On Authentic Music

Portland is known for its music scene. Well, for all the scenes. Sustainable clothing scene. Pour-over coffee scene. Independent bookstore scene. It’s a city with the charm of your favorite funky uncle.  People smile when they pass you on the street. They’re excited to tell you about the strip of gluten-free restaurants in their neighborhood. A passerby will stop to tell you if your backpack is hanging open unzipped at a streetlight.

It’s in a city like this that you can find musicians who are passionate about making music that speaks to an audience on a soul level. Musicians who want to go beyond the number of likes and get to a place where a song leaves a lasting impression.  If you want to see a live performance that will resonate and stick with you, don’t book tickets to see a stadium big act. Look up a smaller venue and stop by an intimate performance with local artists who will put their heart out on the stage.

I had the pleasure of meeting a local Pacific Northwest musician who fits exactly that bill during a recent tour. Stephanie Mae is an indie alternative pop artist who delivers authenticity in her music, and if you’re lucky enough to see her perform live, you’ll walk away with the feeling that you’ve just witnessed something inspired. After sitting down with her for drinks at The Hoxton in Portland, she confirmed that she only writes when she’s inspired. “I don’t force myself to sit down and write,” she says. “The emotions and energy that comes through those moments are authentic.”  And it really comes through when you listen.

I was initially drawn to Stephanie’s music when I saw her perform at Chop Suey, in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood.  While based in Portland currently, Stephanie is a native of Washington, which she considers home.  She is a true Pacific Northwest artist with the perfect mix of that West Coast cool and the PNW homage to the 1990’s. When I met her, she was wearing a metallic tinsel style backless dress that looked as though it had walked right out of 1960’s “Old Hollywood”.  Over the top was draped a leopard print faux fur coat, which she wore so casually that it had a rocker chic edge. I was mesmerized. Confident in her look, beautiful lyrics in her music; she’s the real deal.

Stephanie has the boldness to be absolutely unafraid of putting her inner self into her music. Her single “Million” has a synth pop edge that makes you want to get up and move, but the lyrics hit you in the gut with lyrics like “I’ve got a million sad songs in my head/You took a million shots/Left me half dead/Should have known when I fell for the devil.” The moment I heard it, there was a resonance with my own experience of encountering a relationship with someone who felt like my own version of falling for “the devil”.

“Writing music is a form of therapy,” she admitted candidly.  “I’ve gotten through some tough stuff simply by writing a song about it. I’ll feel so much better afterwards.  For that reason, music has been lifesaving.  Sometimes my feelings are so heavy that I don’t really have a way to process and deal with them. So, I’ll write a song.”  Amen, sister.  Music that is raw and real is what true music fans come out for.

Local acts like Stephanie Mae are exactly the types of shows that I encourage anyone traveling to a new city to book tickets to and make time to see. I’m a firm believer that the heartbeat of a city and an era can be captured in music.  And what better way to feel that energy than to go see it performed live in an intimate venue?  It’s not just music. It’s an experience.

For those of you on the road this summer, Stephanie Mae will be playing a show in Seattle.  You can see her perform live at Barboza on August 15th.  I promise, this is one gig you won’t want to miss.

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Here’s How You Can Connect with Stephanie:

Official Website: http://www.stephaniemae.com

Instagram: @stephaniemaemusic

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/stephaniemaemusic

Follow on Spotify:

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Listen to her music:

Open Letter to American Girls Studying or Traveling Abroad

Dear Ladies, 

Let me start by saying how excited I am for you that you are considering expanding your comfort zone and going abroad for an extended period of time. I believe it will shape you and change you in ways you won’t expect, and develop another piece of your life experience that you’ll reflect on later in life and be proud of your younger self. 

I moved to London from 2009-2010 as a 23 year old girl from a remote part of eastern Washington for a graduate program at King’s College London. It was one of the more defining experiences of my growth into adulthood and revealed things to me that I wanted to change or expand about myself during my time abroad that I would never have noticed if I were in my native comfort zone. A friend told me recently that traveling allows you to both “meet new people AND meet yourself”. This is the absolute truth. 

I met friends during my study abroad who have remained a part of my circle to this day. These same friends have invited me all over the world and continued to expand my global view through interactions with them, their hometowns, and meeting their loved ones. 

To keep this brief, I’ll get right into the things I wish I’d known as a 23 year old university student and that I’d like to share with girls preparing to go abroad themselves.  

1. Bring less than you think you need. You can always buy it when you get there.  

2. Diversify your tribe. They might not be the people who you’d think will be your BFF’s. 

3. Be kind to yourself and recognize how much change you’re experiencing.  

4.  Learn to say “yes” to more things. And also when it’s appropriate to say “no”.

5. Don’t try to see and do everything.  

6. Protect yourself.  

7. Remember to journal and document things just for yourself.  

8. Keep it classy. Seriously, don’t be an American idiot.  

9. Make sure you know how you’re getting home. Every time.  

10. Live every moment to it’s fullest - let yourself have fun!

You’re about to have an amazing adventure! Enjoy every second.

Wishing you all the very best,

C

What's Going in My Summer Beauty Bag

Summer is finally here and I’m focused on packing as light as possible for days by the lake, after-work pool time, and quick summer weekend adventures!

It’s easy to throw a change of clothes into your bag (plus a swimsuit). But what about hair and makeup essentials? That’s where it gets tricky.

Below are a list of products that I won’t be leaving home without this summer. All in convenient, transportable sizes. Perfect for throwing in your beauty bag and taking with you!

Bare Minerals Tinted Hydrating Gel Creme - This is the UV protection and complexion smoothing gel that you want in your bag. It won’t wash off after a pool day but wears light enough that you’ll feel weightless and free in it.

Tata Harper Volumizing Lip and Cheek Tint - Very Popular 100% Natural & Nontoxic | Rosy Pink Multi-Purpose Cream Blush | 4.5g

Tata's Natural Alchemy

Tata Harper Lip & Cheek Tint - A two in one that will actually give you some color with all-natural ingredients!

Benefit Roller Lash Mascara - It really works to lift and lengthen your lashes! A couple coats of this will make you look awake AND sultry with sexy summer lashes!

Bobbi Brown Concealer - This creamy concealer comes in a package with a convenient wand. The Cool Sand color has a pink tint to it that will neutralize any dark circles. Must have!

Laura Mercier Lip Glace - I’m obsessed with this lip gloss. It doesn’t have the annoying tackiness of other glosses and gives the perfect hint of color. It lasts for hours and just fades into a tint after all-day wear.

Anatasia Beverly Hills Brow Wiz - This is the perfect eyebrow pencil and comes with a convenient brush tip end for on the spot grooming.

Simplified Beauty Bag:

BOBBI BROWN INSTANT FULL COVER CONCEALER .20 fl oz./6ml # COLOR : COOL SAND

BOBBI BROWN

Laura Mercier Paint Wash Liquid Lip Colour, No. Nude Rose, 0.2 Ounce

Mainspring America, Inc. DBA Direct Cosmetics

bareMinerals Complexion Rescue Tinted Hydrating Gel Cream SPF 30, Natural 05, 1.18 Ounce

bareMinerals

Benefit Cosmetics Roller Lash Super Curling & Lifting Mascara Travel Size Mini 0.14 oz

Benefit Roller Lash Mascara Mini

Anastasia Beverly Hills - Brow Wiz - Blonde

Anastasia Beverly Hills

On Boston Coffee Culture

I want to stay in this city just for its coffee shops. Every time I walk by one on the street, I see patrons curled up with books and highlighters. True study is going on. Laptops are out and everyone is typing, clicking rapidly, reading. No one is mindlessly scrolling through Facebook or Reddit. People are working. This is where some magic is happening. Something is being created.

Where you can caffeinate and dive into a good book in Boston:

Explorateur Cafe 186 Tremont Street

Darwin’s Limited 313 Massachusetts Avenue

Sonsie 327 Newbury Street

Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum

Boston is full of historic architecture. Everywhere you turn there are brick buildings or quaint row homes. Some have a nod to the colonial heritage of this city. Others reflect an opulence of a different time of place. And then there are places like the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum, which is a monument to another time and a monument to the art held within it’s grand walls.

A stroll through this museum will take you hours to see it all. Every room is full of hidden surprises. And a central courtyard will make you feel that you’ve stumbled into an Italian palace from the 15th century. It truly deserves a visit if you are in Boston.

Quick Facts:

Location: 25 Evans Way, Boston, MA 02115

Hours:

• Wed:11:00 AM - 5:00 PM

• Thu:11:00 AM - 9:00 PM

• Fri - Mon:11:00 AM - 5:00 PM

Tokyo Indoors

Tokyo. New Year’s Eve. It’s cold and rainy. Colder than I was ready for after a few weeks on the beaches in Thailand. The rain was real. Soaking through my soft-sided suitcase as I walked the few short blocks from Ikebukuro Station to my lodgings. It was dark out early and the brightness of the street lights almost made up for the lack of natural daylight. This environment was the absolute opposite of the remote tropical islands I’d just been on.  Tokyo was busy, crowded, chilly, and disorienting at that exact moment.

My friends in Tokyo pinged me about evening plans.

“Ready to go out tonight?”

“Hungry?”

Of course, I was hungry! But it was nearly 11:00 pm. Where would we go that would still be open and serving?

“Just meet us in Roppongi,” they texted back confidently. Apparently I didn’t need to know where we were going. They had it handled. Food, drinks, dancing. I’d experience it all before the night was over. 

We met at a ramen restaurant. Despite the late hour, we were ushered in to a brightly lit bustling shop. Our ramen options were presented to us from a vending machine, where I could select the number, insert my coins, and order up my dish.  It was all so orderly. The efficient ordering system, our coats neatly hung on metal hangers on the wall behind us. It was warm and happy inside this ramen establishment. The food was already putting me into a better mood and Beyonce was playing in the background, so the party was on.

From the streets of Tokyo in December, it felt as if it was a dark quiet, frigid, place. But as soon as I entered the hidden food and drink scene, I realized how lively and happening the city was. It was just set back off of the street. You’d never know it was there.

We went to another food establishment with an alley entrance next. There were brightly lit lanterns outside but the sliding doors obscured how truly large it was inside. Walking in, there were food stalls set up on every square inch of the premises.  I kept walking to see if this seemingly chaotic market of cuisine had an end.  People were perched at small tables and laughing, chatting on cell phones, playing board games, and taking shots.  It was certainly a scene.

At this point, my companions and I had a good base layer. The food had been exceptional and filling, warming me right up. We had barely spent anything on our last meal of the calendar year and yet it has been one of the most exciting tours of Japanese cuisine that I’d experienced yet.

Next up, we were ready to head for cocktails. If there is one thing I have realized about Japanese culture, it is excellence in everything they do.  Cocktails, naturally, are a true art form.  For the NYE occasion, we decided to try Bar Tram - recommended to us by industry professionals who sling drinks in both Bali and LA.

The bar itself was up a steep set of steps with only a small sign on the stairwell with the slogan “Get Drunk Differently” to let passerby know it was there.  As soon as we entered, we realized it was made up to look like a Gilded Era Parisian themed bar specializing in Absinthe.  It was clearly in the tradition of the hangouts popularized by artists and returning soldiers in Paris during the 1890’s (when absinthe was in its heyday). But here we were in Tokyo.  Patrons were sitting around the bar smoking cigarettes languorously. So very chic.

We ordered the absinthe carafe and our bartenders explained to us how to place the sugar on the spoons and delicately let the absinthe drip into our drinks.

On Loss

I lost someone very dear to me two nights ago. It’s been an entire 48 hours that this world has kept turning without the person who was like a second dad and a best friend for as long as I can remember. I’m probably still in shock as I write this. Not fully able to process the fact that this person could actually, truly be gone.

When I got the call with the news, I kept repeating “Is this real?” because my brain had hit a wall and couldn’t process the information. But yes, it’s real. And my heart, my whole body really, hurts with an ache that leaves me short of breath. It hurts so badly that my consciousness is trying to implement every self-protection strategy possible. Distraction. Numbness. Complete denial that it’s happening.  And despite this deep, utter pain and profound sense of loss, I keep coming back to this thought that I am so glad I can feel this.  Some part of me feels grateful to have connected with another human on such a level that I can feel their loss so acutely. That I was able to love someone with no expectation in return, no angle, no obligation.  That my love was so real that my entire body shook with the full realization of the loss of this wonderful person, this relationship.

I would so much rather feel all of this pain than close myself off. I want to love with every part of my being, knowing full well that I may be left behind, holding that love inside. I’d rather take the risk. I would rather allow myself to be vulnerable. 

I want to take my time grieving this loss because I want to honor how beautiful this relationship was.  How lucky I have been to have a person in my life who truly saw me for who I was. Who allowed me to be exactly all the things I am with total acceptance of my goofy, emotional, childlike, and weird self. How wonderful to have someone who would open their door to me at 3 am and fix me a welcoming breakfast. Who took the time to call and be involved. Who watched over me as I grew up, supporting me in the background, there when I reached out. Someone who would tell me the truth. Be real in every sense of the word. Absolutely genuine and loving, quirks and all.

I hope someday I can be that person for someone else. I love you, Wil. And I am going to miss you forever.

On Traveling "Someday"

Watching the news of the Notre Dame Cathedral burning into the Parisian night was at once horrifying and shocking. It was a beautiful monument to the history of the French people and a chronology of developing Western civilization over the past 800 years. But more than that, it was a site that millions of tourists made the pilgrimage to visit in Paris each year. And the fact that the original building could go up in flames so quickly is a potent reminder to me of why a “bucket list” is a flawed system for telling yourself that “someday” you will do the things you want to go out and do.

I am constantly meeting people who tell me that they are saving a visit to Europe for their honeymoon; that they will visit after they find “the one”. Or people who tell me that they would like to visit the place where their parents came from, see the country of their heritage…but they are waiting until they have their own children someday. People who tell me that they would love to travel after their pets pass away and no longer require care or people who are waiting to pay off student loans, find a new job, meet new friends, end a relationship, or any other myriad of things that they feel they need to complete before they pack a suitcase and head out.

It’s all just excuses. In my opinion. We make time for the thing that we really want to do. If visiting a place is important to you, it will happen. Nothing will stand in your way. We just have this one precious life. See the things that inspire you. Go to a place that makes your heart sing. Make a pilgrimage to that place you said you wanted to go. Even if it’s just you. You’ll meet people along the way who think the same way that you do. On the same journey. And perhaps it is that connection that truly unites us all.

On Canceled Reservations

I was standing at the gate about to board my flight to Barcelona, when I got an update that my Airbnb host had abruptly cancelled my reservation. 

"I'm sorry but I cannot host you tonight."  No explanation. No Plan B. 

When you're traveling on a budget (not saying you're on a budget, but really being on a budget because you'll run out of money and then you can't fly home), these are not the kind of words you want to hear. Unexpected changes in plans usually end up costing you money, not to mention the stress. It shows you what you're made of, for sure.

Well, in this particular instance, the Catalonian vote for regional separation from Spain was taking place. Everywhere in Barcelona was booked solid, or not accepting reservations. Things that were normally open were closed. There were protests. There was a disquiet in the city that was more than obvious. And I was literally out on the street. 

I recalled a lovely girl I had met in the Pacific Northwest months earlier at a tiny bar on Whidbey Island. She was naively young and adorable. Not yet 21, so she couldn't really BE at the bar. But she was there anyway with her soft Spanish accent and welcoming smile. Imagine Anne of Green Gables style braids and a little backpack.  This girl bicycled all over the island and wanted to learn English.  She mentioned that if I were ever in Spain, I should look her up.  That seemed like a long shot when we had met several months earlier.  But now that I was in her region with no place to go, wasn't it the perfect time to ... reach out?

I shot her a quick WhatsApp message. Asking where her hometown was and if she had a couch/floor/sofabed/porch I could sleep on? Desperate times call for desperate measures. I was nervous to hear back and it felt like a total shot in the dark. What if she said no? What if she didn't even look at her phone until after the time that the trains stopped running? It was late and I was feeling the stress of the day and the long hours of the flight.

She got back to me within minutes. Not only was she SO HAPPY TO HOST ME but she couldn't believe I was in her country and wanted to visit her hometown.  

"You're just in time to see El Castells! The Human Towers!" she replied enthusiastically. So. Many. Excited. Emoticons. 

I had no idea what that meant, and I truly didn't care. The important information was that there was one bus leaving for her town and it was departing in 20 minutes.  For Tarragona.  A place I had never heard of, never had any intention of visiting, and was about to be my savior tonight.

With my horrifically limited Spanish, I got on the bus that I was mostly certain was heading to Tarragona, and prayed that my young friend understood that I actually needed to spend the night.  Nothing spells adventure like being on an unknown bus to an unknown destination with a giant language barrier standing in the way. 

Upon arriving, my friend met me at the bus station and one look at her giant smile told me everything I needed to know: I was welcome. This was exactly where I was meant to be. 

Those few days with my Spanish host were my absolute favorite.  The best part of my trip.  For more on the festival of Santa Tecla and my adventures in Tarragona, see the next post. 

The lesson I walked away with from this experience was that cancelled reservations can sometimes be a blessing in disguise. Deviating from the plan can be the most memorable part of a trip.  And putting yourself out there - asking for help and kindness from strangers - can sometimes forge the strongest bonds and the lasting memories. The life-changing moments. The things that help you remember that across oceans, languages, and borders, we're all just people. Connecting and sharing. 

On Things

I’ve lived in small spaces for the last decade. Well, scratch that. Maybe my entire life. 

Going from my parents’ house to college dorms to tiny studio apartments to renting rooms in houses with roommates, there hasn’t been much room to really spread out.  I’ve always told myself that I don’t own that many things, it just looks like I do because I’m an adult living in a 90 SF space.  But looking around my room, it’s obvious that I own more than your average cat.  Well, more clothes that is.

Why do I have so many clothes?  Am I a shopping addict? A fashion martyr? A hoarder?  Well, to answer that question, you’d have to get to know me a little first.  Back it up to where the story really starts. I grew up in a small town in Heartland, USA which meant that 1. Most people I knew wore cowboy boots and Levi’s and 2. The only time you got dressed up was on Sundays to go to church. To add to this, I was homeschooled and I lived in the actual middle of nowhere (think well water, no tv or internet, and lots of dirt … everywhere).  To expose myself to culture and fashion, I would get the recycled issues of Vogue magazine that the town library was throwing away and take them home on our weekly visits.  This meant I was reading magazine issues from 1992 in the year 1998.  But that didn’t matter to me. I was all about the glamorous and beautiful ladies depicted in them. Christy, Kate, Naomi, Nadja Auermann. I didn’t just want to read about them, I wanted to BE them.  And I would fantasize about growing up and doing exactly that.

Fast forward 15 years and I’ve got a job with enough spending money left over to buy the clothes I want and I now live in a city with lots of cafes and bars to wear them out to.   What’s stopping me from being a walking magazine spread every single day?  Well, nothing really. I had subscriptions to all of the top voices in the fashion world: Vogue, Glamour, W, InStyle, Harper’s Bazaar. And I had a regular route through Nordstrom, Zara, Urban, Vicki’s, Topshop and Anthro.  I knew what was available and I had filled my closet with all of the best things that made me feel glamorous and beautiful and sexy.  Or even really just things that were a good deal, or seemed practical, or that my friends had talked me into purchasing.

Looking back on it, I definitely can recognize the mindset behind it. I somehow had subconsciously confused the clothes and accessories I could buy with creating a certain type of life and look that I wanted. Perhaps a look that would make me sexier, more confident, more successful, and more enviable than the person I used to be.  I think a huge part of that is the struggle all young women go through as they “find themselves” and deal with the social pressures that are most certainly put on us to look and act a certain way.  But for myself, there was an added layer of trying to shed the so-called country girl I had grown up as and become a sophisticated, chic, beautiful, and cultured city girl.  Well, according to American cultural messages, the way to do this was to buy everything I could afford and shroud myself in this protective cloak of designer jeans, leather jackets, and suede booties.

After nearly a decade of this mindset, I am at a point in my life where I have been forced to take a cold hard look at what I’ve accumulated.  And why.  And what I will do with it now. How do my things, and more specifically my clothes, define me now?  Do all of these things add or subtract to my everyday life?

I will be absolutely clear that I will always want to look my best, to cultivate and display my personal style, and to project that image of a cultured, beautiful, confident woman in the way I present myself.  However, I am no longer convinced that an abundance of clothes will do that for me.  The RIGHT clothes will certainly project an image. But I don’t need a cascading flow of options for this to occur. Or, at least, I think I don’t.

The Twin Cities

My first friend in Minneapolis was a transplant just like myself.

We connected over a shared passion for photography and a week later were sneaking into the Guthrie Theater after a Friday night show, making our way to the open-air rooftop.  Overlooking the Mississippi River and the Stone Arch Bridge, we began chatting about the city itself.  My new friend was curious to know my first impressions of the city, being an outsider and freshly arrived.  Ironically, I’d been encouraged to make friends here and yet the first person I connected with was someone who wanted to leave Minneapolis. Someone who perhaps saw the city a little like I did, who still felt like an outsider even after he had spent two decades in Minnesota.

“It’s hard to make friends here,” my new friend said without hesitation.  Funny enough, my mother had said the exact same thing to me years ago.  She had described Minnesota as this backwards, unfriendly, frozen place where you could lose fingers and toes in the winter just to experience two humid brief weeks of summer.  She always told me that wild horses couldn’t drag her back.  And in fact, this was true.  Over the past 30 years, my mother only returned to Minnesota for my grandfather’s funeral. When she left, she was gone. No looking back.

“Why would you come here to Minnesota?” my photography companion asked in a very direct, almost confused way. I suppose I don’t have an answer for that. Not really. I suppose part of me has always wanted to explore this unfamiliar land described to me as a child. Long hours spent with my mother meant a countless retelling of stories about driving on frozen lakes and riding snowmobiles to school.  Unfriendly Scandinavians. Car wrecks, people drowning in lakes, temperatures at 40 below. Tales from the northern Iron Range famed in films like North Country or Fargo.

In my vivid childhood imagination, it sounded terrible but it also sounded wild and reckless and well, mythical. I’ve been on a journey for some years to understand my mother. That may be an impossible task. To try to understand an ever-evolving, constantly changing human. But as I grow older, I have wanted to know more and more what created the woman who introduced me to my first few years of life.  My conduit to the rest of the world.  Her perspective was my first glimpse into reality, for better or worse. And I’ve always wanted to know where that hard, cynical, even fearful side of her was created.

Sitting on the Guthrie Theater rooftop, I took a cold (literally), hard, contemplative look at the city itself. The historic Stone Arch Bridge and the electric blue I-35W Bridge angled across the river in opposing directions exposing the rushing water below.  The lights of apartment buildings parallel to the Guthrie illuminated the night with little patches of dim kitchens and the faint glow of bedroom lamps.  There wasn’t much going on this side of town. In fact, the lights on the bridges were burned out in places which gave the landscape a half-finished, undone look.  For a city, it all seemed very dark. Almost too dark, a little too quiet.

What was very noticeable to me right from my first visit to the Twin Cities was the unshakable, sports team style devotion that people who have chosen to live in Minnesota have for their state. There are little Minnesota shaped icons on the backs of coffee cups at local restaurants and retailers all have their own version of “MPLS love” or “I heart MN” t-shirts prominently displayed for sale. It’s obvious that the people who have chosen to live in Minnesota are here to stay.  They love this state and have created a heritage and a history here that they are proud of.

Part of me admires a community of people who are so enthusiastic about where they live. But it also feels a little closed off.  Not as a stranger entering a close-knit world of friends and neighbors. But closed off in an “us” centric type of way.  As in: “Why would you ever need anything else? We have it all right here.”  I heard on the radio yesterday that a girl from Minnesota traveled the globe for a year and only listened to her local Minneapolis radio station. She dedicatedly streamed this station wherever she could find a wifi connection while she was abroad because she felt that the music they played was better than anywhere else. This was stated with some serious local pride and no doubt highlighted to show listeners why their station should be rated as number one.  However, it also appears to show a lack of cultural awareness in a glaring way.  If you traveled the world, wouldn’t you want to experience other cultures and listen to some local music while you were abroad? This fan-girl devotion to a hometown radio station almost seems closed off and unaware to an outsider like myself.

When I am traveling, I like to dig a little deeper. Ask more questions. Find out more to the story. Get another layer below the surface. Find out the why. Here in Minnesota, that has felt nearly impossible. The “Minnesota nice” that this region is famous for is very apparent. People are cordial and friendly right away. They make eye contact. They are polite. But they don’t want to open up. And if I try to share my own story as a way of making others feel comfortable to share their own, I’ve realized right away that the locals here don’t care. They aren’t interested in where you’re from or why you’re here or what you’re doing. It’s all very nice and polite. But there’s no need to connect and there’s certainly no curiosity to find out anything about a newcomer.

I’m not sure what I expected, but so far the Twin Cities has been a strange experience. A town imitating a city and succeeding in some areas. But with an air of wildness, the legacy of pioneering a frozen frontier running through the veins of the inhabitants of this constantly shifting landscape.  People take risks here. But they take risks with their own and they support each other in their joys and failures. I’ve never met so many people who live within 5 miles of their birthplace and within 10 miles of their entire family. But maybe that’s why the community here is so tight-knit. Perhaps this closeness has fostered a type of support and a helping hand that those of us on the west coast only imagine we have.

Minnesota isn’t terrible.  This much I have been able to discover and confirm in the last three weeks.  I’ll tell my mother this. On my way back to the west coast. Like her, I won’t be staying.

What about you?  Have you ever visited the Twin Cities? What were your impressions?

On Spring

Spring.

A season entirely devoted to emerging, growing, changing.  A season I’ve honestly never really enjoyed or understood until now.  I always seemed to resent spring because it was that uncomfortable moment in time right before summer: the place I really wanted to be.

This last winter in the Pacific Northwest broke me. I say that entirely without dramatic effect. It’s a simple fact. The constant rain which would alternate between a soggy mist that hung on your clothes or an outright downpour that felt like a shower had officially driven me mad. The Seattle Times kept reporting that it was one of the worst years of rainfall on record. No matter. I wasn’t going to hold out for another winter season in my life that would be less intense, less desperate. Saying “it will get better soon” was no longer good enough for me. Once you’ve experienced the freedom of true summer with the sun warm on your back, the liberating feeling of walking outdoors in bare feet and wearing loose shirts that don’t cling to you like personal protective gear, you can’t go back.  You don’t want to wait for things to get better.  You want to already be out there in the world making them better.  Living.

I’d begun to look at winter as this season you had to endure. You’d put your big girl boots on and just tough it out.  Every. Single. Day. For about 6 months. And then before you knew it, one day you would wake up after the 4th of July and realize that summer was well and truly here and it was time to live out those magical brief weeks of freedom with abandon. 

It’s just that spring was sort of in the way.  You had to get through that first. The season when you didn’t really know what clothes to wear out of the house because it might be sunny or cold or warm or wet outside. And this could change in the space of a few hours. A season that is unpredictable and a little adolescent in its awkward attempt at evolving into summertime.  

Over the years it slowly became evident to me that I was in a cycle.  A loop of waiting. Winter was something I had to get through in every sense. The uninspiring job, the withdrawn people, the days and nights spent indoors looking at the bare, dead trees and gray skies. I wasn’t even showing up to my own life. I was hibernating during this season with my brain and my emotions on pause. My needs and wants waiting in a storage closet. When summer did eventually come, it would feel like this wild time to escape captivity, go feral and pack in every possible moment of relaxed freedom before the realities of winter would set back in. I’d skip directly from the lows of winter to the highs of summer and back again.  It was exhausting.

This year, however, I look at each opening new flower bud and every break of sun through the clouds with a sense of hope. Right now I am experiencing spring in every sense.  My entire life is in a sort of full-blown springtime renaissance.  I weathered the winter. I waited and I dreamed about summer.  Imagined those warm summer days a little bigger and brighter than usual.  And I decided to move into springtime and acknowledge that summer wouldn’t come next. First I needed to pack up and acknowledge spring.  I needed to accept the uncomfortable period of change that comes before anything and everything else.

Transitional and unsettled is my new norm.  My clothes are all condensed into a suitcase containing both fleece pullovers and cut-off shorts and I don’t even have a mailing address at the moment.  Yes, that feels like a season of springtime. But I am embracing it. I am heading out of what has felt like an endless winter and spending those difficult transitional spring months searching for my summer.  And this time I am free to make my own summer. To experience it however I want and make this thing I’ve been dreaming of into a reality.

I’ve left behind the sureness of a season I understand how to get through, how to endure, for something not entirely unknown but certainly uncomfortable.  I have no idea what is waiting for me on the other side but I am so ready to take that chance and find out what it looks like.

What does spring remind you of? What does spring mean to you?