An Unfolding Experience: Ten Days In Bali, Indonesia

So off we went, packed into my little rickety jeep, as far from ready as we'd ever be, winding our way from Bend to Portland, for our early morning flight, and with every intention of letting go of at least half of the weight we were carrying with (here marks the beginning of quite a few metaphorical references).

Or maybe not letting go of, but combining it with a little more ease and clarity—more of this and less of that. 

journal musings. Part One. April 19th?

(Time change has me confused, maybe it’s still the 18th? Anyways, we’re about 11 hours out from our departure, and flying somewhere over Japan.)

I’m juggling the word privilege in my thoughts as we fly over places unlike anything I’ve seen before, in a “little” metal machine (it's all relative, right?), controlled by a human, someone just like me, but with a knowledge I have never sought out (my hat goes off to all you pilots out there).

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The Portland Adventure: More Than Lyme's First Event

This post has been sitting on the tip of every thought and intention since we packed our belongings and left Portland on March 5th, after a weekend spent with all of you. 

It's a want-to-be novel; a tightly bound experience bursting at the seams!

This is always the hardest part, isn't it? I've never felt immediate comfort from the initial stroke of a pen or *click click* of a keyboard as I sit down to share, but here we are. Here we always are, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 

There's a longing for the fulfillment and satisfaction that comes from putting this word here and this one here. From taking myself out of the limitations I feel right now and into the nervous-excitement-and-oh-my-gosh-this-could-all-go-terribly-wrong of the night before, the week before, the month before we all walked into that little space in Portland.

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The Colors We See: The Importance of Sharing What You Love + Why You Choose to Live a Life More Than

One step

Crunch, uneven ground, burnt yellow and orange, dark slate, and pastel green sage engulf my feet.

I stand perfectly still, watching the silence rise up around me.

Two steps

I'm walking, arms swinging in the crips air, the silence I felt moments before falls away as the world comes alive with the rise of the big white moon.

Three steps

Back last against the dry earth, trees tower above my floating mind.

I'm small, cradled in power, in a force kept secret by the colors and the sounds and the critters of the woods. 

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Do What Makes You Feel Good: Kourtney's Message to Her Younger Self + How She's Approaching Life After Two Months Spent Traveling New Zealand

As I write this I feel a bit like I’ve traveled back the 18th century,

Although the light comes from a battery powered head lamp flickering from the flapping tarp above me. The words flow from clicking keys instead of feather dipped ink. It's raining just enough induce calm, but the obnoxious wind manages to keep me awake. Occasional lighting strikes periodically steal my attention, counting the seconds until thunder. Finally, immersed in this beautiful night, I regenerate my intuition and creative thoughts. Expanding upon the last four months’ lessons learned and watching it grow deeper roots and strong stems within my thoughts.

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Less Than 24 Hours In The Desert, a Few Wrong Turns, and Thoughts On Knowing When To Get Out Of Your Own Way In Order To Do What You Love

When you head east from Bend you are immersed in sagebrush and juniper trees that get shorter by the mile, soon landing yourself in a place that feels almost other worldly; a desolate and unforgiving landscape scattered with boulders and distant patches of green where a spring or stream meets the dry tan-hued desert. With farms scattered here and there, and cattle crossings around nearly every corner, the mind is given time to wander between where you are, where you're going, and the moment that you just left behind, which turns out to land itself somewhere in the present. 

With the music playing quietly in the background, I dive into this in between world, noticing just how much I crave this place as I look over to see Sheila taking a midday snooze in the passenger seat. 

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A Place To Call Home: Five Days Of Treatment, Two Nights Solo Camping On The Coast Of California, and One Book

Hand shielding my eyes from the sun, I look out over the blue nothingness that makes up this magnificent ocean as I begin to list off the above, forgiving myself for the things I still hold onto, the decisions I've made or failed to make, and the unique and often times terrifying way this life of mine has unfolded. The result? I am truly lucky... 

Lucky to have these moments to look back on, and lucky to feel strong enough to share this moment with myself.

Lucky to be afraid of what the future holds while being wrapped in the humbleness of this one.

Lucky to be receiving treatment and answers to why I feel this way, reminding myself that the happiness and fulfillment part, that's up to me, Lyme or no Lyme. 

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