17/365: trust

i'm being told i can trust my open heart. hell, i tell other people that all the time! 

but when it actually comes down to it ... it is not as easy as it sounds. 

we have all been hurt. and we don't want to hurt others.

so we close. close our hearts. to protect ourselves.

but when we shut down this most important energy source, we shut off ourselves and others and the whole world from this vital, creative, joyful and free energy which has the ultimate power to salve and heal those hurt places inside.

so, i keep watching myself. oh, just there, i closed my heart! or oh, last night, i was afraid ... and consciously reopen. speak and act from my heart, again and again. this is my current learning, and my current practice. and, my current healing. 

some days, unsure

gratitude project, day 3my intention is to continue making self-portraits, to see how i see myself, and the way i mirror the world, and how the world might see me.

brand-new at this endeavor, sometimes it feels quite painful to aim my camera at myself. and i lose the learning.

still, i am grateful to have learned of this potentially very powerful tool, self portraiture. and i am grateful for my willingness to continue, even when i can't get beyond my own fearful thoughts. 

you are beautiful

 myriam

"you are beautiful!" myriam exclaimed as i walked into camp registration. who me? she can't be talking to me. we proceeded to have a transformative conversation that night: beauty is about letting ones inner light *shine* through. it is not about what's on the outside, the physical ... it's all about what's on the inside. i know this t-h-e-o-r-e-t-i-c-a-l-l-y but, ohhhhhh, i could see the storm brewing. so THIS is my secret reason why i came to camp.

i've known for many years that i am not my body and that i (and everyone and everything) am soul, spirit. i had my spiritual awakening the night my mom passed 9 years ago. 

but it's a whole other thing to really grok ... not when i look at others, but when i look at myself. many/most/all? of us are so hard on ourselves and so loving with others. we see their inner beauty. we see their hopes and dreams and tenderness. but when i look in the mirror, i see chubby cheeks, small eyes, thin lips, extra pounds, and on and on. and i hear my mom's unknowing words of many years ago jangling around in my head ... "i wouldn't consider you beautiful, but you're interesting-looking."

what i so needed -- and didn't even know i needed -- i got from myriam the first night of camp, so naturally, so very effortlessly: you. are. beautiful. 

the minute our hosts tracey, myriam and jen started talking, i knew this experience was going to be about so much more than the technicalities of photography: intentions, secret wishes, poetry, permission, passion, sharing, seeing and being seen, gratitude. and beauty.

before reading several soulful poems out loud to the group, myriam mentioned "this is especially for hillary" more than once. she could see that i really needed to get this. i know this poem well, but i obviously needed to hear it again, and apply it to myself: 

Love After Love by Derek Walcott

The time will come 
when, with elation 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, in your own mirror 
and each will smile at the other's welcome, 

and say, sit here. Eat. 
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart 
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you 

all your life, whom you ignored 
for another, who knows you by heart. 
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, 

the photographs, the desperate notes, 
peel your own image from the mirror. 
Sit. Feast on your life.

~~

when i looked at every single one of my fellow shutter sisters at camp, i could so clearly see their beauty:

wendy 

siobhan ria

stef

when i asked tracey the first night which class i should take, "composition" or "self-portraits," she blurted, "you? self-portraits." 

my comfort zone stared me down. i knew i had to do this, to go toward the scariest thing.

fortunately i was in safe hands. taught by the lovely meredith, i learned that making self-portraits is not the height of narcissism as i had thought in the past (this judgment a sure sign i was really just scared of it). now i know it's quite the opposite, in fact. making self-portraits is a high act of self care, self love. of really seeing my inner self and honoring that. of seeing my truth, my story, not other people's stories about myself. about seeing my inner beauty. ohhhh. 

self-portraitohhhh. so THAT'S why i came to camp.

to learn that i, too, am beautiful.

megalicious

it is this kind, patient soul that i owe the becoming of eyechai.

she helped me start when i was too intimidated to begin by myself.

steadfast. smart. practical. problem-solver. everything that my dreamer-self needed.

and when the time was right, she rekindled her own true passion, teaching and tutoring, and left eyechai to venture on her own path. by then, i could stand on my own two feet. 

meg. my dear college friend. for over 30 years now. 

she came to see my studio, to oooh and aaah and be happy for me. 

dear meg, thank you for helping my dreams come true. 

(and for being my most willing photographic subject for 30 years!)

i. am. an. artist. (she said, tentatively.)

two days before i left for my week at the ranch, my life changed. i held my breath, gulped, and signed a year-long lease in the ICB building, an artist's building with three floors of studios in sausalito. yay/yikes! 

now we're painting and lighting and prepping for open studios in one week. did i mention i'm hardly sleeping?

monday memories / the sporting life: dancing for my supper

i'm sharing some of my sporting life with you in this monday memories series. last week's story was about playing on the men's lacrosse team in college ... 

so after college came grad school and career. not much time for sports. 

several years into my job at the long beach press-telegram, i went to australia to visit my cousin who was studying trees there, and planned a trip to the great barrier reef. i figured this is the one time i'm going to australia, i'm going diving there.

reserved a place at a fancy -- and i mean FANCY -- resort in the barrier reef called hayman island. hadn't been on vacation for many years. it was time to treat myself. but the week before i left, i realized this resort would be filled with honeymooners, not the best place to travel solo. there was another option close by, but i was equally hesitant for opposite reasons. club med. i figured it'd be filled with drunk 20-year-olds. hmmm. honeymooners or drunk 20-year-olds??? i opted for club med. and it was not at all what i expected.

this club med was a "family club," on a stunning island inside the barrier reef, with sports GALORE, and i could do them all! (i remember being so grateful to my parents for helping me learn to do any and all sports, even though neither of them were at all athletic.) and the partying was relatively tame. i kept pushing back my departure date, leaving me less and less time with my cousin. i was having a blast. so many sports! and one handsome man.

my last day there, i asked, "how can i work here?" ... they said they might be needing a tennis teacher ... and a few months later, i was teaching tennis at club med lindeman island.

and how did i swing that?! hah! 

first i needed to learn how to teach tennis! i had played a lot as a youngster, tennis camp at 14, all that. but hadn't played in years. i found renowned and hilarious teacher vic braden at his orange county tennis academy. christmas vacation tennis clinic for tennis pros. somehow i talked my way into the course. 

at work, my boss was on vacation. for a week, my colleagues helped me switch schedules so i could work the 7am shift and leave a little early to race down to tennis class. i learned how to teach well enough for teaching beginners. got a 6-month leave of absence from work. and WOOHOO! became the junior tennis instructor at club med!

i can hardly believe it myself. and have no photos to prove it (just this one doing my daily shift in the tennis & golf shack). but i loved it. i still wasn't a great player, so whenever i wanted to play tennis for fun, i played on the most remote court so the guests wouldn't see me playing ... didn't want them to lose their confidence in me!

but club med was about so much more than tennis. the staff or GOs (gentils organisateurs) not only act as hosts for the guests (gentils membres) during the day, but the GOs also perform in the elaborate shows at night. that's just part of the gig of working there. dancing for room and board and a teeny tiny stipend. 

whaaaaaaat? who me? dance? 

(remember, i was a total tomboy growing up and didn't do sissy stuff like dance.) 

yessirree bob. at club med, i danced. kinda caught the performing bug, you might say.

first week, they had me do an easy gig, not too far outside of my comfort zone. we 4 american staff members dressed up like red white and blue dorks, it must have been the 4th of july.

then a few months later, they had me doing a show. a show. a show? way outside my comfort zone. we rehearsed from 11-12 at night after the nightly entertainment was over and the guests had dispersed. i had to get up at 6am to be at the golf shack. those were short nights at club med.

i was fit enough to dance, but not very graceful. and scared! found it quite challenging to remember all the choreography. but also i found, like team sports, that when i relaxed and got into the flow with my fellow dancers, my body seemed to remember and i could feel my stagemates and move with them. THAT is what i love about team sports and dance, too. being completely in the moment and FEELING with all senses completely open and on, and flowing with the group, making something magical happen.

but i seriously needed more rehearsal. the first show, i forgot my gloves in one number. that's me in the back, facing the wrong way.

facing the wrong way again.

and was pretty much facing the wrong direction most of the time those first few shows. after my very first performance on stage, my boss noted,

hillary, don't forget to smile! you looked petrified up there!

over time, my confidence grew a bit. encouraged to enter the costume contest with a guest, i entered as marilyn monroe with guest dean martin. my partner was a fabulous dancer and spun me around. we won!

so then i volunteered with my roommate cynthia and another gal to do a lip sync to diana ross and the supremes. i was really getting into the performing thing now ...

at the very end of my stint at club med, the sports team had to perform a crazy skit before dinner in which all of us ended up in the pool. i squeezed into a tiny leotard, totally embarrassed by my outfit but that was THE OUTFIT for the role and the costume department wasn't going to change it ... and the show must go on!

back at home, i returned to being behind the camera. watching others. not the one being watched. where it is comfortable.

to be honest, i do miss the stage! and i miss dancing. who'd have thunk it?!

~~~~~

lessons learned: while i LOVE LOVE LOVE doing photography, i think it's also healthy for me to be in front of the camera. shining out. hey universe, how can i have both in my life?

~~~~~

ps - the handsome man didn't speak to me when i returned to the island. men! that's ok. there were other fish in the coral sea.

including this one, that i let get away. 

i really liked him. kind. nice mixture of humble and confident. handsome. we shared a champagne sunset on the 8th hole of the golf course one evening. 

when i got home from club med, he wanted to fly me up to vancouver to see him. 

i chickened out and didn't go. 

if anyone knows this man, who was living in vancouver bc in the 1990s, please contact me! or forward this to the one that got away.

photoflow: sharing is fun!

so i've been working toward sharing my photography in an etsy shop, and recently have spent much time browsing around etsy photography. i'm looking for a way to jazz * snazz up my pictures. for some reason, all of a sudden they seem boring and bland and plain. so i'm learning how to use textures to make my pictures look old * interesting * layered * rich.  and i'm also looking on etsy for different ways to present my photographs.

and then i found this: 

LOVE gayle's work, and LOVE her presentation: photos mounted on wood blocks.

it just so happens that i had already bought some wood blocks and canvas blocks, and had started trying different techniques for mounting photographs onto them.

promptly i left gayle a message singing the praises of her work. i asked if she'd share her technique for mounting. didn't hear back. 

must admit i was quite disappointed. you see, i LOVE sharing! i don't think artists need to keep secrets from each other, because inevitably, everyone sees and works differently, uniquely ... even if they use the same technique. but not all artists feels that way. and not everyone wants to share their techniques and methods which may have taken them years to learn. it's understandable, i guess. it's just fear. still, i prefer to think of everyone as an ally instead of the competition. which isn't always easy. but which definitely is my highest self in action.

i also said i'd buy a piece from her. and so i did. and in purchasing her photograph on etsy, i wrote this: 

i promised i'd purchase a piece from you so here i am. it will be a treat to have your art in my home.

i'm frequently on the shuttersisters site where so much sharing of information happens ... which is what prompted me to ask you about your mounting process. i hope my asking didn't make you uncomfortable in any way.

keep up the beautiful work!

all the best,

your fan,

hillary

a few days later, the mail came and i received this gorgeous piece from gayle:

and this:

wow! thrilled! to the moon! yippee skippee! jumping for joy! happy dance all around!

not only do i now have a beautiful piece of art. and another method for mounting photos on wood blocks: 3M 77 SPRAY MOUNT. (i've been using gel medium as a glue, applied with a brush, which seems to work fine) ...

but i also have SHARED WITH A FELLOW ARTIST/PHOTOGRAPHER.

i shared my money with her. she shared her arwork with me. she shared a technique with me. and now i've shared our techniques with you. woot!

thank you gayle, for sharing with me!

q: what did you learn on the internet today, honey? 

a: sharing is fun! 

monday memories / the sporting life: one of the boys, one of the happy people

i'm sharing some of my sporting life with you in this monday memories series. last week's story was about the politics of soccer ... 

my junior year of college, i had several guy friends who came to oregon from prep schools back east. with them they brought lacrosse to the left coast, a sport we hadn't yet seen out west. they didn't think they had enough players to start a team, so they recruited me and my soccer friend sheila. i guess they figured, she's tough on the soccer field, so she can play lacrosse with the guys. and they were desperate ... 

the whole season for me was a bit of a fiasco! 

we practiced much of the year in the rain and mud, and i learned how to wield a lacrosse stick, kind of. then the spring lacrosse season rolled around, and it turned out there were so many guys who wanted to play lacrosse, probably because lacrosse players were smart, cool, and extremely social. it ended up being a huge team.

at that point, i should have bowed out gracefully like sheila did ... but i guess my childhood desire to be equal in the [man's] world still needed to prove itself, so i wasn't about to quit the team. some of the guys, the really serious players, didn't want me on the team. my buddies were mixed, they wanted to have a strong team, but they also stayed loyal to me. 

there weren't many teams then, but we found a few to play against in oregon and washington. we had a couple of away games, and the lacrosse teams are so social that the opposing teams put us up for the night before or after the game in their homes. those lacrosse boys know how to have a good time! 

when i'd show up on the field in my uniform, it would create a stir in the opposing team. they didn't quite know how to handle me. you see, men's lacrosse is a VERY ROUGH game. completely different from soccer. more like hockey. that's why they wear helmets! 

or maybe it was the uniform my teammates got for me. we had to borrow jerseys from our football team, and i'm not sure who decided that 69 was my number. young men being young men, they thought it was hilarious. i was a bit naive, and was just glad to have a jersey.

so the opposing team weren't sure if they should hit me as hard as the guys, or if they should go easy on me. i think most of them were not as rough with me, thank god! not that i played much. i had field sense, but not great ball handling skills. plus i was scared shitless!

in our last game of the season, the college allowed us to play on our main football field. there was a huge crowd watching all those foxy lacrosse players. it must have been a pretty close game, since they didn't put me in ... until the very last few minutes of the game ... when the crowd started chanting "hil - la - ry! hil - la - ry! hil - la - ry!" so our captain put me in.

i think i touched the ball once in those last minutes and didn't do anything spectacular, but at least didn't flub up.

the crowd roared!

we won!

my favorite moment of that season was the post-game party at "happy valley," the home of the greatest guys on our team. i was one of the boys, but i was also one of the gang, one of the happy people gathered in that backyard.

i remember feeling so much love for those guys, for all of our friends, for those great people. so loved and accepted. so much a part of the group. right in the middle of it. not on the outskirts.

so much love at that gathering. and it wasn't just the beer talking, i swear. maybe it was the mix of sunshine and winning and finishing the season and beer and team spirit and love all mixed in together.

you could ask any of those guys and they'd tell you the same thing. it was magical. to be a part of a group, doing what you love, running around on a field, being with those you love. it doesn't get any better than that.

~~~~~

lessons learned: join groups with people you love. there's so much power in groups of like-minded folks.

+++++

the following year, sheila and i started a women's lacrosse team. much more gentle!

friday night reality check

friday nights can be brutal for us single folks. 

i can see someone at the grocery store on a cell phone, and it looks like he's talking to his mate at home, asking her what she wants him to bring home for dinner ... a picture of domestic bliss.

and then in my head, i go into a whole story about how EVERYONE in the whole world is paired up, like noah's ark, two by two. and i am solo. and i must be somehow defective because i am alone. and i will ALWAYS be alone. no one will EVER love me. and i will NEVER have anyone to love. and on and on into a total headspin. brutal.

and it's not true. not one word of it.

the only things that are true are: i saw a guy on the phone at the grocery store. and i'm alone TONIGHT. 

it's not the easiest thing to NOT believe our own thoughts. they seem so real. but thoughts are thoughts, made up in the mind. they are not reality. reality is that i'm sitting here typing in my office. that's it. 

tonight, friday night, i only went partially down headspin road before i made a quick u-turn. i'm going to snuggle up with daisey and count my blessings: warm home, good food, safe and sound. amen.

on white

for anyone who has been wondering where on earth i have been ... i have been here:

www.patrickprinty.com.

and here: sfgirlbybay.

pat's interior design as seen on california home + design

you see, i want to paint my whole interior white. my insides get all flipfloppy (in a good way) when i see photos of white interiors. LOVE! but there is so much natural wood here ... to paint or not to paint, that is my question.

well, serendipity is upon me. late one night i found the work of interior designer pat printy. he's not afraid AT ALL to paint natural wood white. and he had time to come over for a consult. i am such a lucky girl.

when he came to my house, he said ... paint it all white except for the lodge (my living/dining used to be a hunting lodge) ceiling. that was IT! the answer i'd been looking for. he's totally right. 

anyway, i'm back at it this week. remodeling, that is. just wanted you to know i have not fallen off the edge of the planet. i'm here. working away. pulling my hair out. not remaining calm at all. is there such a thing as zen-remodeling?

but i miss you! and promise, i'll be back as soon as i can. 

mwah!

h

monday memories: mom

yesterday, a stunning eight years ago, my mom went into the light.

some people say that a light went out. and that's true. a force, a life force, a shining light of human existence (even though she was imperfect, human and didn't always act in *lightly* ways). extinguished for all eternity. 

but when someone dies, they also go into the light. the light of eternity.

i see it both ways. we are the light and the light is here all around us. the light IS eternity. we are eternity. 

my mom was many things to many people, just like everyone is.

she was warm and funny, controlling and manipulative, hilarious and generous, bitter and mean. loving. hating. she was just like everyone else. light and dark. but the light is what remains.

i have learned much since my mom's passing. about a year after she died, i wanted to know ... where did she go? i started reading about death. i'm fascinated by it. and not at all afraid. apprehensive perhaps, but not afraid. because i know about the light. (more on that, another time).

there has been much death around me lately ... robbie, and my friend's mom, and many anniversaries of death. i have heard that there are many more deaths around this time of year -- end of december, beginning of january. i have heard it's because the "veil in thinner" at this time of year, the material and spiritual worlds closer. tried researching death statistics. to no avail. anyone?

i don't mean to be morbid. and i don't mean to be insensitive. death is soooooooooo painful for those left behind. believe me, i know.

mom, i miss you. i still want to call you at important times, to tell you all about whatever it is. and after the passing urge to pick up the phone, i remember. you are not here to call. so i "call" you in the way that i can now, speaking to your spirit, feeling you, feeling your love. you never shied away from speaking about your own death. thank you for that. you said, when i die honey, i'll be in the clouds looking down on you.

so i used to talk to mom in the clouds. and when there are no clouds, like at night, i talk to her anyway. i don't need clouds anymore. she is the light, and the light is all around, even when it's dark.

I saw eternity the other night, like a great ring of pure and endless light.

- Henry Vaughan

photoflow: first place ... in listening

in november i entered a local photography contest. it was one of those meant-to-be things ... i only found out about it at the last minute because i went to our town hall requesting a building permit and saw the flyer there. 

at the contest kick-off that very evening, everyone had to pick a category out of a hat. i plucked "age" and was hardly thrilled with my category. something about the big 5 - 0 fast approaching ...  

the very first image that popped into mind was my gentleman neighbor's bald head with short white hairs circling his crown. he must be somewhere between 65 and 75 but won't fess up to his age. i ask, cajole, divulge my age over and over again ... but he's not telling! i find this hysterical. a man. an older man. who won't tell his age! 

i asked my neighbor if he was willing to let me photograph the top of his head. he was game. but i kept putting off the actual shoot. 

so many gremlins in my head, shouting: that's a dumb idea! lame! trite!

i wondered if i could shoot it with my favorite lens these days (my 50mm compact macro), really blow out the background and focus on the little white hairs ... but the gremlins returned in full force: lame! 

ok, i'll think of something else. brainstormed and came up with lists of other options, but none really grabbed me. the week got busy. the deadline fast approaching. then the weather turned and the gray, sunless days thwarted my idea of sunlight backlighting his little white hairs. gremlins: awww, forget about it! just blow it off! it's a stupid idea, anyway! don't waste your time!

on the last evening before the deadline, the sun came out. i braved over to my neighbor's. he was available and willing. we shot. we laughed. he gave me a tour of his home and backyard. got to know him a little better. had fun. 

later that evening i kept procrastinating working on the image. i waited until after 11pm facing a midnight deadline. sat down to process the image. gremlins: it's no good! doesn't work! lame! and on and on.

somehow, i mustered the courage to enter my photo just before midnight. 

and it turns out i won!: first place in the age category. featured in the local newspaper. photo hanging at the community center for a month. and $100 worth of gift certificates. 

i'm sharing this not to toot my own horn. don't get me wrong. winning is always fun. but i've been able to watch myself during this whole experience, and i've been able to see that the gremlins in my head are not my true Self. yet i often listen to them because they are LOUD.

i know that the gremlins are nothing but fear. fear raising its voice. shouting. fear trying to keep my little ego safe.

but that fear is suffocating. that fear is limiting. and i do not want to be acting from that place. i want to act from the place that watches the gremlins. the place that is inspired and creative. the place that is everlasting and unchanging. my true Self. 

i know that fear and emotions come and go, like the weather. i know that incessant, uncreative and unthinking "thoughts" are just that: thoughts. and i don't have to listen to them. 

hey gremlins: YOU'RE THE STUPID ONES!

my first place win is a testament to listening to that first image that popped into my mind's eye. my instinct. my inner self knowing exactly what is to be done. what is right for me. trusting my Self. that still small voice that i am nurturing so it can grow more confident and loud, stronger than the gremlins in my head. 

i proudly accept this first place win in honor of listening to my true Self. 

There are no rules for good photographs, there are only good photographs. 

~Ansel Adams

grounded. and lifted.

as you know, daisey and i were off to utah for thanksgiving. that is, until we weren't. 

all packed up and bundled up (daisey with her new pink sweater and down coat to brave the utah piddle breaks), we settled into one of those fancy black cars to the airport (since daisey isn't allowed on the airporter shuttle bus), well early to accommodate the tuesday-before-thanksgiving holiday crush. gliding up the swooping offramp to SFO, i reached in my wallet to pay the guy, and realized, "i don't have my driver's license!" 

now we all know we need a government-issued photo ID to fly. (i had lost my wallet, and had applied for a new license, but only had the temporary photo-less paper from the DMV). so i made a quick decision ... instead of going into the airport and spending my precious time finding out if they'd let me through security, i asked the driver if he would take us back to my house to get my passport and back again to the airport ... maybe i could still make my flight. he turned the car around and we raced home. i must've told him at least three times, "i know exactly where my passport is." his driving pleased me. he drove as i would have driven. he executed smart lane changes to make the best time possible, and we would still -- maybe -- make the flight.

this kind of thing used to send my adrenaline soaring. and i loved it. adrenaline was my fuel. happened often as a photojournalist. insanely desperately racing to get to an assignment, to a news scene, to a last minute flight ... this time, i was relatively calm, with floods of adrenaline rising through my body, followed by ebbs of the attitude: i'll make it if i make it. 

pulled up and dashed into the house to my trusty filing cabinet to the file marked: BIRTH CERTIFICATE /PASSPORT ... but no current passport (only expired ones). whaaaaat? where IS it? i looked high and low, upstairs downstairs, in all the other files, in my other filing cabinets, the clock ticking. i looked and looked, and 20 minutes into the search, i knew. i wasn't going to make this flight. i was grounded.

for a moment, that other flood rose upward in my system, the surge that brings on tears. i could feel it coming, to right up behind my eyes. i wasn't going to get to go to utah to be with my brother and my sister-in-law and my nephews for thanksgiving. my parents aren't here anymore. i was going to be ALONE for the most important holiday of the year. ALL ALONE. 

and then, as suddenly as the surge started, it diminished, ebbed. no flood here. no tears. ok. i'm not going to utah. i'm staying right here. 

told the driver what happened, paid him for all his good driving and kindness, dragged my bags back into the house, made calls cancelling catsitters, and called my brother. grounded.

the reality set in that i was home -- not in utah -- for this four-day holiday. nothing but time and space. got invited to several thanksgiving dinners. made plans to see friends. all was well.

i had heard for so long from all the great spiritual teachers of our time -- eckhart tolle, byron katie, and my teacher adyashanti -- (and jesus and buddha probably said it, too) that whenever you argue with reality, when you want something other that what is actually happening ... you create your own suffering. if i wanted to be in utah but wasn't in utah, then i would suffer, i would be sad and mad and frustrated. this time, i didn't even have to try to tame my mind. none of those thoughts came, thoughts of being a victim of the circumstances, nor did the self-critical thoughts that usually come, like "how could you be so stupid to let this happen?" i was miraculously ok with being grounded. weird. 

this whole thing is very weird, i thought. i'm usually so organized. i'm not at all flakey. there must be a reason why this is happening ... so i headed up to my meditation room and sat, asking "why am i not going to utah for thanksgiving? what is this all about?" and clearly *got* that it was about aloneness. 

this aloneness thing has been a real bugaboo for me. makes me incredibly sad and makes me anxious. and at times, i'll do anything to not feel that aloneness. eat too much. go to the movies in a tizzy. work till all hours of the night. just to not feel alone and lonely. my therapist says that everyone feels alone, even people in happy, stable relationships for 50 years. so it's not just about being single and living alone. huh?

wednesday i got up and went to meditate straight away. this is the best way for me to start the day, to meditate before my mind gets distracted by everything else. but i admit it happens rarely. i often get distracted the moment i open my eyes.

so. i meditated. and asked the Universe (or God, Spirit, Truth, Life, Higher Power, Christ, Buddha, Allah, Whatever-you-want-to-call-it) two things. the first thing i can't remember. the second thing i asked was: "please show me what it is i need to learn or see about aloneness." i have learned to just put the question out there, and wait for a response. so finished up. then yoga. then hopped in the car and pulled out heading to a nearby trailhead for a run. but i wasn't paying attention and hit the car parked across the street from my driveway. 

now one might think i'd really lose it here. i thought i'd lose it. this is the kind of thing that usually really spins me out, and makes that critical voice inside my head into a monster. the flood of adrenaline/crying/criticism started to rise, then just stopped, ebbed back to calm. go inside, write a note, leave it on the dashboard, and drive to the trailhead. which is exactly what i did. no drama. i hit a car. all is well. all will be repaired. that's what insurance is for. calm. 

whaaaaaat? no drama? NO CREATING MY OWN SUFFERING? ... no. i didn't even have to try. didn't have to wrangle my monkey mind. peace just came. 

the day started out perfectly with meditation/yoga/run and just sailed on all day. the car owner came to the door later, we exchanged information, she was completely chill. no drama. the whole thing was kind of surreal. 

i was a little concerned about the wednesday evening before the thanksgiving holiday. it's like a friday night on steroids. A VERY IMPORTANT EVE. and i'm often a mess on friday nights. everyone racing home to their loved ones to go have a super duper duper fun weekend. and i'm often alone. so i was trying to be careful about how i was going to spend my thanksgiving eve. 

i had planned on taking take daisey to sausalito in the late afternoon. but i waffled, didn't seem like the right place to go. couldn't make up my mind. what about muir beach? what about tiburon? what about the dog park? i actually sat down on my bathroom floor and shut my eyes, trying to get where it was we were to go, where was the right place to go? (i've been trying to live more by intuition lately, and it works when i can hear it). finally i got we were going to tiburon, and off we went. 

the waterfront in tiburon is daisey's favorite. she can romp off-leash on the lush grass with all the other little doggies. and it's beautiful for me, too, looking out over the bay towards angel island, the golden gate bridge and san francisco beyond. and it's oh so familiar, having grown up in belvedere-tiburon. 

but i had some trepidation. worried i'd be upset seeing all the families together.

it was a magnificent afternoon, clear and crisp. daisey romped. shortly along the path, i saw up ahead a big family coming toward me. multiple generations, all strolling together in a pack. a small flood rose in me, then ebbed. i saw an older gentleman in a wheelchair being pushed by his strapping grandson. more women, men and children, chitterchattering away. but when i looked in the eyes of that older gentleman, who didn't look particularly lonely, something in his eyes told me he felt alone. 

a flash of insight struck me: we are all alone. each and every one of us. no matter what our outer circumstances. no matter if we have people all around us or not. we are born alone and we die alone. and that being alone is painful and that we all carry that pain. it is part of the human condition, and thus connects us all, making us all the same. all-one. alone. and yet truly connected. 

this realization gave me deep compassion and LOVE for that gentleman. and for myself, and for that whole chitterchattering family. and for everyone who came along my path that afternoon. and for my family in utah. and for everyone i know all over the world. and for everyone, for all people, everywhere. PURE LOVE.

i walked, daisey trotted and sniffed, we chatted with folks, got a latté. all was well. 

i spent my weekend among friends ... eating, celebrating, hiking, drinking, sharing. made plans to see my brother and family here after christmas. and just relaxed.

grounded. and lifted. beyond my wildest dreams. so so thankful.

i was also reminded that i am not alone at all. if the Universe answers me that quickly and clearly, then i am never alone, because the Universe is so magically and mysteriously there, always.

PS - i still can't remember the first question i asked the Universe, but i know the answer was my hitting that car. i guess i have to ask the question again. i just hope i'm paying more attention next time! 

photoflow: smize of the soul

so in last week's photoflow, i wrote about portraiture and included my friends who are really open to having their pictures taken. 

on that subject, my beautiful friend (since college) laura falls into the not-so-much category. she's always been a reluctant model and photo subject. 

but i want to share a photo shoot with laura that may have changed all that. we worked it! and came away with some great pictures. but it took some time. 

here's when i first approached laura with my camera. granted she was naked in the hot tub. "oh my god, you are not going to take my picture!":

i talked her into letting me photograph her. "we'll get a great picture, you'll see." but she was not convinced:

and here she is with what most people do in front of a camera, the cheesey smile:

but i wasn't stopping there. 

i was going for the tyra banks “smize” (smile with the eyes) and beyond. tyra coined the phrase on her show “america’s next top model.” i love that show. not for the in-house dramas between the girls. but for the stunning photography by the world's top fashion photographers. and for tyra’s mastery of finding and drawing out each girl’s quirks. tyra helps each girl embrace and reveal her own uniqueness. very empowering.

so i coached laura. and here she is becoming conscious of her face and her eyes and trying to control them. not so great:

i asked laura to open up her eyes more. not working:

then i told her not only to smile with her eyes, but to also open her heart. "remove the armor covering your soul." we were getting somewhere:

then we lost it again. self-consiousness returned. after the openness, she felt too vulnerable, and laughed:

trying to return to openness, but still armored:

come on laura. stay open. not just in the eyes. in the heart. in the soul. let your soul shine through. and boom:

and boom. right there, all of her. completely open:

and boom:

she did it. she not only smiled with her eyes. she smiled with her soul. a gentle smile. an open smile. 

it takes a lot of trust to be able to be this open. to lay down the shield protecting our innermost vulnerable place. when a model or photo subject opens in this way, it makes for great photographs because it touches the viewer in that same place inside of her. 

and it makes for great connection between people, in our day-to-day lives being with people, no camera in sight. open hearts meeting open hearts. soul to soul connection. i'm a human being, vulnerable just like you. try it with your loved ones. try it with the checkout person at the grocery store. open. open. open. saying inwardly "i see you. and i'm letting you see me." 

When you photograph people in colour you photograph their clothes.  But when you photograph people in B&W, you photograph their souls! 

~Ted Grant

~~~~~

when i spoke to laura yesterday about this blog post, reminding her of the photo shoot in the hot tub, she said ... "i trust you. just remember my dad will be seeing it!" 

and here's laura 30 years ago in college, on a backpacking trip in oregon, beautiful then and now:

monday memories / RTW trip: in to africa

while i have my around-the-world photos out from their usual home in the garage, i think i’ll continue telling some more stories from that adventure. after the last post about india ...

**note: most of these photos were scanned from contact sheets, thus the low quality.

we flew to nairobi, our luggage arriving splayed open on the conveyor belts, along with many other bags arriving in similar shape. curt was missing a few items, but we were glad to see our bags. many fellow travellers' bags didn't arrive at all. an airport luggage worker, either in bombay or nairobi, jimmied open the zippers on our bags and rummaged around. both places are filled with desperate people. still, we have a feeling it happened in nairobi ... 

curt and ngugi

we were there visiting curt's friend ngugi in ngong (pronounced "gogi" and "gong") outside nairobi. ngugi lived in curt's neighborhood in portland from age 10 to age 20, and they grew up playing together. at 20, ngugi had an apartment, a car, a job, a girlfriend, a bank account, and was going to college. he decided to make a trip back to kenya to visit his dying father. had all the necessary visas and paperwork. he took two suitcases, one with his clothes, and one filled with gifts for his family. at the end of his visit, he went to the airport all ready to head back to portland, and was denied transit. as in, the airport officials denied his visa, which had been fine a month prior when he had departed portland. ngugi later learned that while he was overseas, president reagan had changed the law. ngugi was not allowed to return to the US.

ngong

what? curt's family and all the neighbors worked on ngugi's behalf to help him return to portland, to his LIFE. but they were unsuccessful. and unable to send his things. ngugi had one suitcase to his name. 

with nowhere else to go, ngugi first built himself a mud hut in a shanty town. then eventually he married, moved in to a compound and had two beautiful children. ironically, he worked sporadically as a photographer of passport pictures. 10 years later, he was still bitter about how he was treated by the united states government. yeah, i get it. 

ngong

curt and i stayed with ngugi, his wife mama-ciku (once a kenyan woman has a child, she takes the name of her first born preceded by "mama") and their children ciku and jack in their two-room home for a few days until we were able to find lodging. we rented an unfurnished house -- a mansion compared to ngugi's place -- with an eastern (aka: squat), but porcelain and flushing, toilet. at ngugi's place, the shared toilet facilities were not porcelain, not flushing, and ...  how can i say it ...  the worst i've encountered ... anywhere, ever.

ciku (left) and jack and neighbor (right)

our house was clean and simple. we borrowed a single bed and a propane burner, and lived there for two months. but we only had running water for the first few days. from then on, we had to join in the queues of people with our five-gallon buckets. we had to boil our water for drinking, we used one-liter bottles for bathing and for flushing the toilet. 

mama-ciku and neighbor girl

we did take ngugi's family on a low-budget/high-adventure safari (the post which started this whole series of our trip around the world).

and we did visit ngugi's family farm one weekend. they even killed a goat in our honor (i was a vegetarian at the time. horrible.)

ciku and jack on family farm

and curt and ngugi got to spend a lot of time together. they had 10 years to catch up on. but two months was a long time for me. ngong was a poor african town with not much happening, no opportunity for the locals, people having to walk far for water. lots of people hanging around not working because there just wasn't any work. it was depressing, hopeless.

one night we visited ngugi's brother who was living in his old mud hut in the shanty town. we were drinking beer. two local policemen paid us a visit, and from what i could gather, demanded beer. they stayed and drank it, loosened their uniforms, disheveled. they had guns. it was very scary.

i also made a collage out of newspaper stories and headlines while i was there. horrific stories about people hacking each other up with machetes. police raping women with coke bottles. astounding brutality. 

mombasa

we also visited mombasa on the ocean. curt got really, really sick. more sick than when we were stranded in that nepali village. 

i literally just found my travel journal out in the garage. here's an excerpt from that time:

mombasa was a bust, we are nonplussed and both got bacterial dysentary. curt was so sick and with such a high fever (i'm glad we had no thermometer!) and chills, i thought he might even have malaria. but after several hours of his suffering and my nursing, his fever broke. he was still not well enough to take the bus back to nairobi, so i exchanged our tickets for tomorrow and got more medicine from the nice indian pharmacist. 

mombasa

and i have to say, africa -- or maybe it was just travelling in general -- was taking its toll on me. 

the morning we were going to the family farm, curt and i took our usual path to ngugi's, but the monsoons had started and it was pouring. i stepped in mud down to my ankles and basically had a meltdown. we got to ngugi's and i wouldn't stop crying. the children were concerned. curt laughed at me. i was not a happy camper. it was kind of funny that a little mud would warrant such an explosive reaction, but i just had had it up to here (karate chop in the air over my head).  

view of ngong hills from the karen blixen museum

to escape our heartbreaking surroundings, we snuck away -- somewhat guiltily -- and rode the insanely dangerous matatou (minibus) from ngong halfway to nairobi ... to karen. ah, karen. karen was the wealthy suburb where many europeans had plantations and farms. karen blixen (also known as isak dinesan, "out of africa"author) had her farm there, which had become a museum and which i visited often. and there was a great restaurant with a safe salad bar, candlelight and cold beer! curt tried game meats. i soaked up the sparkling clean ambiance. heaven.

another journal entry:

curt and i really do get along well, we have had nothing but time on our hands and have managed to keep ourselves and each other entertained -- thank god we both like gin rummy. he really is a pleasure to live with ... 

exotic plant at karen blixen museum

i'm embarrassed to say that i needed to get away to karen. but i really did. i just did. it was peaceful, subdued, beautiful. 

in spite of the hardships, in spite of my heart breaking over and over witnessing so much hopelessness, i did find beauty in the landscapes, the majestic animals, and the courageous people who live and laugh, day in and day out, with such rawness of LIFE. and what a treasure for curt and ngugi to have had that time together.

~~~~~

lessons learned: important friendships are worth any hardship. 

+++++

while we were travelling, we didn't really have any extra money or things we could give to ngugi and his family. but when we got home, it felt good to send ngugi some extra camera gear i had. and curt still sends money. 

in kenya, i became a huge karen blixen fan. read her "letters from africa, 1914-1931." when i returned home, i found this wonderful book "longing for darkness: kamante's tales from out of africa" by photographer peter beard. he collected stories and drawings by blixen's servant kamante, the hero in blixen's "out of africa."

portrait of kamante in the karen blixen museum

photoflow: here. i. am.

i have a few girlfriends whom i've photographed for a long time, since our college days. one in particular, meg, has always welcomed my camera. the others, not so much. 

with meg, it was never a case of "i am so beautiful. take a picture of ME!" not that she isn't beautiful. no, it was more of a matter of self acceptance (i yam what i yam), and a (quite rare) willingness to be seen. with or without preparation. no fussing, no "just let me put my makeup on." none of that. just, you want to take my picture? sure. here i am.

and i have a newer friend who is equally comfortable in front of the camera. terri. she, too, is always ready for a shoot. no nos. always YES! here i am!

as a photographer, i appreciate SO MUCH this willingness in people to be photographed. it just makes the photography easier, better, more free.

and more importantly, people's energy of openness feels good to be around, making those around them more open and free, too. open energy begets open energy.

but i completely understand not wanting to be photographed. i've been that way! but i am realizing that it's much more than a surface-thing of not wanting to be photographed. it's so much deeper than that.

so this week in my unravelling e-course, our assignment was to photograph ourselves. the (dreaded) SELF-PORTRAIT. 

self acceptance. willingness to be seen. ok. yes. breathe. letting myself just be. i want that for others, and i want that for myself. to love others just as they are. to love myself just as i am. in photography and in life.

so in that spirit ... here. i. am.

It's weird that photographers spend years or even a whole lifetime, trying to capture moments that added together, don't even amount to a couple of hours. 

~James Lalropui Keivom

monday memories / RTW trip: desperately seeking india

while i have my around-the-world photos out from their usual home in the garage, i think i’ll continue telling some more stories from that adventure. after the last post about nepal ... 

we flew from kathmandu to varanasi, india on feb 6. when planning our trip, india was the only place i was afraid to go. i was afraid i would be surrounded by hordes of desperate, destitute people pulling on my sleeves with outstretched hands, breaking my heart. it all happened, and more.

varanasi. holy holy. on the banks of the holy ganges river. regarded as a holy city by buddhists and jains, and the holiest place in the world by hindus (considered to be the center of earth in hindu cosmology). one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world and probably the oldest of india. one of the most important pilgrimage destinations in india. you get it. OLD. HOLY.

we stayed in the heart of the old city, wanted to be in the midst of it all. thought we could handle anything after shockingly dirty, poor, mysterious kathmandu. yet varanasi was so overwhelming. all systems on overload. 

nearby were the ghats, the steps leading down to the ganges river ...  over 100 of them. some are bathing ghats, some cremation sites.  (hindus believe bathing in the ganges remits sins and that dying here ensures release of their souls.) ancient narrow labyrinth streets. teeming with people from all over india to celebrate their most important life events: to be born, get married, die, give alms. temples galore. monkeys, dogs, cows. silk merchants. maimed beggars lining the alleys to the ghats. (the best place to beg, people give for good karma.) sheer  bedlam. we witnessed it all. child wedding processions. bodies on carts being pushed by their families, going to die. burning pyres. so much assaulting the senses, we could only manage to leave our room for a couple hours at a time.

and then there was the boat ride on the ganges. with three men. lovely. until. one of the men dared to touch me where i didn’t want to be touched. i screamed at them to take us back. (this was not the only time i was touched by indian men. when asking the time, they’d brush my breasts with their arm. or, i don’t know. they did it seeming to do it by accident. but i later learned, it wasn’t by accident at all.)

after a few days, we fled to dehli. to see the taj mahal in nearby agra. we planned our day-long excursion so we could take the first class train to agra. but our taxi didn’t arrive on time. i will never forget the harrowing scenes in the pre-dawn shadows outside the train station: row after row of people sleeping on cardboard on the side of the road, hundreds if not thousands of them. by the time we got to the station, the only train we could get was second class. and my worst nightmare came true: standing room only. legless, maimed, scarred, destitute beggars – some of them children -- scooting through the car the entire two hour journey, pleading at us, tugging our sleeves, with desperate eyes. we were the only tourists dumb enough to take the second class train. and we knew if we gave anything to even one person, we’d be instantly mobbed by hordes. there was nowhere to hide.

on the train, someone told us princess diana was scheduled to be at the taj mahal that day.

disembarking the traumatic train ride, we were instantly encircled by taxi men, each wanting desperately to drive us to the taj mahal. desperation driven by survival in a land of too many people and too few resources. curt and i got separated into two throngs, each of us surrounded by pressing, pushing -- and in my case, touching -- men.

we finally extricated ourselves into a taxi with one man driving, the other guy facing backward pleading with us the entire ride to hire them as tour guides for the rest of the day for $20. we said no. they kept pleading.

we arrived at the taj mahal ... tense, frazzled, heartbroken. buying our tickets at the entrance, we learned the whole taj mahal complex would be closing in 20 minutes so that lady di could have a private viewing. 20 minutes!

curt and i were miserable, arguing, blaming each other for this nightmare of a day (and when i think that millions of people LIVE like this. my heart breaks just thinking of it). we didn’t even want to walk together. at one of the most magnificent sites on earth! built in the 1600s by a mughal in memory of his third wife, the grandest gesture of love in the whole wide world. and my love and i, we despised each other in that moment. and then, just like that, we and all the other tourists were escorted out. doors closed. thud.

nothing to do but take a walk, regroup, have lunch. curt and i reconnected. relaxed. let the tensions of the morning float away in the afternoon breeze. we returned to the great taj mahal at sunset, lady di long gone. and had the most magical, love-filled time amid the stunning architecture, details and light.

hopped the fine first class train back to dehli. took a midnight flight to bombay and promptly checked ourselves into the most luxurious hotel in the city: the taj mahal palace. broke the budget at $200/night. put it on the emergency credit card. we were now the desperate ones, in dire need of peace, calm, safety, cleanliness. (this was the one and only time we stayed in a fancy hotel on the whole trip). were going to spend only one night but couldn’t bear to leave. to leave the fluffy duvet. the spacious clean room. the luxurious bathroom! the heavy white bathrobes. THE SALAD BAR! (we hadn’t had a salad in months – my favorite food -- can’t eat salad when traveling to these places, it’s washed in local water). we didn’t leave the hotel for two days.

our spending spree came promptly to an end. sadly and with trepidation, we stowed most of our luggage at the hotel, including both of my cameras. we were heading from the ultimate in luxury to the most primitive of accommodations, on a recommendation from a fellow traveller. talk about how flexible the human spirit can be!

 

in the early morning hours, we embarked on a mind-numbing, 24-hr bus ride. departing the city, overlooking shanty towns for as far as i could see, men squatted by the side of the road for miles, pants down, little tin cans of water for washing beside them. (apparently, indian women go discreetly in the darkness before light.) we indian bus novices were seated right under the speaker blaring jarring indian music the entire 24 hours. it took us a few stops to figure out the bathroom/chai breaks. everyone disappeared so quickly into the roadside (indian version of a truckstop) chaos. i couldn’t find the bathroom our first two stops. the third stop, in desperation, i decided be one of the first off and follow the women to the “bathroom”. oh dear. it was really just a squatting place, kind of in an alley by the side of the building, no real facilities. about as disgusting as it gets.

we arrived in diu, a fascinating melange of india and portugese influence. we had been told to find the albino lassi man. that was all we knew. but the lassi man (lassi: that yummy drink of mango and yogurt, the indian version of a milkshake) wasn’t there. we waited in the little town square in the heat of the day for hours. as people started coming out from siesta, so, too, did the lassi man! we paid him our fee of 15 rupees (25c per person per day) for the week for a hut, a “mattress” and our cooking gear. and he pointed the way to hut number 8.

the huts rented to budget travellers sat on a bluff outside a peaceful little fishing village. all the men were away fishing. the women, children and old folks remained. what a treat to witness village life up close. our mud hut was cosy and dirty, but fun! we could use the running water in the village to wash, but it only came on sometimes. after a few days, we finally figured out it came on for a brief time with a generator pump which we could hear from our hut. so when it came on, i hurried over to the village to wash my hair.

as the mornings warmed, the biting flies woke up, too, forcing us to leave our hut by 8:30am each day. we went to the beach. in the evenings the village women and children would come around to sell us food. as i got to know some of them, one day i mustered up the courage to walk through the center of the village. there was even an englishman living in this village, an artist. it was all so dirty, so poor, so basic. but the people were lovely and warm, shy but friendly.

we had ventured from the village into the larger town one day, and the place was spectacular with run-down beauty. but i hadn’t brought my cameras! so on our last day, desperate to make pictures, i borrowed a camera from one of the other travellers in a neighboring hut. i think i gave him my passport as collateral. still, i can’t believe he lent me his camera, what trust. wow. the comraderie among travellers is astounding. there’s a sense that we’re all together in this travelling way of life, separate from the locals but joined by our journeying.

that day, i found the picture making to be the absolute best on the entire RTW trip! with borrowed camera, humbled.

after diu, we made our way to bombay to fly onward to nairobi. in the bombay airport while waiting for our flight, i watched a young western guy dressed in white indian kurta wandering around aimlessly, alone, muttering to himself. after watching him for awhile, i approached him to see if i could help. he was completely stoned on something. something strong. heroin maybe? he wanted to get home to england. he didn’t know where he was.  he couldn’t find his ticket or a passport, if he even had them. i tried to find an airport official who could help this man. but it was time for us to catch our flight. and we left. leaving behind so much desperation. and so much richness. so much life.

~~~~~ 

lessons learned: don’t sit under the speaker on indian buses. don’t leave my camera behind, ever! see the inner human beings behind their desperate circumstances.

+++++

ps – i’ve returned to india twice, both times spent in the peace of ashrams. i will return.

pps – favorite indian movies: slumdog millionaire, water, monsoon wedding, lagaan. favorite book about india: shantaram.

five things deliciously creepy

when i moved in to my house over 10 years ago in mid-october, many neighbors stopped by to warn be to BE PREPARED for halloween. get LOTS of candy. TONS of trick-or-treaters will come! 

and it's true. this is a crazy-for-halloween neighborhood. since mill valley is quite hilly, the "hill people" come down to the flat neighborhoods for easier door-to-door access (ie - more candy!). and many folks from other towns come here, too, for the safe environment. walnut street, just a few doors away, is the epicenter for the younger children who stock up on treats while the parents are often offered a wet treat, if you know what i mean. and sycamore, just a block away, is for the older kids -- dark and scary under all the giant sycamore trees. later in the evening, the teenagers gather at the nearby 7-11, with cop cars circling to make sure it doesn't get out of hand. 

halloween is really the only night of the year when the younger generation RULES! as in, the rules go out the window. this one night is for the young. electrifying. perilous. wild. can you feel it?

1. halloween celebrations around the world

2. scary samhain to you

3. eat, drink and be scary: free download!

4. doggies like to wear costumes, too

5. free halloween music

monday memories / RTW trip: hugging hills and yaks

while i have my around-the-world photos out from their usual home in the garage, i think i’ll continue telling some more stories from that adventure. after the last post about thailand ...

flying into kathmandu from bangkok was like entering a completely different planet. (and we hadn't even gotten to india yet ... i know i keep saying that. india is a different universe altogether!) kathmandu in january: misty, dark, mysterious, ancient, impoverished, damp. we had to spend about a week gaining our bearings, figuring out which trek to do, getting all the necessary official papers and permits, paying fees, gathering gear. 

before our RTW (round the world) departure, curt and i had set up a very loose itinerary which we gave to our friends and family, including the american express offices in each country we were to visit. back in the days before email and cell phones, amex offered locations for mail and packages to be held for travellers. so out in kathmandu one day, searching for the office, i spied a young western traveller coming toward me on the sidewalk. i stopped her and asked her if she knew where the american express office was located. she pointed me in the right direction, and we went our separate ways, not knowing that moment began a long and deep friendship. 

a few days later, karin was on the bus to pokhara with us along with her bf chris, another young couple from canada, and a load of nepali people. the six of us became instant friends, all on the same adventure: trekking the 21-day annapurna circuit. but first, we had to survive the treacherous eight-hour, gut-wrenching, brain-jostling bus ride. the road from kathmandu (capital city) to pokhara (second city) was virtually the only road in nepal, and much of it wasn't paved. our bus looked like it had been through a war, but many didn't make it, evidenced by rusted busted bus parts strewn down the mountain cliffs. harrowing. but we survived. 

one night in the idyllic, lakeside village of pokhara (where i left my whole fanny pack -- wallet and passport inside -- at a store, and later retrieved it from a gentle woman who would have had a year's worth of income had she stolen my cash) and we started our trek.  

fortunately we were young, strong and fit. even so, our six-some dwindled to a four-some just a few days in ... canadian christine suffered terrible headaches, nausea and sleeplessness due to altitude. her system just couldn't acclimate, so they had to turn around. you can't mess with mother nature, especially around the highest peaks on earth. karin, chris, curt and i heaved onward and upward. 

elevation in METERS, not feet!the annapurna circuit was and still is the most popular trekking route in nepal. easy to navigate without a guide(though i would get one now, to learn more about the culture), from tea lodge to tea lodge, each equipped with shared bunk rooms, filtered water, people from all over the world, decent food (even "beritos" and "vejjie bergers" -- though curt consistently chose the local daal bhat 3x/day). and yet, we were alone on the trail most of the time. the scenery varied from lush terraced fields -- lemon trees, almost tropical -- to monkeys swinging through forests, to barren hillsides and mountains, to bleak desolate villages, to the ultimate peaks reaching the heavens. 

these paths and trails we walked on every day were the "freeways" of the nepali. they had to carry everything they needed in their villages on their backs, usually with a tump line strapped around their foreheads. crates of eggs, canned goods, coke bottles!, firewood, etc etc etc. and usually, the locals were barefoot. or in the simplest footwear. the calf muscles on these folks! you could tell the professional sherpas -- they sported expensive hiking boots. 

we learned early on, "hug the hill" (not me-hill, the mountain-hill). on one particularly treacherous 5-foot-wide trail along a rock face, along came a yak train which i mistakenly got on the outside of (as in, NOT hugging the hill), staring down a 200-foot sheer drop. adrenaline surging, i had to hug the yaks to stay on the trail. even though they are huge/scary/smelly creatures, they were less scary than my other choice. hug the hill, definitely. but when in doubt, hug a yak! (i did not make that mistake again. when i saw a yak train coming our way, i just found a safe place to pull over, hug the hill and wait for the beasts to pass.)

only wealthy nepali can afford to ride horseback to their marriage ceremony 

i didn't know a lick about nepali/buddhist/tibetan culture or religion. chris did, though, and kept us well informed, and he's good with maps, too. so many hours to talk while we walked. (such a blessing to have so much TIME to just be with people). but my interest in spirituality of all kinds and the religions of the world has grown since then. had i known then what i know now, i would have been spinning these prayer wheels at every opportunity!

curt is very strong (he carried a huge backpack so i could carry only a daypack), but has a weak tummy. he got sick pretty much in every country. this time, it was bad. the daal bhat eventually got to him. or maybe some unclean water. on about day 6 he was in a bad, bad way. so sick that while entering a village late in the afternoon, he didn't even manage to get off the main trail and dropped trou, as in, had diarrhea right then and there, on the trail. kinda like shitting on someone's front steps. we stayed in that village for three nights while curt lay in bed moaning and groaning and felt like he was going to die. i was sad to see them go, but karin and chris trekked on. i nursed curt in a little ramshackle dark, dusty room. we didn't have much in the way of medications, so we just had to wait it out. and waited. and waited. 

but he came back to strength. we hiked along the spectacular kaligandaki gorge where a dog found and followed us for three days (helping curt? he missed his dog so. perhaps this furry friend bolstered him.) we made it all the way up to the desolate, eerie muktinath, finding our stride. we missed our friends karin and chris who were ahead of us on the trail. we loved having them as hiking partners, and wanted to catch up. 

we kept up a good clip, walked long days. we thought we could make it to tatopani, the next village on the map, where we might find our friends. darkness came and we kept walking (not smart). we reeeeeaaaaallllly wanted to get there. curt's feet were bleeding. i don't remember but i'm sure mine were aching, too. we arrived in tatopani, found the tea lodge and entered the open-air dining room to gasps and applause. karin and chris were there, they knew how fast we must've walked to catch up to them, and they spread the news to the other travellers. we recieved a standing ovation by all! celebrated well and rested the next day. 

rest and laundry day, with karin

a few more days walking and we made it back to pokhara. where we both got sick. really sick. as in, all orifices exploding at once (vomit and diarrhea, the combo pack). fortunately, we had a private bath with western toilet. thank god! (and thank god i was the one with the camera, no photos of sick hilly here!)

 back in kathmandu, we enjoyed ourselves. lattes and pastries at the pumpernickel cafe ... 

 curt got a shave which he still talks about to this day ... 

we felt like heroes, having survived our own trek!

little did we know what was in store for us in india ... 

~~~~~

lessons learned: always hug the hills! stay alert,  for the next person you meet may just become a dear friend. 

+++++ 

postscript: karin and i are still friends, 20 years later. we still joke to each other "do you know where the american express office is?" she's super crafty and taught me how to make greeting cards, planting the seed that was to become eyechai. now she's busy with bigger things ... she and chris got married and just had a baby boy! but their little guy hasn't dampened their wanderlust ... they've taken him camping in botswana, namibia, iceland, and nevada!

anxiety girl

so what started as a minor job replacing a few old drafty and leaky windows is possibly becoming a big kitchen remodel. and maybe converting part of the garage into an art studio. and changing all the little things that bug me around here. and anxiety girl is coming out to play! 

i know, i know. i am fortunate to even be able to consider this kind of financial monster.

but that's just it. monster. my anxiety monster. she really can make me crazy if i'm not careful!

windows. moulding. wiring.

back in my 20s and 30s, i just thought i had an inordinate amount of energy. everyone thought i was superwoman. heck, i thought i was superwoman! i. did. a. lot. big things. triathlons. competitive sports. high adrenaline climbing up huge rocks and jumping into rivers. moving across the country to a new job not knowing a soul. running toward wildfires with my camera when everyone else was running away. that kind of thing. and i never could tolerate caffeine. it just makes me want to crawl out of my skin. and i thought i just had inner "energy."

but i now realize that it's called ANXIETY. and mine gets triggered quite easily. maybe something to do with early trauma. so my nervous system gets revved. and i have to work to calm myself down.

paint colors. doorknobs. light switches.

over the past few years, i've learned a few tricks: taking a bath. yoga. running. holding a pillow. lying down beneath heavy blankets. rubbing my legs and ankles in a downward motion, or rocking my feet from toe to heel on the floor. anything to ground the energy. and get back in my body instead of up in my head. 

countertop. gas or electric. hinges. 

this could be fun. creating lovely spaces. just how i want them. and spaces affect how i live. Life!

so i'm working with my anxiety girl a lot right now. 

and if you have any great anti-anxiety tips (except drugs), i'm all ears. 

because instead of feeling like a bunch of crossed wires in a dark sky, i'd like to feel like a bird flying through the air. clear and free. 

breathe ...