& i am obsessed. with the
entire surprise feeling.

—
last night, i went for a run after work.
now i should tell you

that when i run in the dark
[& only when i run in the dark. because,
well, i feel less obvious in the dark]

i like to play this game. it’s kinda
like tag. except you never actually touch anyone
because they’re strangers that don’t know about the game

so that would be awkward.

the game is simple. i try to catch everyone in front of me
and then fall in glide behind them for a few seconds

to just, you know, catch my breath enough
to then try to catch the next person.

except for the sprinters. when i can’t tag
the many sprinters that pass me, the tag of the game
becomes this

just-keep-up // breathe in // breathe out
& count to ten. i just try to keep their speed
alongside them until i count to a slow ten.
& if i stop

then the ground turns to lava.
[or some other dramatic characteristic
from the days of playground games]

i tend to find a great amount of satisfaction
in those short ten seconds.

—
and last night, the game was going well.
with lots of runners & opportunity.

but then i came around the south east bend of the park
& i heard a bit of a ruckus.

so i yanked my headphones cord
right outta its socket & recognized a familiar croon.

and right when i was counting second number six
my thoughts exclaimed

RAY? is that you?

and then i heard the familiar
worry, worry, worry, worry
worry just will not seem to leave my mind alone
but i’ve been saved by a woman

and i laughed and thought,
RAY! it IS you!

and i just abruptly stopped. without thinking
about the possible pile-up that can happen
on narrow central park roads filled with
runners and cyclists when an oblivious

someone
just stops
moving.

…and…
one or two
may have tripped.

they were not happy with me.
(which is understandably fair)

but then they unplugged, too
& recognized RAY!

so i said a lot of apologies,
and just kept pointing to RAY!

they also really liked his croon,
so then all was well on the
new york neighbor front.

—
and i must tell you,
there are these moments
when a girl turns a new york bend
and surprise!

this city can be so magical to me.

so i found an oak tree to support me
and i leaned back & just closed my eyes.

i am convinced that there is nothing better
for the release of my soul than listening to
live music while leaning against an oak tree.

it was so good to just be still.

& while staring skywards through the shelter
branches of the old wise oak, i went to church.

listening to some of my old favorites from RAY.
appreciating the way that every lyric earns its spot.

—
you know,
i wasn’t expecting any of this
when i put on my running shoes
last night.

& that’s why i just can’t get enough
of this city’s bends.

it always brings this sweet nostalgia.
while remembering & writing the ones that
helped shape my days. in all past and present
and hopefully the future.

every year, i sit in cafes. and listen to songs
on repeat in my headphones. and remember
shared moments of life.

now, especially after the doozy-ness
of reminders from my 2011 that

life is so short. and oh,
it is precious! and i have the choice
to make every morning count. and to share it well.

so, due partly to nostalgia and partly
to not forget what i have learned
these past years,

i have been reading old words. and reminders
that i once wrote to my future self.

and whelp, i am now that future self.
and looks like i still need
all these reminders.

so this is how i will farewell my 2011.
by choosing to read the sweet reminders
of the goodness & adventure-ness

for all of life’s possibilities.

——-
from january 2010:
the beauty of seeing things through.

of the boldness. the action. of the sure thoughts.
mixed, of course, with the unsure feelings.

all lived one day at a time. the daily pursuit
of learning to love

a person
an opportunity
a moment

is no small thing.
it takes time. it takes a chance. it takes effort.
but not effort in the way that i might think.

not effort as in forced-work.
but more like effort as in

if you go looking for a fence, you will find just that.
a protecting and shielding and safe fence.
a barrier.

but if you go looking for a field on the other side of a fence
you will find it. yes, you will find a way to climb the fence

and run thru fields. all filled with flowers and weeds
you will learn to the love that field for

all that it grows.

and i am learning that the only thing consistent with
learning a person. an opportunity. a moment

the only thing consistent with learning that chance

as i continue to evolve and change and grow
[and as they simultaneously do, too]

is the commitment to
the beautiful process of follow-thru.

and where else would i be?
my heart can’t be loud enough.

soundtrack from the new EP of my
best-friend-jennie-since-i-was-two.

—
i’ve never really thought about death before.
you know, in the intense ways that you aren’t supposed
to start thinking about death until you’re older.

i thought that it would stay muted in the background
for awhile longer. but there is something about
the mourning process that makes you think through

the realities a bit more. and look a bit deeper
into the depths of pain and loss and healing.

and helplessly fall into the community and support
that surround you.

while wondering
what does healing even look like?

from any loss in life really.
from any season where leaves fade brown and fall down
and branches bloom again with new leaves from new rays.

the whole mindboggling feeling that death
happens in an instant.

and then you suddenly find yourself
standing inside your own mind’s thunderstorm
wondering really dark & embarrassingly emo things
about how

if everything were to fade around you,
would you be safe? or would you fade, too?

because you are overwhelmed with this crowded
lonely feeling

that keeps questioning that
if this whole gig in life is about love,
all the giving and receiving and all the sorts
of sharing love that are possible

then why does
it hurt so much to
lose it.

or actually, that seems
like an obvious answer.

of course, it hurts
to lose it. but what kind

of sick joke is it to be
able to love it while also
being able to lose it

in any given instant.
it just doesn’t seem right.

—
kristin was barely 36 when she left us.
she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer not much older
than i am now. it’s such an invasive cancer to a woman,
if you think about it.

just waking itself up inside
a perfect and healthy set of ovaries.
doing it’s best to strip her dignity.
to defeat her fight.

and if that wasn’t enough, it just continued to
monster crawl itself thru the rest of her body
for more than five years.

—
kristin was always so beautiful.
as a child, i remember admiring her gorgeous olive skin.
and her curls that naturally kinked into place all on their own.

this past weekend, her daughter, maya, asked me to read what she wrote at the memorial. i haven’t talked much about that moment since. but it gripped me in a way that i have never felt.

and the grip will not loosen. it’s all tangled into my heart &
it has begun a change within me.

now, i have absolutely no idea how this works yet,

but the mother-daughter bond between maya and kristin is fully alive. and i felt it in that moment. while holding maya’s hand and reading her words to everyone, i felt the strength they share.

the strength that kristin was adamant about sharing with her family and friends during her days.

maya is only nine, and she is experiencing that life is so broken.
that pain happens. but that the world keeps spinning. birth keeps giving and death keeps taking.

yes, she’s only nine.
but she’s also learning that there is joy to be found.
that pain actually points to a deeper understanding of love
that is far stronger than our humanity.

and yes, i am twenty-six.
but i am learning this with her. while holding her hand.

that this pain actually grows the capacity of my heart. to want to grow into a better woman, daughter, friend, and one of these days – wife.

but even better, this pain actually grows the capacity of my heart to
grow deeper in love with creation.

all nature. timing.
seasons. growth. people.
friends. strangers.
the ones i love.

all of it!

it is opening my heart to identify with creation
and all of its surrounding pain and joys. to hurt and rejoice
with one another. & to serve one another’s growth.

in this pain, a divine transformation is happening
that surpasses all understanding.

it’s this pinch that proves to my own humanity
that hope and peace can exist in spite of it all

and that without it, i may live
a numbly comfortable life.

[of course, let's get honest. the pinch of the pain
tends to bring out my ultimate ugliness. special thanks
to the ones that are loving me thru this]

—
i spent some time with kristin
this past spring. and it was one
of the most real and genuine conversations
i’ve had about the peace of death.

i have debated about sharing this with you.
but after hearing everyone speak last weekend,
i know she was not private about these words.

i also begged her to write them down this summer,
[because she was a beautiful writer] but she told me

that when you have been given only a few months left,
you don’t want to spend your time locked away with
you and your thoughts. you want to live out side
your own mind. your own self.

i told her that was the right point.
i asked her if i could one day share these words.
she hoped that i would.

not much long after this conversation, kristin, chris, & maya left florida to road trip across the countryside.

exploring the great outdoors together. where they made it to the furthest coast in san francisco before she left us.

but not with empty hearts. & not without first
leaving everyone she met for the better.

—
spring 2011. florida

i spent the day with kristin, chris, and maya. it was so wonderful to see them. i am so happy that my relationship with kristin has been rekindled these past few years as high school and college years have settled down. i always admired her for being so much older, but always wished our growing-up seasons had aligned more.

god, kristin is gorgeous. even though she’s lost her hair, she is absolutely stunning. give her a wig, and i swear that you’d never know she was sick.

maya and chris were outside at the pool. and it was just me & kristin. remembering about how we used to row our childhood selves around grandpa’s lake in the flat bottom boat, jumping in to swim with the fish. just to then jump back in the boat, and try to catch them with a hook. and when we did, gramps taught us how to skin it and cook it. he said we couldn’t take fish from his lake and not honor their life by properly preparing them for dinner. we talked about the days when our grandparents passed away.

and then she asked if i had questions about her cancer. and i did. so i asked her about her journey. our family recently found out that her body had exhausted all available chemos and trials and treatments, and none had worked. she had been given only a few more months.

i told her that i didn’t think she was capable of only having a few more months. she was such a fighter. she was never a victim. never a martyr of sickness. she always fought thru. she always found strength to create maya’s school costumes, spend time with her husband & family & friends. and go to disney world.

she walked me thru every way that medicine had failed. that there was no explanation as to why she got sick. and there was no explanation as to why her body wouldn’t respond to treatment.

you see,
kristin always exposed
the fighter that was inside of her
with such sweet grace.

i used to be angry. we had just had maya, and we were hoping for a second child. and i was misdiagnosed for over a year. and i was angry that when we finally found it, the cancer has progressed to stage 4. it isn’t fair. and i was mad.

every morning, wake up. and
make those things count.

i saw maya playing outside. doing cannonballs into the pool. and i asked kristen if maya knew what was happening.

she said that she always knew maya would ask when she was ready. and that a little while ago, they were driving in the car and maya asked her if cancer could kill her.

and so kristen turned the car into a publix shopping center. climbed into the back seat. and she told her nine year old daughter that cancer will take her. i cannot even comprehend the strength of the bond that carried that conversation. and then they talked about the kind of woman maya will become. about how strong and loving and graceful and talented and ambitious she is now and will continue to grow.

and that they will always remember one another’s strength and kindness and love to themselves, eachother, their family and others.

—
and that’s the last time i saw kristin.
i knew it when she left that evening.

and i can’t shake her words.

there has come a point during all of this where
my heart simply can’t be loud enough.

through the grieving that i am only beginning
to feel. through the process of healing

and through the unshakable promises
of the hope of the gospel

that sometimes generates growth through pain
in order to prove unfailing love.

i am learning just how much
my memory is only a small
percentage of reliable:

july 2006
i had just arrived at
vatsalya orphanage.
[atrul, india]

tonight i keep thinking about how
glad i am that humans are designed
for change. & to need company
through it all.

it’s beginning to rain now.
[the monsoon season is here]

my bed is outside with
no walls. no roof.

the farmers will be happy.

i can’t fight my pen against
this storm’s wind. so i will

close these pages for now.
and sit here

& soak up the monsoon
with peace.

remembering that there are only
a few basic talents to build upon,
really.

[& the rest of if all tends to find
it's groove to follow]

find the love of life & the ability to take
great pleasure from small offerings.

from the assurance that the world owes
you nothing, and that every gift

is exactly that. a gift.

living life as art
requires a readiness to forgive
& to adapt.

but because of the routines
i follow, i often forget that life

is an ongoing adventure.
i leave my home for class or work,
acting – and even believing – that
i will reach my destination with no

unusual event startling me out
of my set expectations.

the truth is that i do not know this.
i know nothing of the guarantees
from point a to point b.

life is adventure. so treat it as art.
i must remember to bring all my
energies to each encounter.

to remain flexible enough to notice
& admit when what i was expecting
to happen did not happen.

i must remember that i was
created creative

and so i can innovate new
scenarios when they are needed.

when change says it’s time
to be needed.

& when faith says there is no time
to live in worry or fear or uncertainty.

all dorky-paralyzed to move forward because i am not sure that

i have perfected this whole change thing.

[you annoy your own self when you're hindsight shows that you've done that, ps]

so self, remember to always
try to find yourself the grip.

there is no productive use to refuse the
art of providence’s promise
that proves your own fears silly
through the effects of change.

through pursuing the unknown.

[fear will just make you grow dull
& stale & so drab that you are
no longer able to even taste
ice cream or cupcakes or
pumpkin scones]

but the stories never turn dull.
an image will often pop itself up
during these workloads

& sinks it’s reality
into my soul as if

i’ve never seen it before.

& my mind just becomes still
in the presence of the story.

for instance, this photo narrative
proves the unshakable gratefulness
of these beautiful children in south sudan.

—
i think, one of the best parts about traveling
my self around to get to know other cultures

is the reminder that thankfulness is simply
out there & all over everywhere. in spite of all the ugly pain.

that it’s important for the global-ness of humanity
to cling to it – in order to mend all the hurt.

many locals that i’ve spent time with around the world
have experienced depths of darkness that are hard
to pen to paper.

but most of their hearts always
complete their storytelling

with their unending gratefulness
to have survived. to still feel joy.

they truly believe that at the end of the day,
the world cannot count their blessings.

—
yes,
i cannot
even begin
to count all
the blessings.

..i do not treat the grace of god as meaningless.. -galatians

photo taken in south sudan. captured by
brilliant 100cameras photographer, @susannakohly

at st. bartholomew’s orphanage. these children
survived the civil war. these children
have stories to share.

now, i never really take cabs mid-day.
i’m usually all subway or all walking.

but that day, i had to get from wall street
to mid-town and stat. so i hopped in a cab.

and i asked hi, how are you.
can we take FDR up the east river
to 54th & Park.

and i don’t know what overcame me.

but i’d like to insert a disclaimer here:
about how it is not often that i get to experience
the rush of highway driving with windows down
at the peak of day.

during the peak of the season
when summer’s sunshine heat breaks
into a crisp 66 degrees. while giving

the new fall air that
pining season feel.

and i asked if he could turn the sinatra up
that was playing on the oldie radio station.

and i rolled down the windows

and bounced back and forth from left side to right
all hanging out the window and snapping photos
upwards and sideways and backwards
of anything i saw.

i don’t know, i see this city everyday,
but it’s not very often i see it from
the highway’s outskirt(ing) view.

and as the cab pulled to the curb
in midtown, the dear older man asked

so, how long are you visiting the city for? is it your first time?
you looked happy. be careful, you might want to move here.

and i laughed. and enjoyed
a few seconds of irony as i paid
the meter. he actually thought
i was a tourist.

no no no. i’ve been falling in love with this scenery
for over four years now. i bought the one way ticket a month after college. but you know, it’s super easy to start to take some thing you love for granted.

so i’m choosing to find the giddy stage again. and i gotta tell you, it’s a fantastic rush.

because no matter the rough city-life patches,
an adventure like this

should never be taken for granted.

& this nugget fell
out of an oldie this morning.

from the classic series that
i fondly refer to as

the grandpa-love think tank.

one day, i am hoping
that he will visit newyorkcity.

i mean, it is friday. & on this day of the week,
i like to think that anythingcouldhappen.

so here’s to the friday
kind of love & hopes & dreams.

happy weekend, everyone!

[& dear rain + thunder, please
consider giving us a break. you've been hovering all week.
& i'd like to have the chance to ride my bicycle tomorrow. xo]

—
may thirtieth.
(even later in the evening)

we met a group of israelis tonight.

they were having a celebration on their
terrace on the first floor.

and making top-of-the-line homemade
sushi. they were all over the age of 50,
i think.

and all well-traveled. and all so contently loud
and keeping the rest of the first floor awake.

they were visiting a cuban friend that they
met randomly a few years ago.

we shook the cuban friend’s hand.
he lives around here.

and is a true cuban native.
and proud of it.

we told him that we’re glad that
he’s proud of it.

he said that he was happy.

of course, we are not naive enough
to imply that he should say otherwise.

because the government seems to
always be tapped into his surroundings.

he told us
that there are proud citizens
in every country.

and there are rebel citizens
in every country.

it sounded true & sweet.
and made me want to go to washington dc
& stat! to visit the monuments at night
to show respect and appreciate allegiance.

[you know, the lincoln memorial is my favorite
to jog towards at night. & lean against the pillar
on the same step that dreams were spoken about
in the 60's while listening to up to the mountain]

but this man also sounded a bit rehearsed.
i don’t know, like the government could hear.

and just when i was convinced he was faking
happiness, all i wanted to do was to be still & question

my own judgement.

to slow down my processing a bit. after all,
it is super easy for me to land my american plane
on foreign soil. and to automatically point my thoughts
at the locals & thinking their minds are just confused.

now, i am not afraid of supporting truth. but not before first
looking deep into my own rooted opinions & ideas before
i begin to treat others based on my preconceived
pointed thoughts.

in my experience, this seems to support the promise of truth
much stronger than just blasting my own agenda
as soon as i land.

i don’t know, ever since india, i am weary of not being conscientious
of the root of the background context. of my own self. and others.

and i want to be committed to not only to ask questions.
but to listen. and to spend time with others as best as possible
without my pre-determined opinions and ideas.

& this man was enjoying time with friends from across
the world. celebrating

the simple
fresh healthiness
of sushi.

of life.

untainted by the grease
& fried-ness of outside borders.

and i have learned this about myself. that
if i am going to truly learn & support truth in all the context
of eden & eaten evil apples & the gospel

then i cannot be the
too-quick-to-assume-gringo.
that has already presumed that people
are being fake & stuck-in-denial
solely on my own premises.

even for a topic as seemingly obvious
as communism. i think i know my outcome
opinion, but it is important for me
to ask the questions.

because i can tend to have a fiery nature
that can get all blind in my passion.

and if i break that down & get honest,
isn’t that the beginning of the snowball effect

that history has proven can lead religions
to just start attacking one another?
killing their fellow creation.

isn’t that the tempting human nature
if we’re not careful with our preconceived ideas.

if we don’t nurture our conscious to ask itself
some questions. and then commit to serve & love others
relentlessly

both during the questions
& after the answers.

that no matter how the answer’s outcome
may define the borders of difference,

truth can then be spoken confidently & humbly
on the processed grounds

of a relationship between
my background & the local’s.

—
like i said, it’s only day one.
i need some more time to observe
& to question

the reality around me
& the reality of my self.
of my surroundings.

before i can see thru a
clearer lens.

—
oh, to be a child again.
their lens tends

to not be so foggy yet.

—

—
photos 2-6
were taken by eduardo, 11 years old.

he lives in cuba. & his photos are for sale.
when you purchase one of his prints, all of
your money will be given back to his community.
learn more here.

it was supposed to storm that night, but the clouds decided to float their fullness past our streets. which gave the air that merciful fog feeling.

it has also been trying to turn fall up here, so the air was crisp for one of the first times this year. so i went for a jog.

the renovation construction
at the NY Historical Society Museum was finally almost finished,
so the sidewalk was more open and free.

& as i made the sharp turn north
around the newly-opened-sidewalk corner

i ran straight smack-a-roo
into sunday.

and as always, he immediately jumped
into talking about the real-ness of life.

asking me questions about all the layers.
and then i asked him the same.

and he started telling me about his life, love, & purpose. & the hope of new opportunities around his corner.

but then he abruptly stopped talking, and breathed in and stretched his arms upwards, landing his hands on the back of his head. and did this thing where he inhales and exhales with something that sounds like a quick melody.

[no one else can make that noise like him
& make it sound natural]

he was wearing 3D movie theatre glasses
just because he could – which seemed about right.

and he began to explain that he’d reached this place of peace. of healthy contentment in his purpose. that he was no longer yearning for these things that he didn’t yet have. and was finding purpose in exactly where he was right then. resting in the peace of god’s faithfulness for whatever the future looked like.

and we discussed more about the glory of this.
& hugged. we tend to both be very huggy people.

and then talked about how we would plan a BBQ soon.
because summer went by too fast & fall was almost here.

and i’ve since thought about his words a lot.
he tends to have that affect on people.

—
this morning, sunday
left us with his love & legacy
after breathing in one more sunrise.

and there is a deep melancholy
that is setting in as we so unexpectedly
miss our sunday.

and as we assess our own lives. all shocked
at the obvious reminder that life is indeed short.

but then joy overcomes as we remember
that he would stomp thru the middle of any melancholy,
clap his hands together, and say in a singsong voice
something like this

come on, people! embrace this, but not for too long.
we don’t have time for this. let’s live it.

because as emo as it may feel
and as important as it is to process,

[i mean, to really really process
the deep sadness]

we are promised
that death brings much hope.

& thus producing much love
to be rejuvenated & shared
in response.

—
sunday lived well. and that’s not
a trivial thing to say in this world.

the last thing that he published
was simply one word,
“faithful”

and community, in case you haven’t seen this:
‎100% of the profits from this print will be sent to sunday’s family to help with medical expenses.

—
here’s to your inspiring life, sweet friend.
you have inspired the masses
to live like every day is sunday.

& shake out all the weight of the past.
and all your stress for the future.
just do it.

this season, i am learning all over again that
it is our responsibility to recognize
the absolute precious-ness
of life.

—
my sweet friend,
and absolutely THE most jovial person
i have ever known,

would tell me to go lock myself
in a conference room right now
& dance it all away.

he’s so awesome that his name
is sunday.

& sunday knows how much i like to spin.
but i swear he likes to spin more than me.
he also likes to randomly flip me over
into a backflip in-between spins.
& it is awesome.

& i cannot tell you how many times i have randomly ran
into him around the city. & every time, i hear him singing
my full name like an opera singer before i even see him
in the crowd. he is infamous for this.

even if he’s only met you once, this is how
he likes to greet you.

to say that he lives
outside-the-mundane-box
is an understatement.

a beautiful & treasured
understatement.

he has taught me to not just always make every effort to be positive, but to be jovial about it. because there is always hope that may not be seen, yet. but can for sure be experienced.

and it is becoming clear that he is known for this
across the entire united states. what a legacy.
what a helluva good legacy.

and this week, he is teaching me
that LIFE IS PRECIOUS.

our favorite sunday had a brain aneurism on
sunday evening. there are no warning signs
for these things. & doctors have
pronounced him to be brain dead.

& i have to be candid,
it is unbelievable to think of his
life as being still. of being silent.

i cannot do it.
i will not do it.

because i absolutely know that he
is reminding all of us right now

to shake off the unnecessary.
embrace the breath of it all.
lose the pride. share the journey
of always growing & learning with
the ones you love

while remembering
to forever dance.

yes, just put it on repeat
& turn it up a bit louder.

—
an unmeasurable amount
of thanks to you,
sunday.