Sometimes you need a place for your head, a place for your thoughts, whether it be a physical setting of a serene perch on a log by a stream, or a mental space where you just put your headphones in and ignore everyone around you at the starbucks down the road.
i don't get thoughts out verbally quite like i should, i seriously get anxiety just thinking about communication. so, for the most part of puberty, high school, and college, i kept journals. my ever ending collection of brown/black/grey leather bound pages of recycled paper/cotton/bamboo. no kidding, i probably have at least one notebook made out of any material possible to write on.
allow me, if you will, a bragging right; my handwriting. it's gorgeous, and possibly the only thing i'm proud of in my life. illegible, but it looks so nice when flipping through pages for a strategic placement between a coffee cup and some small succulent for a quick snap to upload on pinterest. unfortunately, journals aren't cool anymore. we became the generation of technology, and blogs/online diaries/anon accounts have consumed what we used to call the, "press," for it's original function.
and so, i find myself here, typing away nonsense at ungodly hours because my head has been so overwhelmed with all my thoughts that i genuinely believe i have been one sneeze away from spontaneous combustion or mental self-implosion.
thus, for anyone interested in keeping up with my adventures, or at least checking in that i have not yet died in some tragic avalanche due to unregulated climate thanks to the deteriorating ozone, please enjoy my rambles of yoga, rock climbing, snowboarding, surfing, and coffee from the back of my van.