water. I am unsure what what is biology and what is an emotion, but I do this for hours with quiet strength. lift and twist.//you were a science crush where we explored the physics of music: sound as a longitude wave, forced vibration, natural frequency. we did the math to understand the music. six years later my chin is buried in your shoulder blade. once it was the speed of sound in air, now I simply count each breath. once it was tangled, useless words, now it’s just an instrumental break.//there is curvature in the rib of horizon; sometimes I climb buildings early in the morning. sometimes the coffee filter breaks. I watch its grinds move down to the mug all too fast. perhaps the molecules flew too quickly between each collision. I pick the mushrooms from the quiche and stand quietly in the kitchen. I sit to meditate. I run circles around the fifth.//the car was full of empty gatorade bottles. it was only two IPAs. it was only six years later. they ended up in redhook with hands like machines. what else should she expect taking the G on a sunday? there was a footbridge, there was a quiet “no.” there is an equation for this type situation, is what you would say. everything we feel can be solved by the concept of equivalence, or by finding Y, or dividing desire by tenacity.//we wrote it on paper with fine lead, and we caught up with the sunrise. 

all I want 

all I want 

magnolia trees once budding on the green 
looking positively enflamed but dashed by cold
finally, outside my window cats cry in the corridor
before six, again I am up playing with words.
semiotics, syntax, denotation to find the literal
meaning it is not a) or b) but none of the above.
I touched buttons on a screen…
in my real life I walk into fake scenarios:
these are not my hands but I held corn and
heirloom tomatoes. I put them back, 
we wrote on scarves, crocheted with ink,
there is a way to translate the JMZ without
worry, we can turn apartments into houses, 
cities into homes, letters into words 
that tell how to melt water.
we can end things. Begin new things. 
the trees will bud again each spring

it is
science. it is the deconstructed 
over and 
over written on my hands. 

The difference with racing an Ironman was that the distance introduced a completely foreign pain. An emotional fatigue creeps up on you and, over time, weighs you down slowly. When you add this to a fatiguing body, the cocktail of pain is so horrible that it exposes any weakness in your character. You simply cannot train hard enough to beat this. It requires a completely cerebral approach to conquer. 


getting photos and updates like this from the team in nepal makes all of this worth it and more. 

getting photos and updates like this from the team in nepal makes all of this worth it and more. 

“Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in “sadness,” “joy,” or “regret.” Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I’d like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions..”