I can’t see them, but surely they are playing and happy with life. Yipping. Like I’ve stuck my head into a creek and am hearing the little stones gurgle and roll as they play. … More From the Journal: Earth and Survival
It is the saguaro that tethers its roots to the stones and it is me that runs over them. We are each with instinct and duty for life and yet I do not belong here. … More Saguaros and The Art of Time
And just like the deer, and how the creek left ridges and curls in the sand, did I leave notions of myself, too. Just like that — we take and are taken. … More In Brief, 2018: My Human Craft
Grief is personal knowledge. We didn’t need to understand. We read the way the poems shaped her shoulders against the white slopes, or the way her head bowed after each one — starting with the chin and ending with the eyelids. Snowflakes dusted her hair and dampened her hands. She’d wipe them against her pants or against her reddening cheeks and she slowly dampened, too, unraveling there in the morning glow. … More From the Journal: Dampened
These feats seem narrow and superficial when I compare them to the work my brain does when dreaming at night. The nightmares are such because they contradict me, risk everything, go beyond the threat of death by hypothetically starting the process. … More The dreams that scare me and how they nurture my curiosity
We quake in defiance of peripheral death. How we all engage in some form of spastic fervor to never be forgotten. Me saying that most climbers choose their mountains for a reason, could also be me saying that most people choose (however subconscious) what is to be perceived as an obstacle in their own lives. … More From the Journal: Echoes
Funny how I impose my loneliness and social anxiety onto them, in that I refuse in having them acknowledge me by refusing to acknowledge them. It really is a matter of self in these moments. … More From the Journal: Exhales of Air
Patrick kneels into the mattress and leans over me.
“Sara,” he whispers. I open my eyes slow—
“The power keeps going in and out.” … More From the Journal: Mountain Farm Life
When I think about it now, I’m honestly not sure whether I was addicted to the mountain views or to the fascination these trips inspired from others waiting back at camp. Either way, the moment allowed my power to manifest in a way that was visible to the world around me. … More I have a theory.
Fittingly abstract, but alluringly stoic. She is obviously not facing into the light, but she is pensive…who is she?
If I had to pinpoint the questions I asked myself the most this past year, they would be thus: Who am I, really? and What are my intentions? … More My Day of Birth, 2017: Persona
For those who are looking for a book to gift to adventurous, artsy, environmentally curious friends (or to hint at as a gift for oneself), here is a short and sweet list of titles we’d recommend. All titles can be found on Amazon unless we provide a specific link to elsewhere, and keep in mind that prices may have changed since the publication of this list. Enjoy! … More Holiday Gift: A Brief Book Guide for Adventure, Environment, Poetry, and Art
The cracks in my skin and the chalk that settles there, skin woven, white lace over burning sand. These are the things I’ve remembered, among things I carry, ephemeral as the action of having written them down: … More Yosemite Notes: The Things I Carry
Looking back, it’s easy to identify these things, but at the time, I was blinded by my drive to merely work out. I mean, I knew I liked it, but was I going to start incorporating these ideas and practices into my everyday life? Eh. Probably not. I wasn’t one of those hippy granola people. I’d like to think of it as being in the “talking” stage of a relationship. I liked yoga; but wasn’t totally invested quite yet…just keeping my options open, you know? … More Dither Me This #16: OmWork
“I don’t believe in laziness,” I heard through my computer’s speakers while on a conference call with the prolific artist and best-selling author, SARK. She was responding to my question, “How can you tell the difference between honest burn-out and laziness?” … More Dither Me This #15: Edges
I know people who have dreamed their whole lives of going to Hawaii, but in my case, Hawaii lured me towards an unexpected depression. I fell right in. For fear of sounding like a privileged prick, let me add, as my mother reminded us hourly: “This is a once in a lifetime vacation!” … More Dither Me This #14: Sleepless in Hawaii
then the Seaway recedes,
we drop into a desert canyon of marzipan
White Cliffs rising to pinch out the sky –
walls, delicate, fragrant flake grains
of sugar onto the path … More Dither Me This #13: Delicatus
All our shoulders are sore. My feet incite anxiety when they get wet. Tired legs. Today is more or less a do-nothing day but my body is in a funk. I’m quiet. Almost somber. Energy low. Raging headache. I ask Hatie for some of her Advil. I’m in an endurance hangover, it seems. I don’t even want to expend the energy talking so I daydream about napping. … More Boundary Waters, Part 3: Memory of Sounds
I can’t explain everything, honestly. We got lost. We might have been in Canada for a few hours, who knows. The water levels this year are high, Hatie says, and the islands don’t look the same – nothing really was matching the map anymore. So we paddled and paddled. Sonya brought an Oru Kayak and her paddling was even more exhausting I’m sure. We also decided to wear stick-on mustaches today; I have my silver leggings, Hatie has gold, and Sonya is decked out in champagne leggings and a matching tutu. We could most certainly be the lost girls of Peter Pan. … More Boundary Waters, Part 2: Lost
Sonya has started the fire and the light against the lake fools you into believing that if you follow the stone steps down to the water’s edge, you’ll fall away, airborne. Yet as romantic as it all may be, the mosquitoes are what keep you sane and seated, layered in clothing and swatting, occasionally smearing blood that is hopefully yours. … More Boundary Waters, Part 1: Inception
Camp 2, 11,200 ft. Today we dropped a cache at 13,400. I carried around 40-pounds and pulled another 45 on the sled. I’m writing this now after dinner and boiling snow while the boys trade off for the next few hours until our Nalgenes fill. Our water always contains random hair and food from prior meals. I’m pretty tired, haven’t slept more than 3 hours each night, and we’ve been here for 4, so far. I’m listening to “Precious Little” by a band named Hiatus. It’s a piano song and the air is frigid, as humidity turns to ice on the tent walls. … More Dither Me This #12: Denali
