Uploading My Life

Uploading photographs on a slow Internet connection is kind of what it feels like to be in my head right now. I have tried to wrap my hands around the life that I have been living the past year. Kind of like the way a piece of seaweed clutches to sticky rice. The rice being the experience and the seaweed my hands..... the experience isn't sticky enough for my hands to grasp, nothing has settled, and so everything just kind of hangs there, uncomfortable with the obvious.

I now sit in a small, white, rocking chair out on open marsh land in St. Michael's, Maryland. The Chesapeake Bay stretches across the horizon, my lap top stretches across my exposed thighs. Fireflies latch on to my obnoxiously bright screen and little itchy red bites forming around my ankles due to the beloved mosquito. I upload my photographs like I upload my thoughts and every now and then the connection shows four bars instead of one, and then all is lost. My reality is all jumbled up in a field of wild flowers. It smells beautiful, it looks beautiful and it is beautiful, but by the gift of chance.

This is my life. The photographs posted happen to be part of it and the only thing I can share with you during my one bar time.

Same Same BUT Different

I hate to say it but I A. don't have their names and B. I can't tell if the computer made these photographs too dark or I did. Either way, will modify them when I can.

At the very beginning of my trip I noticed, and wrote an earlier post about it, my lack of motivation to photograph the people that covered the streets of Nepal. The lack of motivation wasn't actually due to physical stamina, although I wish it had been, but by the overwhelming guilt that I had for the richness of my life AND the severe poverty that lingered around every corner and crack that I came across.

In those around me, I was painted with an air of wealth and instead of my usual roaming eyes, they stayed secure to the ground in front of me. Roaring with sadness and helplessness I turned off my camera and hid it in a bag in my hotel room. For over a month both camera and heart remained in hiding. Partially due to malfunction, the obvious of what happens to a camera when it sits in rainwater for a night in a leaky tent and partially due to the hardness that took over and the walls that I built in order to keep my tears under control.

No matter where I stepped or what road I traveled down, my pant legs and arms were tugged at by little hands covered in dust and sticky with sweat and fruit juice. They roamed the streets eager to find a foreigner with some extra rupees tucked deep in their pockets. I was once convinced of buying a tattered book after I had stupidly asked to take a look at it while my cab driver sat in traffic. A book that turned out to be fairly interesting but seemed to be lacking pages 130-172 and then consistently being out of order there after. By the way, I highly recommend bypassing buying books from kids selling them in the middle of street lanes, during rush hour traffic in Delhi. While I got accustomed to over tipping rickshaw drivers and buying extra bananas at the local veggie stand so that I could hand them out on my way home, I never could get accustomed to my lack of eagerness to sit beside these people and learn of their stories. And no matter how many times I walked passed the same person on the street to say namaste or give away some food, I never quite got the courage to take their photograph.


Present Day.

The same three smiling men walk or hobble up and down one main street in Dharamsala, India. I walk by them daily in my mad dash to my Thangka painting class. The first few times I smiled, my hands to my heart, bowed, and not out of character, kept my eyes to the ground. The next few times I would walk by them afraid to dig through my change providing either too little or too much of what I had. The other night I knew I had a bill of 500, ran into one of them, told them that I would find them tomorrow, then felt guilty and ran to the nearest store to grab some smaller bills and chased him down.

Today I took a seat next to two of them, names of which I will have to add later, my Hindi isn't the best and I say that with a smirk. There were onlookers and those who didn't notice, but we slowly began talking a bit about their conditions. One, a man who loves to talk to you in Hindi even though he knows I don't have much concept of what he is saying, I can read his gestures. In his broken English he told me he has a little boy of six years who attends school and is looked after by his mother. His hands have been filed away to near stubs as his feet showed the same condition. Leprosy is his genetic curse, a disease that often casts one out of society and leaves them fending for themselves in the street. It's been 11 long years.

The other man had to have his leg removed when he was 24 years old. He was hit by a truck and a very old prosthetic hitches on to the very top of his left thigh baring the little he has left. He is 39 years old. The third, of who I have yet to get his full story from, I find out, had polio at a young age. Bow legged and large square blocks as feet, he moves unsteadily on his crutches. A tin can is always clutched in one hand along with a beautiful crooked, toothless smile. Unable to open or carry an umbrella when the monsoon rains fall, he moves quietly drenched in downpour. He is the one that moves me the most. Hearing their stories I nod in apology as If I had something to do with their misfortunes and then we all nod together in understanding. Such is life.

Feeling like I had just made some friends I asked to photograph them, explaining that I write about my travels and the people I encounter and that I would like to write about them. I told them that once it was up on the computer I would take them into a Internet cafe and show them the "article". Which I still plan to do. The photographs are haunting and graceful. Full of laughter, sorrow and sometimes awkwardness of the camera that seeks to capture something no words or image could capture. (I provided you with a few, there are more in my care which I may or may not share with you.)

I do not have missing limbs and do not need to beg for money on the street, but there is a saying here in this part of the world. "Same same. But different." We are all the same experiencing this life but no doubt in different ways. We have ups and downs, joys and sorrows, mothers and fathers who are still with us or who have passed on. Children in school, brothers and sisters in different towns or on different continents.

If one looked at some of the photographs of these men they would see two ragged beings, mangled limbs and begging for a better way of life. But if one would just look a bit longer, a bit deeper, they would see a story of two beings that are very much like everyone else. We all have a history, a story that goes along with the life that is present. I no longer see poverty and mutation as sad or even hard to look at. These men have made me see the absolute beauty even in all of their pain. They smile with each other OFTEN. They collect money for their families, for their children's education and more food on their plates. And while I once thought that I could never even begin to make a difference within the lives over here, my eagerness to ask them questions and to sit with them, to not just throw them some change but to engage with them, has made all the difference in the world. They have a story to tell and few who will listen. I was able to provide an outlet for that.

Nearing to the end of my trip my walls no longer hang too high. My camera and I have reunited and my sadness doesn't take me by surprise like it once had. I have learned to fight my way around the traffic of cars that crowd the narrow streets, banging on the side to let the driver know I am passing them. I no longer jump when a jeep or bus horn blasts in the back of my head, but move quickly and unfazed out of the way. My eyes no longer search for something more pleasant to keep it's gaze but more often find their way into the soft and kind eyes that sit in contentment on a side stoop.

I can never again judge a book by it's cover. I can never again just hand out a banana or some spare change. My journey has proved successful because I have been forever changed. I have not mastered, but understood that underneath all the pain still lies the beauty and while pages often go missing the overall story stays the same.

MAYA: A serious love of my life

The appreciation that these Tibetan people eluded was incredible. I have never felt so at peace and so grateful for their hospitality during the trip. My guide Tsering Passang (shown in red and blue jacket) was incredible and although we both lacked each others first language, which proved to be a huge emotional headache at times, he provided outstanding assistance in guiding me to the people who needed our donations the most.

this is the reason why Upper Dolpa was our destination

altitude sickness on one of many 17,000 ft passes ( these three photographs were provided by http://www.solbeam.com/ because she rocks and my camera broke)

I have just recently re-emerged from "the upper dolpa" as I call it, with a fresh new perspective on life and just straight up love for it. The time in the mountains rocked me to the very core and it's just too hard for me to explain how that happened, and I am sure you will learn of it more in my future posts. It's taken some days to get back into civilization but it has been all too easy to eat anything but dal bhat and enjoy simple things like calling friends and family, telling them that I love them, catching up over e mail, and reading about what has been taking place within the rest of the world while I was lost in my own great nook of it. A nook that now holds all of my fears and dreams in the cracks of the dirt, roaring rivers, and spirits that guard each pass.

You know you have shead some serious layers both physically and emotionally when you stroll into town, ask for the nearest international phone, and call home; caked with dirt, hair mated to my head, trekking pants being held up by an extra shoe lace, and my emotions SO raw that tears strolled down my face as soon as my sister and mom both answered the phone 5am east coast time. "I am out, that was the most difficult and scary thing I have ever endured. I messed up my ankle, but I am fine. I am changing my flight and will see you in August. I love you." was pretty much all I could muster up and say before the connection was pretty much lost within a crackling line and 15 Nepali men eyeing me like hawks.

And while there are just too many stories to get lost in on one post, and this might excite you, I have decided to update more frequently with hysterical and emotional dailies of sorts so that you can feel like you yourselves were on the roller coaster of a journey.

I am still recovering from a retched bout of food poisoning, which by the way I got our first day out of the wilds and into an actual "town" which was more like a village gone mad and trying to become a town. Electricity and cellphones, refrigerators but still cooking on a clay oven using fire. Tibetan based hardboard beds and National Geographic on TV. Yeah, National Geographic TV, is in a village in Lower Dolpa. It was nice though, red bucket to my right and a NG special on rare alligator species.

Please stay tuned for another "story" in a day or so.

Night Stop in Kathmandu

Night stop Ktm, originally uploaded by bendinggrass.

I find it almost impossible to upload photographs, which I feel like I have said over and over again, possibly boring my few readers, SO if you don't see photographs, it's not that I haven't been taking them, it just takes about a full day to upload ONE, and for those of you who know me know I don't have patience for that. Now THAT was a run on sentence :)

Nepal overall seem to be in a bit of chaos right now and although it's new for me to be in such chaos, others go about their daily lives with nothing more than a nod of the head. I just overheard a woman vaguely mention that three bombs went off last night just down the street from where she lives. I am not exactly sure why, although I am sure I could figure it out. I guess that isn't concerning and to be honest it didn't quite phase me either BUT, I think it probably should have. I am on sensory overload, which could be a good thing or a bad thing depending on how you view it and have JUST begun to grasp the reality that I am presently living in Kathmandu at a VERY interesting and crazy time.

Petrol is just nearly COMPLETELY exhausted and the few vehicles that roam the streets do so because of some of it illegally sliding through the black market selling at an alarming rate. There is a prediction all will be gone by the 28th, just tomorrow, and who even knows if we will be able to get from Kathmandu to Beni and even further up to Jomsom or even further, what the state will be when we finally do re emerge from the mountains. Petrol usually provides a thick fog that hangs over the city and the lack of it has allowed us to experience clear skies and equally clean air for the last few days, something I have eagerly excepted. The other night on our way back from Thamel, a usually quick taxi ride, we saw the most astounding line up of vehicles and motor bikes, all taking their place to acquire some black market fuel. Word on the street is that most people wait close to 18 hours. Our driver spoke broken English swearing off the price increase and the diminishing fuel in his own vehicle that threatened to run out and suggest a late night walk the rest of our way home. Many other cars sat in the middle of the streets, petrol expired and causeing last minute dodging as to not collide.

Yesterday, after a long day of Dolpa planning, the three of us, myself and two friends, enjoyed a cold beer on the third floor balcony of our guest house that overlooks Boudha, seemingly worlds away from the streets below. For the first time since I arrived, I felt myself breath. That kind of breath is always accompanied by a deep sigh, followed by an act of surrender, and a further act of acceptance. " I am right where I should be." my very insides said as I aimlessly got lost in the blinding, white glow that individually wrapped itself around each exploding cloud. It was the first sunset I had seen for a painfully long time and the heat from it evaporated all thoughts and concerns about our approaching trip, that threatened to take me out of my meditative state.

Christina and I spent an exhausting although exciting, five hours with Sunil, our translator and permit "go to" guy; Tsering Passang, our Tibetan translator and Dolpa guru (his hometown is Tinjegaon Dolpa) and Gumpa Sherpa, our English and Nepali translator. Although I only heard two English words come out of his mouth, he proves to be an incredible addition to our team with his HUGE smile and genuine kindness. If you take precaution I will let you in on our itinerary, minus photographs of the map (slow connection... SIGH)

A TRIP TO DOLPA (which everyone else in the world pronounces AND spells as "Dolpo" )

June 1st: Kathmandu - Gemi (bus)
June 2nd: Gemi - Tataponi (bus)
June 3rd: Tataponi - Ghasa - Jomsom (jeep/ trek)
June 4th- 9th: Jomsom - Charka (trek)
June 10th: Charka (deliver shoes)
June 11th -12th: Charka- Tinegaon (trek)
June 12th - 15th: Stay in Tinegaon and deliver shoes
June 15th -18th: Tinegaon - Shimengoan - Tinegaon (trek/rest)
June 19th- 21st: Tinegoan - Toyu (trek/ rest)
June 22nd - 23rd: Chhumagaon (stay at Monestary)
June 23rd - 26th: Chhumagaon - Ringmo Lake (trek)
June 26th - 29th: Ringmo Lake (rest)
June 29th - July 2nd: Ringmo Lake - Kageni
July 3rd : Kageni - Dunai (trek)
July 4th- 5th Dunai - Ktm (flight/ bus)

ALL SUBJECT TO CHANGE and I say that with a HUGE smile as it will most definitely change.

I am off. Too many cookies, masala tea, and computer heat. If I don't post before I go, be sure to check back at the beginning of July to see hear some INCREDIBLE stories!

ma jut.tah li.nu Dolpo

little girl and her grandmother, or so i guess

Ma jut.tah li.nu Dolpo literally translates to "I shoes to take Dolpo" which I proudly taught myself this morning. This is what I will tell people when I am asked why I am here in Nepal. I haven't had the chance to use it yet, although I did manage to ask for some green tea this morning in Nepali. A HUGE accomplishment for me.

i am not going to capitalize anything, as the shift key is nearly impossible to hold down. AND i was told no more uploading of photographs so unfortunately this photograph here is the only one you get to see. FOR NOW.

yesterday morning my intentions were clear. get up and write a post up on my blog. i have been skipping around this task for the past few days. a question that keeps popping up in my head, and there are quite a few these days, is, "how do i write this experience, in words, to those back home" the day before that, i took out Christina's computer and hacked away, fingers moving ever so fast, but glitches have it, i couldn't transfer the material over onto a disk, and so there i was, with a pen in hand, slowly writing it down.

and NOW, sitting in front of a slow computer trying helpless to get a post up before i have a meeting with my dolpo guides assistant, Sunil.


as i completed my walk around the Boudhanath stupa i noticed all the monks from a nearby monastery take a seat in front of the stupa. ( boudha is where i am staying at the moment, and nath, i have been told, means street) they chanted away as hundreds of candles were lit. a foreigner leaned into an elder monk, i presumed asked to take a photograph, and without a hint of hesitation, this photographer stuck his camera in the face of the monk and began shooting away. i slowly crept back behind the crowd of monks and put down my camera. thoughts of unworthiness settled in and all of a sudden i rethought my my duties of sponsorship. i don't have it in me. i don't have that kind of confidence and arrogance to stick my camera in someones face, into a people i don't understand, into a religion i have only begun to grasp, where a language and culture are my main barriers.


"my lens doesn't do justice of the intimacy that i need to capture" i constantly remind myself. i am NOT the photographer i thought i was or still hope i could maybe be. to capture an emotion or mood is to NOT stick a camera in a face, as the moment is then lost and the emotion is soon suppressed. my zoom is small and in order to really capture a persons face i need to step it up. a photograph can say a thousand words and yet nothing at all. a true photographer can capture all of the human senses in just one shot. the rest of us just as well put our third eye down. i struggle with the ability to humbly take a portrait. why? because sometimes i feel like it would be going into the slums of nyc and putting my lens in the face of a homeless person and then just walking away. even if the photograph comes with a few rupee bills, what? money for your pain? or is the pain my own to and the ego to think that they ARE in pain?

while i was sitting on these steps contemplating my situation, two very young girls came up to me and started motioning for the camera. i took some random photographs and pressed replay for them to see. i then motioned to see if i could take a photograph of them and they easily smiled and posed for the shot. a few moments later, their grandmother came over and sat down next to them. she then motioned for me to take their photograph. she asked in nepali, or tibetan, i am still unclear of which and smiled with incredible gratitude. she told her eldest granddaughter to sit still and took the smallest child and placed her on her lap., then told her friend to come and sit as well. there were no forced smiles, although i did occasionally get some genuine grins from the youngest. the "grandmother", reminded me of my own grandmother, bossing all the grandchildren around. it's quite the same here in that respect and i absolutely love it.



"su. dar" " rahm.ro" she said, meaning beautiful and good in nepali.



i am completely take by the people here. they are so very kind and are so beautiful that i lack the words to express just how kind and just how beautiful. to have been asked to take their photograph was just short of incredible, and actually really good luck, because i need to show that i am working on some level :)



tourists, come, eat, look, shop, put their arms around old monks while friends take their photograph. which by the way DID happen and i was so appalled all i could do was stare. i am not a tourist. i am in no rush to wiz in and out of this place. for now, kathmandu is home to me and home is a place with friends. i device of a new plan. i will sit and become situated with these people, finding out their names, families, and stories. i will communicate in their language and allow them to feel comfortable with me. i will become their friend. taking someones photograph is very personal and i have not yet mastered it but, if the opportunity arises, like the little girls and women on the stoop, then i will gratefully take their photograph. BUT only if time allows.

this is all for now. nameste.

Saged Intentions

I stare aimlessly at my computer screen wondering how to direct this post. I am failing over and over again and just end up rambling on like I am now. Last night I sat down with three of my best girlfriends, bending over my computer screen with a glass of wine close by, doing the exact same thing, roaming through JPEG files on my lap top and clicking away at website domains to pull up some info on Nepal and Kashmir for them to see. "Where IS Nepal??" they asked. And that's just fine, because a few years ago I would have asked the same question. It was pretty incredible to see them tracing their fingers over India, Pakistan, Bhutan and Nepal. "OH, THAT'S where Tibet is!" Kate yelled. THAT is priceless for all the right reasons.

It's been quite hard to explain to my family and friends, back on the East Coast, just exactly where it is that I will be heading to and WHY. The other night I sat in the hot seat, my uncle, sister and brother in law beaming red eyes at me demanding answers to the endless questions that bounced back and forth across the table at which we dined. Actually, I didn't dine at all, for lack of appetite and language to communicate with. It's hard to explain what it is that I am doing and why I am doing it. I lead a very different life and speak, metaphorically speaking, an entirely different language then the rest of my family. How do I explain, after years of formal education, that I am going to go trek some shoes into regions of the World they have never even heard of OR why I am about to place myself in sticky political situation in Kashmir to get some answers to some questions I have: How can I help supply hundreds of thousands of Kashmiris, with clean water using solar energy. They think I am crazy. I think nothing of it.

A lot has happened these past couple of weeks. Logistics have drastically changed. Airlines have backed out on their word for luggage allowance, shoes have been miss routed, and when things seem to just get absolutely impossible, I reevaluate the situation and realize a disaster isn't a disaster at all but a blessing. Quite often we wrap ourselves around an idea, or a goal to achieve and THEN, we plan out exactly how it's going to happen. I laugh out loud at that because that plan almost always fails, due to expectation or just plain foolishness, to think that WE can plan all the beautiful details. We may chose to have an experience, but the journey that takes us there is not ours to control. Choosing whether that experience or journey is positive or negative IS ours to control, but to try and control the journey will just leave us feeling drained and disappointed.

So I guess this has turned into a post about expectation, control and surrender.

The other day I was on the beach with a friend, a soul sister of sorts, and we often get together once a year and do a "sage intention" ritual. The ritual is to consciously contemplate the things that have gone on this past year and to recognize there are things we will need to let go of in order to grow. Kind of like cleaning out the closet but different. We let go of ex boyfriends, negative and old thought patterns, bad habits, etc. Things we would like to let in would be things like love, abundance, peace, laughter and such. We individually think about our specific intentions and write it down on separate pieces of paper. We then speak it out loud to each other, validating it some how, and wrap them together, tuck in some sage and burn it. Sound hippie enough to you? I think so.

A big process of the journey is to surrender to it; have a goal in mind and then surrender. It's almost like writing a "Christmas list" and handing it over to the universe, God, guru, or temple of worship, and say, "Here. This is what I want. Figure it out. Make it happen. I'll be open to receiving it." My Christmas List has just a few things including shoes, safe travels, lightness and laughter. The shoes won't get to their final destination without safe travels and lightness wouldn't happen without laughter.

Over the years our list of intentions grow smaller and smaller, more concise and less specific. BUT to have an idea of what we want and what we don't want allows us to focus our energy on making the things we want happen, and the ones we don't, well, we don't focus on those and they just end up turning into the wind. We are growing beings, ever evolving, and constantly changing our minds and our thoughts. It's important to be ok with that. To not judge it but to accept it and surrender to it.

I surrender to the fact that I am difficult to understand; in my families eyes. I surrender to the fact that this journey is NOTHING how I imagine it will be. I surrender to the fact that my life, as beautiful as it is, will have it's own agenda, rainy days and closed doors. But it's in those times that I will have to get out my map, trace my fingers along some lines, and create a new plan, one that will most diffidently stay liquid.

I am going to leave you all with a glimpse of my intentions.

Lose fear.
Welcome in possibility.

Let go of Loss.
Let in abundance.

Release used up tears.
Gather in laughter.

Create the grandest expression of yourself.
Inspire other's to do the same.

Duck Tape

Getting a kick out of Kyle. (Our Auctioneer)


Some Solo Time


Me, Kyle and Taylor sporting our style on stage.

It's been a bit of time since I have written in my "journal" and for reasons that are worth getting into. April 10th was of great accomplishment. We, meaning I, raised well over SEVENTEEN hundred dollars at the "Little Yoga Warriors and the Outdoor Industry Shoe the Children of Nepal" fundraiser. There were seventy friends situating themselves in fine conversation, happily accompanied by sponsored pints of Avery IPA. Coming to the realization that I HAVE that many friends, I am even more blown away by their eager support that made this all happen. I auctioned off and sold ALL, but three pieces of my art, rocked some soulful originals with my incredible band mates and GREAT friends, and created quite the buzz for what I am getting myself into in three weeks. If you "GOOGLED" Little Yoga Warriors, there was even an article up on Climbing Magazine's web page. YES, I am bragging.

It seems this year is the year of the SEVEN, SEVENty friends, SEVENteen hundred dollars, seven heart stones that I found all in a row hiking in the foothills, AND low and behold I am twenty-SEVEN years for another four or so months. Maybe that should have been the title for this post. Or, if you could figure out what the deal is with all the SEVEN's let me know. BUT there is seemingly a more befitting title that you have read above. DUCK TAPE.

Duck tape has become quite symbolic these past few months, not only because it has been the brand of tape that I have relied upon while I sealed every little bit of my material life and locked it away in my friend Laura's attic, but because in a sense, there are quite a few things I have come to know as MY "duck tape". Please feel free to skim the following: Annie's bed. My ex - house mates over at 1409 for letting me make a studio space out of their living room. Ok, so I lie, MOST of the house. Taylor and Kyle who actually got out of bed to have "band practice" at 9 AM the day of the fundraiser. Nine am doesn't sound too intimidating, but it is when you have to use your vocals and hand coordination so aggressively so early in the day. Swiss airlines for finally giving into me and the shoes. Josh, for allowing me to be quite moody for MANY days before and after the event. My cherished friends to offer their hands, expertise, advice and laughter of the craziness that has become my life. The invention of coffee. The invention of wine. The invention of Horseshoes, paint thinner, and meditation; not all used at the same time. AND let's not forget the magnitude of people that have contributed to this project, and I am not just talking sponsors. Friends, family, and strangers that have put me in touch with those who could offer up some insight to these regions that are SO foreign to me. You get the idea. All that I have mentioned above have been my "duck tape" and I know I am leaving quite a few people out and not giving them fame to their brilliancy.

This is a perfect time to introduce to you a "duck tape" story.

Leona, an absolute bad ass (sorry, but I really couldn't rack my brain for another word that would be of such magnitude) who is a fantastic and knowledgeable resource for me regarding Dolpo. Just for some background, she traveled around with a caravan (many people) in Dolpo about 10 years ago. I gave her a ring the other day to ask her some questions and let her know that I was pretty close to choosing Dolpo for possible donation of ALL the shoes. It just felt right and we will have to make some choices for various reasons when we get into Nepal. She validated my gut feelings and said, "Have I ever told you of the Duck Tape story?" "AH, NO" I easily replied and could feel the goosebumps ALREADY forming on my body. She told me of how she came to a village and an older woman held up her ragged, white, tennis shoes, and motioned to see if Leona could fix them. At the time she was carrying around two rolls of duck tape, wrapped around her Nalgene Bottle. Later that evening she was still repairing every last villager's shoes.

SO, I guess I am heading into the right region, to say the least.

I just purchased about 6 rolls of duck tape and another who knows how many yards of rope for shoe lace repair.

I am about to embark on an incredible journey, and although I have been planning this trip since January, it's still very surreal to me that I will ACTUALLY be trekking into the middle of no where, in a country that boarders Tibet, with porters, some horses, and a TON of gear. WAIT WHAT? How did I get here. Oh yeah, Christina kicked a horse shoe in the Himalayas. Another story for another time.

I have been bouncing around from one house to the next and living out of a few boxes and a backpack. My guitars are happily in one spot, which means that I have to bike to them when I have a moment of nostalgia. But my head, unfortunately is not; in one place that is. I have taped my life and under the stickiness lies a woman who still considers herself to be a little girl not a cut throat business woman. A free spirit not a guru at logistics. Someone who has been, at the very least, emotionally unavailable. But these days, you can often find me screaming, "BRING IT ON UNIVERSE". Meaning I am open to new experiences. SO whatever journey is offered to me. Whatever trail I find myself on. I will no doubt tag along with me multiple rolls of duck tape. Just in case the shoes run out. And oh they will. If I need it to patch a bit of confusion, (another "OH I WILL") I will be well equipped.