Quarterlife Musings

2012-02-15T12:34:00.000-08:00

www.jennhenke.com

Dear, beloved readers...

The time has come to grow and move along. It's been a marvelous stay here at Quarterlife Musings. I've chronicled four years of life and adventures here, and I've enjoyed every breath and every word of the experience.

I'm now officially over the apex, the proverbial "hill" of my twenties. I'm not really even a quarter-lifer anymore.

I opted to go with Wordpress for my next round of blog authorship. I want to cut a bit deeper with issues I'm willing to talk about, go further into the world and the state of being human, being alive.

This blog was the first time I really let my writing out of the pen and turned it loose upon the digital world. It's been a marvelous chapter of growth and learning, yet as they say, the more one understands, the more one realizes how little is truly understood.

Thank you for your readership.
Thank you for the comments.
Thanks for all the love.
And thanks, most of all, for just being alive.

All of you on the left - you bet your sweet little blogger hearts I'll still be following you.

SO MUCH LOVE.
JH

Ten Years Gone

2011-12-07T00:14:00.001-08:00

It's been mentioned here, a time or twenty five before, this thing called skiing.

In many ways, it's been the love of my life. It called, I answered. It beckoned, I came. It schooled, I learned. We were sort of married, skiing and I. It's taken me beautiful, unbelievable places, given delicious moments of triumph, wonderful people, livelihood - filled me with purpose and set the rhythm of my years.

We hit the advent of year number ten this fall. To celebrate, I damn near filed for divorce.

Fall of 2002. It was a dark night, I was just barely sixteen. I followed instructions to the basement of a building in downtown Boise. Sat down at a table of strangers and scrawled my name in red Sharpie on a sticky tag. A gregarious man with a commanding nose and booming voice took over, introducing himself and his quiet, petite feminine co-part in leading the group interview. Something like eight of us followed suit with our own introductions. I was the youngest there, by far. I wanted the job, though, wanted it with all my heart and soul. My blood ran cold with nerves but I revved the stamina of my confidence, kept pace with the group. And, was hired. I know I squealed for joy. I cashed out my entire savings account buying a complete setup of gear and clothing. I was so, so stoked. I taught all three larger-than-life ski seasons of my high school years.

August 2005, I'm just about to turn nineteen. I'm a fish out of water, blue collar daughter, going to college for the first time, had thrown myself into life in downtown Salt Lake City. I am, to be sure, clueless, green as grass, though I wouldn't know it for quite some time. I apply to work at Alta, and meet with no less than three ski school managers to interview at a bagel shop - I didn't even own a car yet. Truth be told - I'd never even been to Alta. Grandpa raised me on his endorsement; simply put, Alta was the best, and thus it was the only place I wanted to be. The first time I drove Utah State Highway 210 to join my new ski school family at a pre-season breakfast... I cried a little inside - with awe and overwhelm.

Places that made me tremble a bit to ski that first year have become my favorites in the six seasons since. I've grown into my self there, in so many ways. I've cried real tears in that canyon, been still and silent, screamed with joy, laughed and bonded with place and people and periphery and found myself a HOME in the heart of Little Cottonwood, a place that will always be sacred and special to me because there I have been ALIVE. So very much alive.

Yet last month there I was, staring down the barrel of the coming season, not knowing where to pull the trigger, stay or go, aim my sights elsewhere or focus on what I know. Had been feeling the pull to invest in the more year-round things I have going on, to settle a bit, to hold still in one place for more than six months at a time.Thought through the options, alternatives, motives...

And in the end, I'm going back. Lucky number ten, a nice, round, double digit.

Sacrifice may very well be the heart of love.
Sometimes it's letting go that best teaches what we hold close and dear.

Peace to you.
JH

Days (daze?) of Rest

2011-10-23T20:09:00.000-07:00

So-called. Slept in, again. Jumped out of bed and hit a Crossfit session to the brink of nausea before standard Sabbath activities. Had attended celebrations with many delicious delicacies and desserts over the weekend, a friend invited me to her gym, an opportunity I literally jumped at - I loveth Crossfit, said friend is a studess, and I was in need. Didn't puke, didn't pass out on the bench during the following hours of Church, did take notes and meet new people, and - am going to sleep like a rock tonight.

I forfeited sleep in the name of new horizons and empires for many, many of my young adult moons. A deep debt is mine for the repaying; the sweet reaper has come to collect. I sleep now, routinely, deeply, hard. Some days I can't draw the lines between the lucidity of nights' dreamscapes and real-time moments. It's crazy beautiful awesome. Right about the time Freudian theory was turning a lens on sleep consciousness, Surrealist painter Salvador Dali utilized a technique of approaching sleep often sitting upright, key in hand, so that the moment sleep came, the key would drop and awake the artist. He would do his work on that buzz, and love it. I can relate. A Dali print hangs in my room - surrealism, that's pretty much life, right?

Fall term last year was a circus. I left academia for the year following, in part drawn to a consecrated inquiry of the meaning and modes of love, swearing I wouldn't return until I had some answers. The words of the poet Kahlil Gibran speak well to how that journey has gone/is going;

"And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course."

And that it has.

It's been harrowing. Humbling. Potentially humiliating. Love demands its price, even as a seductress, even as the light dancing just ahead on the dark and thoroughly barbed path. It will be worth its weight (or not) in both risk and reward. Jonathan Franzen wrote beautifully on the subject in the NY Times, read it here. The takeaway quote, the line that keeps reaching back at me - "...the dirt that love inevitably splatters on the mirror of our self-regard." There's some serious dirt on this mirror, and justly so. Also said by Gibran, and to this a hearty AMEN from me -

"For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.

Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning."

I have learned often and repetitiously that I really don't know love at all, as said by the luminous Joni Mitchell. Her voice in youth had the clarity and purity of a brook, a bright silver bell; the version of the Both Sides from the seventies is charming, yet the pure weather in her vocals, the sound and feel of thirty years' wisdom and maturation conveyed in her performance of the song in 2000 is... words fail. I suggest them both, in succession. Something tells me, despite her modesty, I could sit for hours listening to miss Mitchell's findings on love and life.

Yet by now you're probably sick of my thoughts on the subject. I am. This self-imposed sabbatical indeed changed my course as well as my courses; what I'll register for in the following semesters as much as who I'll be as I travel forward from here, forever. Grateful for the words, people, philosophies and experiences that have graced my path. And I got enough, more than enough of what I went inquiring after, and so - it's time for me to go back to class, back to scholarly endeavors, weed through it all and put it to good use.

In other news, it's been another beautiful fall in the Wasatch. I re-enter into this valley after summers away in awe and appreciation for the days of ever-cooling warmth and brilliant foliage, temperatures dancing the seasonal transaction, Old Man Winter awakening from his months of slumber, ready to turn the key on skiers' surrealist dreams and paint these mountains white with powder ripe for the turn-taking...

Exhales of tenderness.

Blessings of peace.

Much love.

-JH

Twenty Five to Life

2011-09-11T22:21:00.000-07:00

I hear the winter of 1986 was excellent. Perhaps my conception was the grand finale to one of those blessed days on the mountain which decrescendo over a winding descent into city lights, having spent, incinerated, seemingly every cell's energy - only the warmest coals left glowing after stoking the fire of life with laps over fresh fallen snow.

A little prematurely, four weeks so, the hormones and essences of life synchronized between child in utero and host mother elected Labor Day for the waters to break way for my arrival. Stubbornly, breached, I delayed that til the early hours of Tuesday, arrival crescendo to emergency C-section, all six pounds of me exiting the womb at 2:44am, September 2. My mother thought I was beautiful. Everyone else noted the misshapen nose still imprinted and off balance from the curves of nesting against her spine. They called me Yoda. She called me Jennifer Elaine, after my paternal grandmother. The resident staff of St. Luke's labor and delivery ward took note of only the latter of the names, thankfully.

A heap of living between then and now, but that was the moment celebrated this weekend as I traveled the miles between Salt Lake and Boise for a time that must be among thousands by now, musing on the precious and temporary conditions of life. Thought that of all we have as human beings, no matter who we are - none of it couldn't be lost or dissolved in the contents of a day. Not even our stories are entirely our own. We drift through these moments on borrowed time and at the mercy of a universe of changing circumstance. We can take ownership over what we give, but not what we get given.

Not knowing what tomorrow may bring - what's to be invested in? Relationships, experiences, whatever makes one grow in love and gratitude - that's all I'm truly banking on, at least. I drive long obnoxious miles for that end because really, such is what I'm driven by. The cost dissolves in the dividends: love is worth its expense, worthy in spite of or maybe even because of - its impermanence.

As the now reigning majority, mine was a home broken over time, love and lust lost between the entities that created me. Even fleetingly, the powers of attraction, passion, lust and ideally love witness their lasting merit; entire lives are borne of mere moments shared, in connection, in synthesis, whether the instincts and emotions make it for the long haul or even through the night.

Adulthood is no longer pending. Not at twenty five. You're in it, whether acted upon or not. I've got ideas about what I want, have the foundations established in the first half of my twenties and then some, have forward-thinking hopes and intentions. That doesn't really matter, though. I could die tomorrow or live a thousand years and what surfaces of meaning in all of this, what I've spent the last week plus change musing on, is real, meaningful love for life and my people, which doesn't require perfection or poise or even a state of being "pulled together." As you may know, I'm often scrambling at the wiles of a full schedule and deep seeded wanderlust - grace, patience and tolerance go a long way in preserving relationships in the tumult of life.

Perhaps the most remarkable transition of adulthood is going from approaching the world for the taking, the exploit, with unskilled-as-of-yet hands and heart, demands, needs, expectations - to pure, whole hearted love that seeks to give, understand, nurture, as is, for better or worse, knowing intuitively that it's worth it even if painful and with invisible returns.

Not that I'm there. I surely haven't fully arrived, but the wheels in me are turning ever forward. Learning continues. Loving, so much that it hurts is a choice I've made, openly, knowingly, with intention. In the act of prayer, more than a few times I've been returned powerfully that I am to be an active part of the answer, that the universe has invested in me; I have been given much - and even in the act of making requests, they require action, choices, discipline at the junction of awareness and loving. Giving back. Knowing or desiring to know how, when, where, why, to whom and what is to be given. And firstly - to love oneself enough to give love and support inwardly, which makes all the difference in reaching out.

Another transition: I've been thinking about Facebook and what it implies in its brand of "friendship." In contemplation of technology's artifice, the opportunity provided for people to interact in means unprecedented - much of which I'm grateful for, there's a magic in being to connect with friends past and see how their stories are unfolding, and knowing things and events are happening with little effort can be really great. However, sometimes retaining connection is not for the better, is not appropriate, windows that would naturally and/or intentionally shut are kept open by social media. I don't believe the validity, importance, value of a connection is diminished in its end any more than a novel or movie - endings are part of life. When a connection is grown out of, moved on from, finitely over - is it appropriate or healthy that either party be updated about the comings and goings, relationships and current images of the other? Never in the history of mankind has this been the case, at least not without a human third party, or stalking - which was previously regarded as sociopathic, creepy, and illegal. Is this a normative change we want to embrace? Perpetuate?

I've 'unfriended' very few people since I first joined the site in 2007. I've never gone through and 'weeded' as I've heard some people describe. It all seemed sort of like human farming, a bit of a grotesque approach to connection.

But I get it now. I've heard expressions of open contempt and derision for contacts maintained online, kept for entertainment, to feed competition, pity and criticism. That's not a friendship, and that's not honest. I think the more we feed into that sort of approach and even abstractedly christen it friendship, the more a falsely presented environment of scrutiny, criticism, unkindness and ultimately injury is fostered. It's sick, it's cyclical, it's harmful, and I want no part in reinforcing that. I want to be a real person and share loving, whole acceptance with others. I don't want to edit my posts for audience, I want to just post, as I am, with integrity and a whole heart.

I did some housekeeping this weekend and closed a few chapters of Facebook "friendship." My guiding principle in my decision was this - would I, or could I, sit down and share a meal with this person, exchange stories and feel sincerity and mutuality and human goodness? There were no's, and logistically and practically I'm not going to be seeing most of my FB contacts anytime soon, some maybe ever. But I did recognize that I have much to be grateful for and many connections to nurture with time and over good food in the future.

25 to life: I'm conciously taking you full on. Being real. Loving hard. Come what may.

Cheers to that.
-JH

All Au-gust-o

2011-08-20T17:05:00.000-07:00

Admittedly, I've had a lot of time on my hands lately.
I've been more or less unemployed for three weeks.
It's been scrumptious.

Flew back to the Lower 48 earlier this month after spending some time in the charming hamlet of Eagle River, Alaska, reconnecting with a dear friend and getting to know her sweet baby boy.

In flight somewhere over Canada whilst descending latitudes, I saw the stars for the first time this summer. Completely mesmerized, I pressed my face against the glass and was both very still and abuzz with celestial ecstasy. The first nights back I slept out in the back yard, still in awe of a dark sky full of twinkling stars, such a novelty after the months of midnight sun. I can't conceive of ever taking that for granted again.

By design, the day I landed my family and I gathered at Deer Valley to celebrate the marriage of my cousin-brother, we're three months apart. It was a tender, beautiful fete and I'm grateful for his love and happiness, his bride is a perfect compliment to all that he is and will be a treasured presence in our family.

Spent a few days in SLC moving things out of a dusty 5x10 and into new-to-me space before skipping town, in hot pursuit of sunshine, ocean and bestfriendship. Met up with my beloved sisterfriend in Vegas, where another dear friend had graciously lent his place. We headed for the ocean and a sailboat in Mission Bay. Got mani/pedis, laid purposelessly on barely warm sand beneath overcast skies, listened to the ocean, enjoyed the simplicity of each other's company. Giggled and conversed over plates of delicious food and walking aimless miles of unfamiliar city streets in Encinitas, La Jolla, San Diego, Solana Beach and surrounding. Swam. Loved. Just were, as is.

After she flew out I returned to Vegas, spent a smattering of days in pampered, soulful exile excepting a few meaningful connections via phone. Overlooking the endlessly moving human zoo, glitz, money spending opportunities, rich food that this city is known for, and I admit - I'm dazzled. My crusty, bitter Vegas hating environmentalist face has retired... because in the wilderness of Alaska, so very far from all this - I gained perspective and appreciation. It is what it is. It has a place, I'm glad for it, happy to experience this... from a distant bird's eye perspective at least. I went to Harry Potter IMAX 3D at the Palms yesterday. HP was everything I'd waited for, just the escapist experience I'd craved. Walking through the Palms was so classically Vegas, it's the casino host to the Playboy scene, which is boldly advertised from flashing screens and building-length banners, everywhere. Vegas is relentless. Trashy. And kinda just perfect for itself. I've treasured my time here and absorbed much sun as souvenir.

The City of Sin. Doesn't look so bad...

Tomorrow I suppose I'll mosey home, and create a new meaning of the word, yet again.
Pick up what still exists of the pieces I left behind in SLC.
Forge synthesis of new and old rhythm, relationships, life.

By all definitions, it's been a friggin' fantastic summer.

Photo at Muzita, an Ethiopian eatery in UCSD area.

Also, I'm almost 25. EEEeeeeeek!

JH

Not That Special

2011-07-30T02:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday someone told me point blank:

"You know, you're not that special."

It was kind of... a relief, actually. Not that I walk around cooing to myself about perceived specialness by any means. But I was reading a blog earlier today about a child born with EB - which may very well be the most vicious disease I know of. A blog about the tragedies in Norway. Another blog about one modern girl's brutal and heartfelt journey toward finding love and family.

And it's true, I'm not that special.
No one is.
We're all just human.
The universe has many stories.
Everyone's experiences are worthy.
No one is better than anyone else.

I think competition kills love, a little bit.

Maybe because competition is made of pride, a pride that puts our ego at the forefront of our concerns in a mode of diminishing returns - the more we concern ourselves with our own interests, the less we see of the world around us, the less our real needs are met, the less we are able to see anything else, and consequently really see ourselves and others as we are - merely humans. Ezra Taft Benson's words on the subject here in a talk that's relevance and application has only grown over time for me.

Just musing. Thinking. It's late.
JH

On the Run

2011-07-08T02:36:00.000-07:00

Well, I done did it. Left the biz, family, friends, my once-was house, comfort zone, habits... essentially, my world. Came to Alaska, and love Alaska I do. Of the many reasons for being here, being on the run is one. In the advent of the second month of my stay, I'm breaking stride. It's getting fun. I've got rhythm, I've got soul.

In case you haven't seen the TED talk linked to the left side over there, right beneath my profile, you might want to. A few times, even, maybe. That little number changed and continues to change my life - which really has been quite full of change. A big part of that comes from having parents who are radically different from one another and also got divorced - having to bounce back and forth between different houses, lifestyles, rules, habits, everything. Absolute torture and an opportunity to foster resilience and dynamism, all at the same time, and the foundation for the whole gypsy lifestyle I've pursued in my years on my own.

A few things I've learned or been thinking of, lately...

Being smart isn't worth anything at all if one can't figure out how to be happy, too.
Being "cool" has zero street value if one can't also be kind and authentic.
Generally, situations are what you make them, and just about everything requires hard work.
When I don't take things personally but instead look for the bigger picture or deeper factors, the more accepting I am of others.
Creativity isn't easy to foster and give breathing room in the messy chaos of life, which makes it even more rewarding and beautiful when it rises and exists.
Changing the setting may let the character emerge in a rewarding or even necessary way. Transplanting myself to new places has always helped evoke the purest things in me yet I am what I am, no matter where I carry that to.
The internet and a smart phone practically makes it possible to be a little bit of everywhere, all at once, on demand - which is about as good or as bad a thing as one makes of it.

That's it for now, more words coming soon. Peep the vid!

Peace and love.

Images from AK

2011-06-27T04:04:00.000-07:00

Backdoor.

What would summer be without?

Leaving the Salmon Bake at 2am.

Sunset over the runway. Alaska style.

Coping with Change

2011-05-27T15:51:00.001-07:00

Writing in a vacant C4, no longer a home but a real estate parcel primed and ready for the snatching. I’m a guest, not resident. Accessory, not integral. I didn’t want this change. I’ll just admit – it’s been excruciating.

Intuitively, a part of me has known for a while that the end of this chapter was coming, although not long ago I thought I'd return to this same place, life post-Alaska. Variables redirected fate. I lived here longer than anywhere of my choosing, changed this place to reflect something of myself, was changed by it in return. Yet all the comfort, investment, and desire in the world couldn’t keep me within these walls. I’m back to rolling stone status, moving forward on the momentum side of the summit having survived the upslope, aka the ‘shove for your life against gravity lest ye be trampled’ part. Even though it’s passed now, that’s what I want to write about – the hard part, and coping.

I’ve babied myself at times, said sweet and supportive words internally to keep the motor running and spirits afloat in all this, and been not only better off for it but surviving and capable because of it. Days ago out of a similar need for comfort a child displays toward a blanket, I wanted to wear a specific jacket, black, zippered, soft lining. An easier option – polyester, pull over, green, not what I wanted - was in arms reach; my pragmatic side said take it and move along, but the part of me needing comfort wailed in revolt. I wanted to do the tasks, knowing I had to – just wanted to do them while wearing that jacket. Went out of my way to accommodate myself, happier inside and comforted even in such a small gesture.

I slept in a few days, saw some movies, let other people make most of my meals, made a trip to Boise I didn’t have time for, chose to just be with the people I love, enjoying the moments without dragging the upheaval in. I’ve finally, after all these years, learned the value of escapism as well as kindness to self. And, letting things be. Crucial lessons I was desperately in need of.

For the record, I’m not going ALL soft. I went to the dentist this week. Overburdened and breathless, I was running late. They didn’t know if they’d have time for the procedure, but were trying to accommodate knowing that I’m leaving for the summer. To save time, I asked them to skip the anesthesia. They looked at me like I was crazy or kidding but proceeded to drill, commenting on my apparently remarkable tolerance, lack of flinching/whining/tears. If they only knew that those ten minutes were the easiest and least painful of the day, a respite of sorts. Moving really, really sucks.

However, I’ll blow my cover, anesthesia comes out of a needle - I really am a bit of a pansy. ;)

Making, Taking, Breaking Waves

2011-05-14T14:13:00.000-07:00

I'm back on board as a card carrying, Wilderness Medicine Institute certified Wilderness First Responder - may I help you? :) That's our a patient pickup line - and one I'd rather not have to use, for the record.

Been thinking of cumulative life experience lately, and the little things I'm grateful for. Even boring and tedious things have significance and transferability into bigger experiences. Everything counts.

The WFR experience has been a good one and provided a wealth knowledge drawn on in many moments following my initial certification in 2006. Aside from first aid stuff on the river and in the mountains, I've been first or nearly first on the scene of three major highway accidents and treated a half dozen strangers for shock while waiting for urban medical teams to arrive. Shock is a fascinating biological response; when the body experiences trauma, ie blood loss, it responds by shunting (my new pet word) its juices (literally, blood) to the vital organs.

I've thought often about this idea of shock, the shunting of energy to where it most matters - and how that goes beyond physical survival and into the broader picture of my life. You know, you put your energy where it counts kinda thing. Something I've mentioned before. So much of this winter has been seismic, shifting, grand scale changes in my mind and heart. Shock comes in many forms.

This past week I was sitting on the banks of the flood swollen Bear River just over the Idaho border north of Logan, renewing my Swiftwater Rescue certification. It was raining, a cold dreary kind, a pervasive dampness sank past the layers, through the neoprene and flesh of me into my bones. I'm sitting there attempting not to shiver, mentally preparing myself to dive sidelong (never head first!) into the current, swim for my life through a wave train, hop on the bank and ready myself with a rope to stage rescue for the next swimmer. It crosses my mind that clean warm fresh folded laundry, making hot meals and nursing babies might not be so terrible. Whoa. Did I just think that?

I've loved every minute of this gypsy life. This is who I am, where I've been, what I've gleaned from the earth and my presence on it and how I've chosen to actively live. I'll love life still, no matter where my paths carry me, but I think a part of the fight in me has outgrown the wanderer's shoes, and that I have nothing further to prove on this front. This has been a long time coming, often in my blog I've spoken of travels, love, independence, futures unknown and moments ripe for the relishing. Of making space and making waves. I've seen more than a few of my ilk go into a headlong battle against growing up, loving and being loved, settling down - and people have lost that battle, or won it in a way traditionally not accepted, depending on your perspective. I don't know the meaning of all things - but I do know that in me there has been a shift in willingness, intention, and a death of a former aversion - and I'm okay with that.

I'm in the rounds of final preparation for Alaska, takeoff is in nineteen days. Certifications are finished. Still have some gear to purchase, much to do. A surprise not wholly unanticipated cropped up in the game plan: I have to move out of C4. Like right now, before I leave for AK, rather than parking my car and domestic implements there in my absence and walking right back in the door of my established life and domicile upon return.The HOA has decided to take action on some issues and as a result, they'll be demolishing part of the apartment I've occupied. I can't stay even if I want to. I don't love this, it's not what I had intended - except in that there's nothing I can do about it, so I'm just going to take it head on with acceptance and see what the future holds. That's all you can do with some things in life. Like a medical diagnosis, a death, a devastation - walk forward with juicy loving acceptance and faith in the unknown.

I know this beautiful woman, a poet, a dreamer, a teacher - in the throes of a personal tragedy, she tattooed a symbol of sap into her arm to represent active healing, bleeding willingly, having capacity to recover. It's stuck with me and I've thought often of that idea as even minor things have come up on the horizon. Much of my supposed anchors have been cut loose in the past few months, and though I feel sort of adrift in this freedom - in other regards, I have never felt so sure that my course is being divinely guided and directed for the best outcomes.

AK, here I come. The countdown is on.

Much love, y'all.

Delicious Spring

2011-04-15T14:01:00.000-07:00

On the road late last night, unexpectedly sharing the miles with an acquaintance who easily became an endeared friend. We drove from Salt Lake into the starry, moonlit hues of desert night, slept on the floor in a house on the outskirts of Moab, full of the music of exhale from sleeping people now bound for Cataract Canyon, except me. Tomorrow I start a three day course to re-certify my WFR in preparation for the 2011 river season.

Out of habit, gravitational pull, draw of the heartstrings maybe, the first thing I did upon leaving this morning was head toward river road, finding this surprise at the turnoff....

MATRIMONY SPRING is back in action!

Last year I was devastated to find it sealed and padlocked, the water deemed undrinkable by some force for quality control. It may not be in it's heyday anymore, (click here for a previous post), but the water was as delicious and cool as ever, and I felt as though reunited with a particularly sweet and familiar vein of the lifeblood of the planet. A view from further up the road:

     Castle Valley alive and well, basking in sleepy morning sunlight and shadow.

   After cruising over the LaSal Loop Road, enjoyed the first sleep in the back of my newest vehicle - delighted with the results, the space is quite cozy and more than I've ever had. Awoke lazily, multiple times overlooking red rock and calm water, deeply pleased to be here and grateful for all the opportunities and paths that led to this point.

   Recent business milestones: I hired an accountant yesterday and hit the one year mark of licensing and operation in March. That first year was by far the most sleep deprived and stressful of my existence. But guess what? The "baby" has survived, thrived - and with the support of some fabulous help for which I am grateful, it stands on it's own two feet and is still there, happy and functioning, when I return from my travels. The accountant had some great ideas for growth and expansion and upon return from Alaska, I'm going to dive head first toward that goal... and cross my fingers that the world doesn't oust itself from existence in 2012.

   Although honestly, were this the sunset of humanity's existence as we know it, by and large I'd be content with how I've spent it. Where I've sown and labored in business, in my heart, family and relationships otherwise - there has been and continues to be a sweet reaping. I've learned, loved, and lived much, and have every intention of continuing as the year unfolds - come what may.

   More adventures on the horizon, more posts to come.
   JH

Returning to the Source

2011-03-09T17:33:00.000-08:00

Flashback to my junior year of high school in Boise, Idaho - a booming chamber of a room that was later to host prom, dressed then in the emblems of academia, clothed tables and postered curtains backdropped the plastered smiles of college representatives, stacks of pamphleted propaganda. I had a hard time taking any of it seriously - my only desires for college at the time were compulsory, wrought by peer pressure (having an answer for the questions of where I was headed) and expectation - from teachers, not from my parents. Academics were never a point of priority in my upbringing, I didn't even know the meaning of Bachelor's degree until I was a semester in to community college - but that's a different story. The college fair was to me, at the time, nothing more than a glorified reason for another excused absence.

While there, I was drawn to the muted and subtle curb appeal of Alaska Pacific University, where images of rugged landscapes played backdrop rather than common, recognizable collegiate insignias. While I browsed, the rep informed me of a get-to-know-us trip for students my age in the lower 48, offered to market the great State of Alaska, its largest private school and the lifestyle and pedagogy it embraced, which they called Active Learning - totally caught my attention. I was Sold with a capital S. Signed up immediately and asked Mom for permission later (see also: begged for forgiveness). I paid for the trip from my ski instructor wages that season, and Mom reluctantly and eventually contributed airfare, but not before many embarrassing phone calls to the school to make sure I would be okay. To help me prepare, the library at the family cabin in central Idaho was scoured, multiple editions of Alaskan Bear Tales left on my pillow by loving cousins and Gramps that Memorial Day weekend. The gruesome stories of people being mauled to shreds heightened fear, but amplified the overall meaning of going. I was doing something Big. That I chose. And walking into the unknown. I embraced that.

So for two weeks of the summer of 2004, my nights were only as dark as midnight sunset followed by a hazy dawn. I wasn't mauled by bears, though we did stow our food in caches while camping on the beaches of Resurrection Bay, arriving by sea kayak on emerald water pooled beneath breathtaking vistas of glaciers descending from massive peaks. I hiked one of the most oft summited peaks of the United States and stared across the Pacific Ocean at the majesty of its tallest, Denali. I dove headfirst into the no-no of romance with a tripmate - gorgeous, wild, irreverently blissful young lust. I saw Anchorage, Seward, Wasilla, Mat-Su, and everything in between. I met my first female river guide, who taught me to read the frigid water of the Kenai River and sang the praises of the Nenana - the glacier fed, barely subarctic, rapid-wealthy body of water that creates the natural boundary of Denali National Park. That, I do believe, was the inception of my desire to guide.

Flash forward now - I've formally accepted a position as a guide on the Nenana River for the 2011 with Denali Raft Adventures. I report in June. I thought weeks ago when the opportunity first came up that it was to be a compartmentalized experience, with a tidy beginning and end - but change comes heavy when it enters my life it seems, and the solid bookends I was banking on to surround this experience have begun to wobble and dissolve. Who knows what the future may hold - yet again, I walk forward into the unknown. Embracing it. And I'm feeling pretty amped, and ALIVE.

There you go, official announcement. Scrap whatever else I've said...

Gypsy Life 2011: Alaska
JH

JHole

2011-01-26T22:15:00.000-08:00

Woke up this morning in a condo overlooking the Wildlife Preserve in Wyoming. Enjoyed a delicious breakfast with my friend and her daughter, then the three of us piled in the car and hit the Wyoming 22 heading to Jackson Hole.

Teton Village was awash in the damp grey of an inversion, but mid way up the mountain we sailed into skies that were nothing but blue, slopes radiant and sparkling in sunlit white. Crowded into a cattle car (see also: tram) with a hundred other bodies clad in a rainbow assembly of outerwear, clutching skis, we’re all twitching with ye ol’ ski jones, and cheers erupted when the sun came out to play. The goods from the last storm cycle were soft and luscious, if you knew where to find them – and our Clinician did, oh boy did she ever, all day long.

I’m here for ongoing training as a Professional Ski Instructor. This has been part of that life – road trips, new faces, feedback on my skiing from fresh eyes, new places, different snow and conditions and cultures. I love it. Or at least, I love it when I actually stop and think about it.

As much as I try to foster an ‘attitude of gratitude’ – I often catch myself abiding some tired and unappreciative outlook without questioning it, owning it, or being fully conscious of it. Today on the Tram while psyching up, I deconstructed the experience. The masterpieces of engineering and technology that take us up the mountain and allow us to travel down whilst staying warm and safe and dry, the entire industry built around it, the hype and the fun. The fact that as BIG as this world has been to me, in the big picture of the world, only a teeny minority that gets to participate. I feel sort of sad about that, and unjustly privileged, and yet glad I’ve been able to share it with hundreds of students over the years.

Just some informal musing. Tucking in for the night so I can get up and get after it again tomorrow…

Christmas comes but once a year...

2010-12-26T12:28:00.000-08:00

And I hope you’ve spent it well in the hearts, if not the arms, of those you love.

Salt Lake City was under the canopy of a foggy winter haze this morning as I left for Little Cottonwood, but grey skies have limited stature. The atmosphere thinned midway up the canyon; Alta basked in the glory of brilliant white sparkling beneath bright and cloudless blue sky. I reflected today on Christmas 2005, when I’d planned to stay at my first apartment downtown, thinking I was grown up. I admitted a teary eyed defeat that night, and my roommate and I drove my Honda Civic into Boise in the wee hours of Christmas morning. Every year since, I trekked to be with family for this one day, returning as quickly as I left to Alta to teach skiing. This year, I stayed.

A number of chapters came to a close over the course of 2010, the Civic being among those. A few hundred thousand miles of memories on the odometer, I sold it for a fistful of cash and an iPod last spring, the first in a succession of 2010 vehicle transactions. What happened to the cash, couldn’t say - but I did figure out how to use the iPod last week. Guilty as charged on all counts of electronic media ignorance - except for my continuing love affair with Microsoft Excel, which, with a few other forces in the universe, helped me put together a small but official, licensed, registered cleaning company at the start of the year. A blessing and a curse ever since, but one I am most certainly grateful for.

I retreated to the woods and rivers of central Idaho for part of the summer, but was pulled out of the reverie by responsibilities (see above) in Salt Lake, dancing back and forth over dashed highway lines between peace and duty. The limbs of Wasatch trees got naked like they do in the fall, but my own shedding and simplifying in preparation for winter didn’t happen – things got heavier, collided, started decomposing on the branch, and I finally had to just shake free of some of it and let go of a few responsibilities and a little pride. Fear not, I have pride to spare, I survived, my business survived. My academic and career plans took some hard adjustment, more of which is sure to come.

Speculating about the possibilities for next year and the grandiose plans and dreams it may host would have been more fun than sharing the imperfect, realistic details of the past year. But if there’s anything that I’ve learned in the past twelve months, it’s that life is subject to change and based largely on externalities, that I don’t rule the world, and the power I have is dictated in the choices I make with what I’ve been given. That’s pretty much all I’ve got, in a nutshell. I’ll take it.

I drove the midnight miles from Salt Lake to Boise on Christmas Eve of 2005 because all I had at the time was roots; wings hadn’t yet sprouted. A holiday away from the nest seemed a dismal plummet to the barren ground. In the half decade since, the wings have come, flight has been made. I’m grateful to have a home, communities, invested relationships of whole heart and soul with people and places of not merely my choosing, but divine blessing and opportunity.

From the simple to the harrowing, the known to the unfathomable - I am grateful, immensely and endlessly, for all that this year has been and those I’ve shared it with. I look forward to the advent of 2011, a blank canvas of time awaiting the mark of colorful life, and wish you and yours all the best this season and into the New Year.

With love,

International Advent

2010-12-23T15:06:00.000-08:00

Over the better part of the last decade, I've proudly accepted and embodied the Gypsy life, driving hundreds of thousands of miles across western landscapes, eating from the earth, drinking deeply of its waters, living out of a car, a backpack. Countless mornings, I've woken up on some beach, patch of dirt, overturned raft - and sighed a sigh of contentment. I've chosen to be there for critical family moments, friends' milestones, embracing the familiar and beloved instead of pursuing grand scale adventure on an international canvas.

The idea of going someplace just to blitz through a tick list of tourist stops in a week holds no appeal for me. Cruises, also no appeal. I've seen port cities, they're as contrived as it gets, and the idea of confinement within an overrated floating hotel is revolting. I crave to experience time and place in authentic, tangible, true ways.

I've envisioned a future with a family, where we would make a point of living below our means so that at least biennially, we could approach the world at large with curiosity and open hearts. Take the time to select a destination, acquiring a base understanding of the place and culture, and develop skills that would translate to some specific experience there. As one piece of that family, I'm getting the ball rolling this year.

Here are the top two prospects...

Guilin, China via San Francisco, Shenzen

Intention: Experience and climb pillars at YangShou

Preparation: Climbing!

Iceland via New York City

Intention: Circumnavigate the country via Ring Road, possibly on bicycle.
Prep: Culture/literature/language study.

In Other Words...

2010-12-13T13:24:00.001-08:00

‎"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well." - Van Gogh

First Comes Love

2010-11-07T12:55:00.000-08:00

I wrote about getting comfortable feeling and expressing love in '08, and a year later I wrote about the pressure to find it. Time for a revisit. My ideas of love have grown up.

Love is real. I feel it, immensely, for the wonderful people I'm blessed to know. I understand making loyal, serious, whole hearted investments in the lives of others, because I do. I express love for others in word and deed. I just haven't shared it with one exclusive, romantic partner, yet. Not because I don't want to, but because wanting it doesn't mean it's available.

I am attracted to artistic and intellectual curiosity, to those who have used their time on this planet to drink deeply of all that it offers, allowing it to change and alter them.Within us there are conflicts and contrasts, stories, deep things we don't always want to share or feel we can. Yet all this makes it more difficult; the more a person is developed by time and experience, the more articulate their companionship needs become, and the less likely it seems.

It happens, though. Freaks find love. Freaky love can be the most inspiring kind. My favorite case-in-point: Bjork and Matthew Barney.

Thus far, my romantic encounters have been unsustainable and not marriage bound, for reasons I am solid with. I am accountable to my convictions about that. I have things I am striving for, prior to bringing anyone else into the picture - that are eternally important to me, and I'm getting there. The idea of someone else coming into the picture is also becoming increasingly appealing. There are tiny beginnings of space for another person in my world. But there's a catch; I'd rather live and die alone than settle for a fake love* and have to lie to myself about my daily reality. Discerning prospects is half the battle. Actually sticking to the battle, or not seeing it as a battle... that's a part of the equation I don't usually make it to.

This year has hosted many brushes with love - as a concept, an illusion, a bliss, a reality, something actualized, something given up. Saying goodbye when a romantic situation just isn't right is so difficult. Especially when it's too grey to identify exactly why it isn't right, you're both comfortable and relatively happy...yet you just know it isn't foreva-eva. So it's suck it up, be brave, cut the tie, have faith in the future and soldier onward. More painful in the short term, less in the long run.

Gah.... I'm going to go eat more post-breakup consolation ice cream now. I am not kidding.

;)
JH

* Music alert: I highly recommend listening to Fake Plastic Trees, acoustic version, by Radiohead. And check out Bjork's Vespertine album.

Creative Release

2010-10-13T14:48:00.000-07:00

"If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth will destroy you."
-from The Gnostic Gospel According to Thomas

Since the advent of my twenty fourth year, I've been living in sin with the tall, darkly handsome Pablo. Calm yourself. I know this is big news.

The deliciously passionate trysts we were meant to share have thus far gone by the wayside, though I yearn for it deeply and ache in awareness of the absence. Priorities that stamp impatient feet and throw vile tantrums when ignored get the best and bulk of my energies. Quiet but equally real needs settle to the bottom of the river Time, forgotten silt left out of its inexorable currents.

Pablo waits, still, without complaint. His silence not insolent but filled with fidelity, eternal patience and profound understanding.

I remember yet again that denying creative energy its nurture and release is putting the soul in a satisfaction chokehold. Time invested toward deep and personal needs is recouped by lifted spirits - especially when time is its most illusive and menial tasks clamor for undivided attention. By all means work, commute, pay taxes, attend to the tedious - and every now and then, give Duty the bird and paint a picture. Even if it is total garbage.

For the record, Pablo is an easel. A beautiful creation of finely stained wood given me by a dear and thoughtful friend. We have an upcoming rendezvous with a blank canvas and all the passionate color my liberated heart can throw at it.

;)

A Glowing Fire

2010-09-22T15:52:00.000-07:00

I hesitate to call experiences ‘humbling,’ because it’s always seemed to me that the act of declaring humility defies the essence of it. That said...

The day after my last post I went in to meet with the faculty advisor overseeing my internship to discuss objectives. I expressed my passion for literacy, and the next thing I know, she’d set me up to meet with a group in the area that coaches adults who struggle to read and write at a fifth grade level.

The building was of simple brick, located in a quiet industrial corridor offset from the main commercial artery that cuts through the Salt Lake valley. A receptionist let me in to a locked door at the top of a stairway which led to a basement illuminated by artificial halogen light refracted back from clean linoleum floors. It had a sterile feel and smelled of warm air from printers and copiers, gone stale and still in the dead space of the hallways and their dark rooms. There was a second where it all made me wonder why I’d come.

I picked up the muffled sounds of human voices, following them until a room opened to view. A room full of people and light and laughter. The only common denominator of any of our physical features was that we were all human, but everything from style to iris color to age was represented across the board. They drew me in quickly, introductions were sincere and immediate and within minutes of entering this foreign place, I found myself a world that immediately became part of me.

There was one man whose image I couldn’t help but seek to capture any time it would escape his notice, something familiar about his movements struck me. Tell tale lines of a lifetime’s expressions carved a decorative surround to his warm, honey brown eyes. His color palette was of burnt copper and earth. These beautiful, stunning elements stuck out to me before I noticed the ragged challenges of a difficult life his image otherwise bore testament to. His writing was some of the most genuine and heartfelt I’ve read or heard and came from the purest place in the human soul. It wasn’t until he spoke to read it, in a gravelly voice of dried tobacco, that I understood my draw to him. He was the living shadow of a friend I have known and loved for years, a resemblance all but buried in the effects of radically different lifestyle. It caught my heart to see familiar fragments of a dear friend reflected back in the eyes of a stranger.

In my pursuit of personal achievement, I forget that every race requires winners and losers. I forget that the values I grew up learning to embrace, the American Dream, are founded in competition. The AmeriCorps Vista with whom I share desk space said it well today -

"The 'pull yourself up by the boot strap' mentality suggests that through hard work and perseverance one can succeed. I do agree with this statement to a degree; the problem is that it is only half of the equation. Opportunity, or more specifically, the lack of opportunity, is the elephant in the room that no one wants to discuss."

In our little microcosms, we don’t see the full scale of the lives of those who surround us. Rather, we exist in a place where it’s easier to judge people according to our starting point and standards we’ve held ourselves to, rather than to make an inquiry into what are uniquely theirs and why. I at least am guilty of that. I have never intended to be a harping, insensitive critic – but those are steps I’ve unfortunately tread in my evaluation of the world around me. There are things I’ve taken for granted about my circumstances and the wealth of resources available to me. Even the resource of love I have come to ponder as a strange and perplexing commodity that we are not blessed equally with, either in our reception of or capacity to give, let alone understand.

It just harrows me to know and to see firsthand that despite so much abundance in some of the world, there are still people who fall through the cracks. Human lives that get overlooked, people we don't realize can't read nutrition labels, release forms or even junk mail. Whoever said ignorance was bliss was not only mistaken, but knew not the painful and limiting confines of illiteracy.

There’s a hymn in the canon, I don’t know its origins and can’t find them now, but it says that because I have been given much, I too must give. And so I am, or hope to. And having something to give as well as the ability to do so, I am realizing, is an incredible blessing in and of itself.

-JH

Literal Progress

2010-09-13T11:35:00.000-07:00

I have about a hundred other things I could and should be doing looking me in the face from the calendar on my wall, the list on the desk, the missed call registry on my phone screen... shut up. Give me a minute.

We talk of progress - in my country we love it, obsess over it, worship it at times. Progress is a word that by definition becomes enshrouded in shades of grey and ambiguity. People throw the endorsement at all sorts of undeserving things. An unsustainable leap forward in industry riddled with opportunity costs to environmental, social and cultural entities is still called progress, at least until the shine wears off and the endeavor falls on its face and the critics flock like vultures to the remains. A circle progresses in an endless cycle, but does it really get anywhere? Momentum cannot always be considered progress, not all steps forward are headed in a worthwhile direction.

I once heard that "if it isn't sustainable, it isn't real." Take that qualifier to progress and it truly shifts the wheat from the chaff. So, I've sought a more solid, consistent word for the principle of true progress and chosen literacy.

Literacy is an applied, sustainable, real progression - an individual forming a closer relationship with the world around them through words, understanding, enlightenment. It often doesn't come easily - the costs are harrowing, sacrifices poignant, experience real and deeply human.

I believe in literacy. By that I mean I give my life, my energy, my passion and my blood for it. It's the principle behind the metaphors in my life - why I climb, why I seek education, why I love people, why I invest in relationships and experiences and life itself. And while illiteracy may not be the most inimical barrier to true progress, it's one I'll happily kick in the teeth all the days of my life.

So here I am. Back in class for the semester and blessed with an internship with an organization that supports literacy as clearly as any, learning the skills I need to contribute to its crusade.

Still tired, still overbooked. But I'm where I need to be. In the moments that I realize this is tangible progress, these things I am building and will be able to share - conviction burns like fire clear and bright in me, and I forget the costs. I am content, alive and here.

JH

Lessons from the Riv

2010-08-21T11:31:00.000-07:00

Four states, three rivers, many nights under the stars and under the elements, go go go... and rest. In my own house. My own bed. Nesting in for the fall semester, which starts Monday. Dug my heels in this weekend - turned down some boating and climbing invitations in favor of simply just existing in one place, not hounding more highway miles in pursuit of another adventure. Though I do love adventure and the summer has been full of it to a blissful degree. All good things come to an end, and great things are ahead.

Headed up to Jackson Hole last weekend to run the Snake for the first time, just for fun with friends. Completely gorgeous place, amazing canyon, beautiful water. Loved the section. And playing on the water with friends is a riot, I can't even explain the liberation of taking it all in for recreation's sake vs. guiding. Totally different.

Spent a night at home, did some laundy, threw everything back in the car and headed for Moab. I hadn't been there since last fall - in five summers, that's the longest I've been away. The Colorado Plateau melts me to my core - especially under rainstorm when ruddy waterfalls pour off of Wingate cliffs, when brilliant red stands in the foreground of menacing, ominous black clouds, when entire roads wash away under a crimson flash flood. I saw it all and then some. Reconnected with a batch of people I love. Put in my third trip with a private school from Denver, forty something high school juniors, twenty some canoes, a night of heavy rain and chaos aplenty, and my second unintentional swim of my career. Can I just say that watercraft should be, without exception:

Closed hulled and watertight, i.e. kayak
Self bailing, i.e. a decent raft
Incapable of holding water, i.e. constructed of pontoon flotation, like a cataraft

Canoes are ridiculous. Whoever thought of putting their bathtub in a river and steering it with a silly stick was a primitive being from whom we should have learned and evolved technology to include the above three bulleted conditions. I've guided half a dozen canoe trips in my guiding career,each was special in its own right; and I have at least six reasons that the next time this group calls, it's kayak or no deal.

Going through what would be a benign and unremarkable wave train for a raft, squared up, paddling through the waves, and ten of them break right into the bathtub. Of course it fills up. I'm looking down into the chocolate milk of the Colorado, sitting in my seat still, gear bobbing from its ties, the only thing above water. Canoe is completely immersed up to the gunnels. It didn't even flip. I bobbed out and swam it to shore, got elbows deep with a bail bucket and a few hundred pounds of water, five minutes later back in the current.

My dear friend and co-guide complimented the speed and efficiency of the self-rescue a number of times, and I was like hey thanks, I still swam. It got me thinking though. I'm no canoodler, I'm a friggin' whitewater guide. There are the things that translate - experience, ability to read the current, medical training, knowledge of the environment, authoritative personality. And then there's the actual art and craft of canoe paddling, which I'm novice to. Inexpert. Inefficient. Imperfect. But I sure can haul a drowned bathtub full of junk through a swift current and hammer out a complete recovery in minutes flat.

And so it is with life sometimes. We get swamped, we swim without meaning to, we lose our seat and our footing and occasionally flotation itself. There are times when a good and honest recovery effort is the best you can bring to the table, when a flawless execution was simply outside of your skill set. There's a lot to be said for the fortitude to not give up and be swept away, the humility to make ammends/apology, courage to get back in the saddle and go for it again. I give people credit for that - and if you look, it can be seen everywhere. Humanity is amazing.

And canoodling still sucks.

;)

Anniversary Night

2010-08-01T22:12:00.000-07:00

One year, one place. Interrupted by many gypsy excursions hither and yon, but the keyholder of one dwelling in the universe for an entire year, as of today. First time in my adult life.

An ocean of puffy golden clouds over the Wasatch, crescendo to pink, dissappate, darken. City lights twinkling behind charcoal silhouettes of trees, the last stripe of red flaring over the Great Salt Lake before the sunset is out, snuffed by the shades of enveloping night. Enter on its waves, its obscuring curtains of black - cricket song, cool gentle breeze and motorcycle hum. Salmon baking, bed of rice waiting inside, garlic pepper goodness adrift in the air. All this from the back deck, lower level, same condo, different year. One. Whole. Year. And I'm still here.

I cut my hair today. While driving. On the interstate. Reached for an unsuspecting pair of scissors and lopped my ponytail off. I'd been contemplating a change half seriously, thinking of a birthday rite of passage. Some changes need to happen with no further thought in the moment they're given, though - and so it is and will be. Haggard and choppy until I have time to bask in the opulent radiance of a salon, get it shaped, colored, teased. I won't pretend to mind until then, it wasn't about the aesthetic, but rather the liberation and shedding of a finished history. Time spoke and the blade fell. Hadn't been above the shoulders since middle school.

Birthday in a month. Edging in on some of the goals I'd set when musing about it a few posts ago. Cutting useless weight from my hair, frame, habits. Honing in. Simplifying. And honestly, some days still just trying not to drown. All is well though, happy to be alive, in my own shoes and on my own road, crossing state lines ceaselessly, the means to the tying of ever-loosening, unruly ends. I am so nauseatingly, exhaustedly sick of traveling. But I'm at the end of the what-I-wouldn't-give rope - and I'm not giving up what's left for the comfort of sitting still.

It's progress of sorts to have one place I've come back to for a solid year. Like a homing pigeon. Perhaps in years to come, I'll cease to fly the coop and figure out what it really means to be still.

And then again maybe not. This gypsy blood runs strong though wearied, aged and with increased responsibility.

Front Porch

2010-07-10T23:24:00.000-07:00

Unberievable. Picked up a wireless signal on the front porch of the Gelco. Internet in this town used to be hard to come by, apparently in 2010, its been gettin' around. Mixed feelings - appalled, bummed, shrugging... maybe I'll just toss the laptop into the Little Salmon once I hit post, I can hear it gurgling along on this starry night. My cell phone's still dead to the world 3 miles from New Meadows, ducking out of society will just be one step less convenient with wireless signals creeping over the land.

Alive and well in Idaho. For the weight of preparation and reluctance for departure, transition came quick and seamlessly. Different life here, way different. Loving it. Writing often - for pleasure, for art, letters and cards too. Taking a step back in time and leaving the internet and cell phone out of my actual communication routine. It comes highly recommended. Pushing the reset button on programs, paradigms, priorities...

Been swimming every night, hot springs and river. Rafting most days. Family's been at the cabin. Hiked up the 'trail' to School Marm peak tonight with friends. Wore flip flops, 'cause I wanted to. Didn't bring a camera, 'cause I wanted to selfishly absorb the moment without considering its publicity. Brilliant and stunning, sunset over the bends of the Salmon River, surrounding peaks and snow capped Seven Devils. I will take and post pics at some point, shot a roll of film last week, felt amazing. Ran most of the way down, flip flops and all. Want to do the trail every night I'm in Riggins, good exorcise for the soul, exercise for the cardiovascular unit. And in Riggins, there ain't much else going on besides drinkin and talking trash, the former grows boring from the sidelines and the latter's been done ad nauseum. Local boys on the beach tonight were still talking about their glorified high school football days, a good four plus years ago. Time moves slowly here, it might be time for the old to go out, but the influx of new is sleepy and delayed, so the old stays on replay well past its prime. Speaking of, I'm finding that you can only spend so much time alone with an Ayn Rand novel before you start to go a little nutso. Damn you Atlas Shrugged.

All in all, things are beautiful. So alive and here that it hurts - no place I'd rather be. I'm not going into any more depth, and not interested in making the language or the post any prettier. Happy, healthy, life is simple.

Peace and love,
JH

Mellow Yellow

2010-06-20T19:43:00.000-07:00

I generally dislike yellow. Typing it, I've oversimplified the word even - what a curious assembly of letters, a rolling syllabic duo. Lately I've either cured my aversion or put it into retirement.

A yellow scarf, t-shirt, nail polish, dress, and quart of paint now adorning two furniture pieces. Like the Yellow page of a child's learning book, all these similar items assimilated into one unlikely place - with me.

Little yellow tokens of my willingness to embrace New and move forward, perhaps. Maybe like taste buds changing with age, my visual taste is changing the accepted layers of deliciousness; I'm merely experimenting with parameter expansion. The yellow furniture came on a whim, I just pulled a card at Home Depot. It worked with the burgundy and green tones. Done deal. New furniture. Bingo. Fresh, change. It fits perfectly.

Admittedly reluctant to embark on the JH Gypsy Excursion v. Summer 2010. I'm happy here and now - Florida made me deliriously, delightfully appreciative of dry air, wildflowers, topography, melting snowpack and everything that is late springtime Wasatch. Maybe I'm buying yellow faith and courage, attempting to transport these wildflowers and this feeling with me in my travels. I've never in my life drug my feet like this - I guess it's partially due to how deeply I've tread these familiar places over time. And I'm a little tired of the process of vagrancy - sucking in breath for upheaval, building momentum. Getting there.

I'm finishing the remodel just in time to drop everything, hop state lines and relocate myself. That's like taking the gift from under the tree, unveiling it from the wrapping, seeing the photo on the outside of the box but leaving the scene without actually opening it or playing with the contents. God willing, the house will still be here upon my return. I'll absorb the newness of it all fully when the CFS of the Salmon drops and the huckleberries have been plucked into shriveled oblivion.

Still moved by an undying thirst in need of quenching. Just moving slow this time around, my youthful affections grown into deep and abiding love. I've sown wild oats in passionate, girlish whims over the course of the past summers. Sweet, perennial fields wait now... to be danced in. Slow dance, this time.

JH

Quarterlife Confessional

2010-06-06T00:57:00.000-07:00

Life is strange.

Enough so that I’ve abandoned belief in coincidence. Some things are inconsequential enough to come together without force. Other seemingly simple things strike at moments too opportune for me to negate even the possibility of divine orchestration.

One juicy, delicious blessing I have in my life is that of a Best Friend. Movie and literature portrayals don’t touch this. We've been together in spirit for over a decade now, distance has come, gone and come again, and the friendship grows ever stronger. When I think about it, I really, truly can’t believe the amazing and profound influence this has been on who I am. I’m grateful for our connection every day, every moment I’m alive.

Relationships like that don’t just happen. And they don’t grow without effort to be a true friend to the other person, and to be a person true enough that one would want to call friend.

I read back through my blog the other day, musing on the musings. There’s been a giant snowball barreling down the hill of my life the past few years. It looks like self sacrifice, it’s fueled by insanity, it manifests in my ability to overbook and over commit, and it grips like an iron stranglehold. My vices are my vise. I like being busy, I am fond of challenge, I’m relatively capable. So I take on new things, I try to do it all, I make sacrifices.

It’s not working any more.

I’ve distributed my energy too far and wide to have any left over for myself. I stopped reading. I took on more jobs. I gave up much without realization, but my efforts were too diluted to count for lasting satisfaction.

I just got a B+ in a class I could have spent five minutes more to get an A, for example. The non-profit I edit for is still waiting for me to hit a week, maybe two, old deadline. I got a ¼ of my flooring in before realizing I’d dead ended the flow and had to turn back, pull it up, and start over with the end more clearly in mind. I’m just not being effective or striking the mark with accuracy the first time around.

Who knows what else I’ve lost in my frenzy.

All I know now is that while this madness I’ve created could be sustainable, it doesn’t have to be. I’d like to regain something of true, authentic and raw happiness. I wasn’t born to be a robot.

It’s three months minus spare change til my next birthday. A lot can happen in three months. I can’t effectively and permanently change my habits overnight, but I bet there’s a lot I can do in the range of three months to hone in what gives my existence real meaning.

Also noted in my blog scan – I’ve failed to record some crucial, intrinsic quarterlife goodies, such as the developments surrounding the ‘what I’m doing with my life’ dilemma. Total quarterlife material right there, and I’ve never even bothered to mark the progress or muse on the journey. So here it is.

I’m declared as an English major, news which didn’t stun the ears of former teachers, but took some growth and increased perception for me to accept. I didn’t want to be an English major. I didn’t want to be a teacher when I grew up. I wanted to be an icy, powerful business woman, and here I am in the middle of the humanities field – right where I discovered, albeit with reluctance, that I need to be.

I need school. Like oxygen, like water, like vitamin D. Need it. Because it is the hallowed ground I walk to prove a challenge to myself, a birthplace of invaluable relationships and experiences, the refinery where my raw materials are gathered for development and consecration. There are other places where this occurs, but school is still irreplaceable. It’s not for everyone, but it is for me.

All things hideous and beautiful considered, I’ll be around Academia for a while, likely a good long while, as my vision has expanded and I aim now for not only literacy but expertise. Bridges will be crossed when arrived at, I can only speculate what they’ll look like, but I aim to reach the end of the line in the career path I choose, to attain the ultimate degree available in my field.

I feel shy saying that. I don’t know why. I’m pioneering my way through college, no one in my heritage has been there. It makes me feel like a gawky strangeling in a new land.

Anyway, it’s late and in summary, I have recognized that if I am to give the things that matter the energy that will make them happen well, I have to prune back my outreach and implement improved time management policies. I’ve identifed and said as much for a while, but it’s time to go and do it. And do it better, and not strike out.

I am grateful for friendship that keeps me in check and lets me know when my feet are on solid earth, gently pulling back to the soil as needed.

With love,
JH

It's Killing Me.

2010-05-24T23:39:00.000-07:00

Slowly, softly.
Just like that.

Bereft of balance and bathing in chaos, I drone on at a deadly pace, robotic accomplishments, forced effort. I make it, but it's little more than survival. Self criticism creeps in - why isn't this done? Where is your perfection? What is the holdup? Even, where is your flair and charisma?

Then I recall the fury of the past few months; triumphs, exercises, tests, breaking news, milestones, projects, unforecasted storms enveloping entire provinces of my being and realigning everything from it's comfortable place. And I think, it's okay, I can be gentle with myself now, I know. I'm worn, yet not beaten down.

Dali said: "Have no fear of perfection - you'll never reach it." I would have come at that with fists flying a year ago. Now I nod and feel relief wash over my being - relax a little. Survival isn't always enough... but at times, it's a remarkable achievement.

That said, maybe this is humility. Maybe this is being real. None of it is bad, it's all just coming in at warp speed and peeling layers of static away until things are completely raw and new.

I have experienced a new sensation - a pang of wanting something to step in and save me, to intervene on my behalf. Some people look to Jesus for that. All I've got is an exhausted face in filmy mirror... but I'm open to alternatives. Maybe more open, real and alive now than ever.

Then again, maybe not. Maybe I'm just swamped. Change and subjectivity could be life's only constants.

With love, still...
JH

P.S. Because that was way too serious and borderline depressing...

;)

Spring and the Musts

2010-04-17T16:26:00.000-07:00

Surfacing from hectic, crazed few months of winter. Vague illustration: many 13 hour days on end. Running a business, teaching hundreds of ski lessons, freelance writing projects in addition. Entertaining a 15credit load of college classes, maintaining relationships, grasping for sanity, sharing space with another human being plus visitors and houseguests, life....

Cheers to spring. New buds on the trees, sunshine and blue skies. The turn of new pages and onset of much improved schedule.

I've been climbing every single day this week, at the gym and outside now. The approaches have been a little muddy, and some snow patches to be tromped through, but so worth it and so gorgeous out.

Two days on trails/road with my mountainbiking class, love it, getting worked by it, can't wait to love it some more and get worked by it less. My biking instructor (who is a radical triathlete and power-woman extraordinaire...) commented that there are Three Musts if you live in Utah:

Skiing
Rock Climbing
Mountainbiking

Amen to that. And I'm 3 for 3 this week.
Love the Wasatch!

JH

Post Equinox

2010-04-03T12:31:00.000-07:00

This may come off as intolerant. It is.

I really can't stand complaints about problems people are capable of solving, yet unwilling to solve or admit fault with.

I detest the description of circumstances as 'lucky' when the person within them has struck a match of opportunity against the friction of preparation and sacrifice.

I laud expression, ALL expression, in its right time and place. But there's a difference between expressing fears and strife vs. aimless whining. The former tends to go down better with a chaser of effort, ambition, and fortitude.

I tire of seeing the brilliance, strength and ability in people who are unwilling to embrace and work with it. By tire I mean it exhausts my soul; it'd probably break my heart if I let it.

This is part intolerant ranting, part self coaching. They say that people point out the faults in others that they most recognize in themselves, even subconciously. We're hyperaware of what we are striving to control - internally and externally.

To people who are young, childless, healthy and living in the United States*: If you dislike your circumstances, change them. No, seriously, stop making excuses. Change your circumstances. Oh, they're complex? Well so is the mind, and it's capable of finding a way, and you live in a time and place with virtually limitless means.Change exacts a price, and no one said it was going to be simple or comfortable. In fact, I don't recall comfort and ease as prerequisite conditions for life itself. But don't call an unwillingness to pay the price impossibility.

My peers* have at times lamented the difficulty of their lives to me, expressing their powerlessness, their unmet needs and desires, longings. I can be gentle when it's called for, but when hopeless rhetoric continues to spill forth with no light at the end of the tunnel, I lose all desire to be accomodating. My interpretation of the golden rule as it applies here: If and when I have abilities I've sold out for a defeatist attitude and dismay, I would hope to be encouraged to lift myself to the strong and competent being I am. I don't want to be babied, coddled, saved, validated in weakness or even distracted. I want to work hard to solve my problems, I want to be believed in. Maybe everyone isn't on the same page with that, but that's what I'll give and would like to receive. Sure, the quarterlife phase is hard - but it's a lot harder when you hold on to counterproductive attitudes.

The time has come to cash in on some of my abilities and pursue some goals, hard, relentlessly. Some pending changes...

I don't want to write more; I need to write. Not blog, not email, not jot, not doodle, not casual journaling. Good, hard writing in private sessions consecrated and dedicated for that specific need for expression.

I don't want to work out more; I need to be physically raw, to run breathlessly, heave like an animal and feel innate power surge through my veins. Run, climb, ride hard.

I don't just want to hang out to pass the time; I need reciprocated connections that nourish, are poignant and real.

I'm off the fence, done holding my breath, wasting my time, and swimming in fluff.

Spring is so invigorating....
JH

Huckleberries

2010-03-25T20:28:00.000-07:00

I've said it before and I'll say it again. That Benjamin Franklin had it all wrong. It's huckleberries that serve as proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy. Perhaps I speak for myself - but it rings very, very true in this moment.

This past month has effectively rivaled any and every other in terms of busyness for me. Wow. I'm still not caught up. I'm still actually quite overwhelmed. But I'm coping. Credit due to the simple pleasures - a bowl full of berries, a nice talk with a loving friend, taking one extra run as fast as I can between lessons.

Life is good. Life is abundant. I'm swimming in it. And I love it.

A few newsworthy haps...
I bought a car, and it runs like a champ - mega improvement. Civic bit the dust. I sold it for $450 cash and an Ipod.

Ski season is wrapping up, bittersweet sunset on another beautiful year in the Wasatch, have met and kept some wonderful relationships, skied often and been well.

I am now a licensed and registered business owner. This has been a huge endeavor, and will continue as such while I set up office-y stuff; quarterly reports, payroll, tax withholding, etc. I confess... I love it.

If I can work my business just right, I'll still be able to spend half my summer on the river, the dirty one AND the clear one. That makes my heart sing just thinking about it! And you know what happens in August, right?

... Huckleberry harvest.

:)
JH

Say When

2010-03-02T08:44:00.000-08:00

Fifteen days of blur. As a veteran, I know when the tides of tourism come and go in the ski industry, but they rock the boat nonetheless. Presidents' week 2010: over and done. Hallelujah!

A few kinks that got thrown into the mix this year:

Took my dear PHG, age 7, skiing the day after Pres'. Car blew up on the highway. Initial bid for repair: $800. Finding a way up the mountain, having an awesome day in spite of it all, and keeping the kid in smiles - priceless. It was a really gorgeous day - soft, sparkling snow and sunshine!

In the wake of the disabled vehicle, a lost wallet that led to a missed then delayed flight, which led to a belated birthday celebration (happy 8th, TJ!) and some treasured moments with beloved faces before a quick turnaround trip back to SLC. Short as it was, I'm grateful for the respite of soul.

Change sure is life's only constant, there are no guarantees. I admit, I do enjoy a good challenge. Something about the dynamism and charisma that crisis summons is such an endorphin high. At least when things turn out... ;)

I have been musing about tragedy, since the world is seemingly host to an abundance lately (see also: Haiti, Chile).

I wish suffering on no one and my heart goes out to those struggling in the aftermath of loss and devastation. I am inspired by the way people can bind together for positive outcomes and come 'back down to earth' in the face of devastation. Humility and team work are so much more beautifully infused in a society than pretentious, classist arrogance and enmity. Disaster can amplify the latter, too - though when faced with serious struggles for survival alone, people seem more willing to cut the crap.

Part of my ongoing Quarterlife education has been learning when to 'say when' and having the courage/tenacity to do so. I'm coming to terms with my inability to be everything to everyone. That was once a goal, before I understood at a grown-up level the meaning of resources. Time, energy, emotion, the like... precious beyond belief! I have my causes to which I am absolutely and unwaveringly devout - but only a few; they know who they are.

The tiers of priority are stacked, with more opportunities clamoring for a place. I've only got so much. The foundation is care for self - there's nothing to give if your resources are bankrupt. Then family. And so it goes... and at some point, we all have to cut the crap, and invest where it counts - be real, be really there for those that need us.

JH

Holiday Love

2009-12-27T08:38:00.000-08:00

If I see one more piece of candy... I'm probably still going to eat it, and continue the month long chocolaty, sugary buzz I've had going, as well as fantasize about spending the entirety of January on a veggies-wholegrains-100% juice only detox plan.

If I have one more event to go to, I'm probably going to enjoy it as much as the others, and appreciate the wealth of people I've been blessed to spend the season with. I'm also going to appreciate the stillness, peace and warmth of a silent house a little more every night, til my day-to-day gets more boring and attains even the semblance of routine.

Christmas week has been truly glorious, one that I will look back on fondly. I've had more time off of work this week than the past seven seasons combined - bookings are down, no surprise given the second year of the recession, but it is more drastic than I expected. Yesterday the Children's Center was as busy as a normal spring day. Usually the fourteen days surrounding Christmas have the place filled to the brim with a delicately organized chaos and pandemonium. Yesterday was a breeze, the kids could even converse over lunch without shouting across the table just to hear one another. I even got the afternoon off after teaching a private lesson, and that's after having the entire week off already. A co-worker makes (delicious) fortune cookies, and yesterday mine read something like : Fear not, prosperity will come to you soon. Ironic.

I like my friend Tim's take on the whole thing. He pointed out yesterday that we might actually have to ski this year. Like take real runs, for fun, while waiting for lessons. We might like it. Our bills might increase or be harder to pay. But what if we actually spend this season doing more of what we love, what we're here for in the first place? In the long run, it probably won't matter that we made less money. It's still going to be a great season.

While visiting home for the week, I got peppered with questions about my relationship status, as per norm. There are distant relatives and friends who maintain a 'milestones only' conversational pattern - and I really haven't had much to report in terms of milestones. My last graduation was high school, and I haven't been capital Dating Anyone in over two years. I'm boring holiday catch-up material, for sure.

My paternal grandpa always has the best (most worthy of recap) way of asking/saying It. Last year, he gave me a sad-puppy faced look and said, over Thanksgiving dinner, "Are you EVER going to find someone and settle down??" This year -

G: So, you have a boyfriend down there [in Utah] yet?

JH: No, why would I need one of those?

G: To keep you warm.

JH: My furnace works well. In my car and my house. And I have a lot of blankets and winter jackets. I stay pretty warm.

G: Well, you're sure getting pretty, if I were your age.... (trails off and leaves room to refill glass of whiskey...)

I know Gramps means well, and I like to think everyone else does too. There's a sadness for him in my being single that I don't share, but I can see it's a way of him being worried about me, an extension of his love and concern.

People come from different frames of reference - Grandpa found his 'sweetheart' at sixteen, and they figured out how to make a life together, paved the way for a whole room full of people to exist in the world, and still love one another, flirtatiously even, sixty years later. From belonging to a family to creating one, they've never been alone.

My other side of the family is comprised largely of young families, people who married within a few years of high school, most of whom had at least one child by my age. Similarly to my grandparents, they've not spent time alone. They hope for me to share a bit of their brand of happiness, and are looking forward to giving me the 'pat on the back' for achieving it. Not a bad thing.

What's amusing to me is the assumption that this is something temporary, a holding out for something better kind of stage. I guess it is for some people. And I guess if I chose to look at it that way, I could adopt the perspective. It seems limited, though.

As a rower, I know in reality and metaphor the cost of momentum, the effort it takes in terms of muscle and dedication to steer a craft through rough waters and around obstacles, to have a destination in mind and exert the continued effort to get there.

I'm not beached, waiting for a pair of muscles to stroll up and take my oars and write my story for me.

I'm downriver from that, my efforts are direct and focused, I am moving along swift currents. Someone might sidle up with mutual intentions someday, but I'm not going to camp out for it, I'm not slowing, and I'm not aborting ship for someone else's dreams. I don't think my well-meaning relatives understand that. But I do love them deeply, appreciate their lives and concern for my welfare.

Time and energy are precious commodities. I have enough to invest in my writing, work, learning and studies, and the people who I've already recognized as permanent and beautiful fixtures in my eternal life. And then those commodities are pretty well distributed, and I'm satisfied with the return on the investment.

I'm taking the spring term off from school. As much as I want to push my graduation date back, I don't see much point in doing so at the expense of Everything Else. I'm happily employed - which I'm recognizing more and more is an absolute blessing. I've got a substantial chunk of my novel written, am in love with the characters and eager to pour more of myself into it's creation. And it looks like I'm going to have to spend more time than anticipated actually enjoying skiing... shucks ;)

I hope the spirit of Christmas and the warmth of the holiday season has filled your hearts and homes. I send love and good tidings your way, and extend the invitation again that y'all come visit the greatest snow on earth and ski some Utah powder this year.

Love,
JH

Settled In

2009-12-07T01:10:00.000-08:00

I realised I promised follow-up from the New Place post... here ya go.

Still working on putting a photo collage across the blank wall...

Ferguson Canyon makes a nice backdrop for writing and studying.

Visitors welcome!

The Wasatch is calling YOU.

Now if you'll please excuse me, I have schoolwork calling/sucking my will to live. This semester ends THURSDAY. Get me out of here, I'd rather be skiing ;)

-JH

Stimulants

2009-12-05T16:36:00.001-08:00

"There is a substance [caffeine] in tea and coffee which when taken into the human system, tends to increase the beating of the heart; which in turn increases the rapidity of the circulation of the blood and of breathing. This causes the body to become warmer and more exhilarated. After a time, however, this temporary enlivenment passes off, and the body is really in a greater need of rest and recuperation than it was before the beverage was taken. Stimulants are to the body what the lash is to the lagging horse—it causes a spurt forward but gives no permanent strength or natural nourishment. Frequent repetitions of the lash only make the horse more lazy; and the habitual use of strong drink, tobacco, tea, and coffee, only tends to make the body weaker and more dependent upon the stimulants to which it is addicted."

-David O. McKay

(read full article here)

Words to live by, as far as I'm concerned.
JH

December?!

2009-12-01T21:49:00.000-08:00

Friends at Temple Square!

Friends and countrymen, 2009 is on its way out the door, its days are numbered. How bout that?

I celebrated my first Thanksgiving away from Boise last week; truly a lovely event with food, dear friends and great live music. It looks like I'll be in Salt Lake for Christmas too, another first holiday away from home and family.

Things are getting rolling for ski season, and I will be working as an Instructor on a more full time basis this year. I'm looking to store some funds for spring travels... locations TBA. Next summer's Plan won't really shape up until it's here. I, on the other hand, am shaping up to be prepared for it. Some of my wonderful and anonymous friends in Idaho have me inspired in the realm of fitness.

One of the guys I worked with last summer has the physique of a professional fighter, and is more or less on a permanent training regimen, which includes things like lifting cinderblocks and running full boar up hillsides so steep that most people would feel cautious walking down them. While I don't plan to emulate his exact regimen by any means, I do desire something of his results. Another co-worked and I have decided to be "at least as porportionally ripped."

For a woman, I have a fairly muscular physique. Attribute it to work and lifestyle choices - skiing, rowing, climbing, hiking, etc, or heredity, whatever. I genuinely enjoy physical work and feeling athletic and capable. I don't idealize competing with vintage Schwarznegger, but let's just say that I'd take that hulk over the gaunt, frail and emaciated frame of, say, MK Olsen on a bad year any day.

I'm looking at a comprehensive physical overhaul and losing about 20 pounds of excess. So far, I've been climbing and increased my activity level, but I'm just getting started. I have yet to discover a form of indoor, winter-evening friendly cardio I don't loathe outside of climbing, I hate the dull repetition of indoor running. So. I'll be writing more during the journey, but there's the forecast.

Some nerd notes… I indulged in a rousing bout of Trivial Pursuit last night, and ohhhh do I love that game! I’ve been on a foreign film bender, and intend to post more frequent reviews of film, lit and pop culture analysis. In my mind, writing a review is like the chocolate of rhetoric, and I have a mad sweet tooth for some serrrrious decadence. :)

Happy December, however and whatever your holiday celebrations bring, I hope it's a season full of love and warmth of spirit.
JH

Jealousy is not productive.

2009-11-16T13:14:00.000-08:00

If you want something, go get it.

If you honestly can't have it, get new goals.

There's no benefit to wallowing in wasted emotion.

Let's get awkward...

2009-10-25T21:53:00.000-07:00

As you may know, my sister is getting married in May of 2010. I only have one sister. And she is three years my junior. I'm as comfortable with this scenario as last year's winner of the International Hot Dog Eating Contest was with the contents of their stomach after the timer went off and they had a minute to hold still.

That said, I'm looking to beat her to the altar, and contestants are encouraged to apply... and quickly.

Some of the perks I'm willing to throw in, for the right candidate, include:

- A Season Pass to Alta Ski Resort, annually, for the duration of the matrimonial union.
- A place at my lavish and desirably located condo. Which is, I may add, kept meticulously clean to a professional level.
- Meals, often ethnic and/or vegetarian via my preference, though I can cook anything, and pretty well at that.
- Of course, the inherent benefits of marriage - tax cut, social position, partnership, blah blah blah.
- An enthusiastic and passionate partner for: outdoor adventures, globe-trotting, conversation, etc, etc.

In following with Ghandi's beautiful words, "Be the quality you seek," I wouldn't expect anything from a candidate that I do not expect from myself. Here are the pre-reqs advised for anyone wishing to apply, as well as some things that can be expected:

Self sufficiency to an acceptable, adult level. Candidate must possess the motivation and initiative to strive for multi-faceted personal growth, including but not limited to:
-A basic level of satisfaction with own life.
-Pursuit of educational and intellectual development, at the college level and beyond.
-A command of at least the English language; competent communication skills.
-An interest in health and nutrition, and an active lifestyle.
-Financial health - no outstanding debt to mafia or casinos, or obscene lines of credit.
-Ambitions, at the least, toward a career, and steps in that direction (i.e. school, employment...)

* I don't smoke anything, drink alcohol, or indulge in recreational substance use. Nor do I detest those who choose otherwise; however, that will be a tenet of the union, and on that note, no pets.

*I enjoy the company of people from all walks of life, and ideally, a partner would have a charisma that allowed the same, as well as relatively presentable manners, and social intelligence enough not to offend the masses, or cause riotous outbreaks in public.

* I enjoy skiing, climbing, hiking, the arts - modern dance, literature, galleries of stunning images captured by stroke of hand or lens, opera, musical performances in general. I like to attend events and lectures that stimulate the mind and heart. I enjoy the pain and gratification of self improvement, from breaking down my own misconceptions about the world to tearing the flesh off my palms on a route.

I am open a ceremony in one of these, eventually, although this or possibly even this could be negotiated for the time being.

Thank you for your time.

_____________________________________________

Author's note: This is a joke. While a charmed happily-ever-after is by no means unappealing, I'm not actually thinking my sister's upcoming nupitals a legitimate impetus for marital connection.

;)
JH

In on a Friday

2009-10-16T19:26:00.000-07:00

Listening to children babble, waiting for their breathing to indicate sleep, so I can go upstairs and clean the dishes from their dinner. Spent the morning in similar fashion, baking a pie and walking around the block with a child while it cooled, hand in hand, talking about sidewalks and late-blooming lavendar, sighing in the windy breath of fall as it sent leaves past our ears.

Another hour or two and live bluegrass will be racking my body with a non-negotiable instinct to dance and move to beats and riffs. I'll be one in a crowd, a nameless face, a simple afficionado out for a night's fix of rhythm and social stimulus, albeit with a degree of anonymity.

Later still, in a place quiet enough that ears buzz with sound's absence, I'll have to talk myself out of just...one....more page of someone's fiction, or someone's historical record, whichever way you'll have it, fighting my eyelides for another second of artificially lit morning. Lay it on the floor, face-down-spine-up as I assume the same and the lights go off, except those twinkling through the stained glass to remind me that the city is still there, alive and well, though I sleep.

And tomorrow, I'll be someone's go-to, I'll travel across the face of this valley and back, I'll do this and I'll have done that, and things will be delivered and I will be liberated slowly, painstakingly from the bonds of a weighty to-do list.

Come Sunday, I'll travel to the desert for a week, to become further aquainted with that renegade love for climbing. I've warmed up the musculature, torn the pads from my fingers under the light of halogen bulbs, pressing off molded plastic, fighting gravity. Days in the gym will hopefully lend some grace to the coming days on the rock.

I was made for this. Life. All of it.

Things I love about SL,UT right now.

2009-10-03T11:06:00.001-07:00

- The Wasatch range and it's delicious canyons, the smell of sage, texture of scrub oak, and vibrancy of fall color in the maples and aspens.

- The Bombay House/India House/other fantastic Indian restaurants

- The Thai Orchid, especially that one darling waiter who remembers everyone.

- Alta Ski Area, the people who live, work and play there and the job I looking forward to returning to. Oh, and the epic powder.

- The beautiful people and friendships I've come across, learned from, loved deeply and been nourished from. My friends' children, their intelligence, compassion and unique personalities.

- The academic opportunities and atmosphere of having 8 sizeable colleges in one community. Lectures, people, films, readings....

- Ski premieres and the rhythm of the ski culture. I'm particularly impressed with the growing Telemark culture, and the quality of the videos they're producing.

- Climbing outside, inside, urban, and the interesting folks who do it.

- Film festivals in general - the Salt Lake Film society, Sundance, Banff, Wild and Scenic...

- Proximity to Moab and redrock desert, which I could write a comprehensive 'love list' for as well.

- Rocks. Granite, quartz, sandstone, limestone, conglomerate...

- Library system where I can go online, place an order for some obscure item, pick it up a few days later. The stock of foreign films, music and literature in the SLCO lib system is prolific!

- The LDS Church. Say what you will against it, but there is an interesting and well preserved historical culture. The Temple is iconic and lovely, the quarry is impressive. The people of the Church are often musically talented, dedicated to their families, goal oriented, hard working and kind. If you're an inflexible anti, at least you have something well defined and organized to pit your opinions against.

- The religious diversity. Again, say what you will, many don't look at Salt Lake as a diverse place. Salt Lake is home to an Islamic mosque, a Hare Krishna temple, a Buddhist temple, virtually every Christian denomination, and a myriad of other religious communities with loyal, dedicated followers who have strong faith and beautiful things to say about life. Not to mention the incredible architecture and impressive history of some of the buildings here.

- Ballet West. The UMFA. The Utah Symphony. The Opera. Kingsbury Hall, the UofU Modern Dance program, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, the Madeleine Children's Choir, the Eccles Organ Festival, Art Access Gallery...

- The efforts to create efficient public transportation - TRAX, the Frontrunner, UTA bus service.

- Crossroads Urban Center and their initiatives to end hunger, domestic violence, and to promote sustainability and education without restraint.

- Catalyst Magazine and the City Weekly

- Gallivan Center summer concert series

- $2 Ice skating at the Cottonwood Heights Rec center

- The variety of international languages spoken here, which is actually quite staggering thanks to the Universities, immigrants, and missionary program.

- The Icelandic community, the Greek community, the Tongan community, the Hispanic community, the Asian communities...

- Bowling at Sue Rich

- Silent movies at the Organ Loft

- Momos, Chai and Tibetan noodles at beloved Tibetan restaurants.

- The bullseye formation of the 215 loop, I-80 and I-15, and the grid system, all of which make it easy and efficient to get around town.

- Although I'm not really a part of it, yet, I admire the biking community and how often I see people commuting on two wheels. And how much they seem to enjoy it, come together, and throw fun events like warehouse concerts and Critical Mass rides.

- Affordable rent and a relatively healthy economy, all things considered.

- The sheer passion of people here - especially in terms of politics, athletics, spirituality - it seems that the people I meet are motivated to be well informed, to understand, to accomplish the goals of the causes to which they subscribe, to push themselves in the disciplines they pursue. It's so potent that you can't take a back seat here without diluting yourself. It's an inspiring thing, and only sometimes aggravating.

-An International airport

- Proximity to family - I can fly home to Boise in an hour, drive in five.

_____________________________________________
I could go on. Glad to be back.
JH

Thirsty Roots

2009-09-07T00:45:00.000-07:00

I really just want to stay put for a while.

But that's not going to happen. I'm bee-bopping to and from SLC for another month.

Longing for roots and being actually willing to lay them down... very different indeed.

New Place!

2009-09-06T23:51:00.000-07:00

Well, it's fall. Officially. I'm not working the river anymore, and I have a real house now. Crazy! I'll write more on the subject, but here are some pictures of the moving process so far.

Mom came down with me the first weekend in Aug. This is the place after an initial cleaning and prior to any moving-of-my-sheesh-into-the-premises. Note the country gingham clad couches.

A favorite feature: stained glass and windows with a twinkling view of city lights at night in the loft bedroom.

The bathroom undergoes a vital transformation - that wad of disgusting animal print plastic once served as a shower curtain. To say the new look is more my style is to understate the situation completely. Anyone in need of safari camo or material for a cheeta rain slicker, let me know.

Couch 1 Facelift: Remember that gingham? It just got smothered in rich chocolate brown, accented with Indian-esque pillows. Or something like that... this one is still a work in progress.

Couch 2 Facelift: Earth tones - light clay base from sofa cover, splashed in deep eggplant and forest, served over black and white flora.

My guest room awaits your powder vacation! (This is not a joke. Get planning kids. ;)

I finally have my own place! - Even more appreciated by the fact that I've been in a constant state of impermanence since May. I'll have more on the subject later, when I post the final pics.

Peace and love,
JH

Drawing the Blinds

2009-08-25T18:14:00.000-07:00

In the past few weeks, the chill of fall has come to reside in the mountains of central Idaho. It still makes itself scarce during the hottest parts of the day, but descends readily as the sun sets, snuggling into the valley at night. The whir of the air conditioner is no longer the constant accompaniment to nightly sleep - no, the trembling force of the cooling beast coming to life is an infrequent surprise.

I've had less and less time to write. Anything. Unexpected, as I had previously envisioned my time here being filled with the solitude and head space I most love to create words within. The past eleven days have been host to moments shared with dear family and friends coming through town - playing under the stars with my brother, on the river with my sister and her fiancee, staying up late with my long-time best friend. Beautiful, busy, full of life, weeks fit to burst at the seams, nights of a rare sleep barely indulged in. Contemplations of boundaries and energies and dedication and what it means to be personal, to be open, to allow oneself to be read. Much musing of late...

In more direct and simple news, things are changing and moving forward, as always:

The Grand Canyon trip I had anticipated and set my fall to accommodate fell through, semi-tragically. Every time I hear or see the words Grand Canyon, I get a little heart sick. New life has sprouted from the ashes of that disappointment though. I have decided to pursue AMGA certification as a Single Pitch Instructor. I don't have any concrete plans to use this certification for gainful employment, yet. It's something I want to do because I love climbing, and want to further my understanding and abilities. In my career in the great outdoors thus far, I've found that every professional development pursuit opens opportunities, whether I see them coming or not.

I am SLC bound at the end of the week - so anxious for the energy of the city, the culture, the friends I dearly love there, and the sweeping fury of fall canvassing the Wasatch.

I've taken a position on the Board of the Icelandic Association of Utah, and will be running their newsletter and written "PR" as of October. I feel this will be a rewarding, unique and personally applicable experience.

School starts in a matter of hours, online. I am auditing a course in Icelandic from BYU this fall, beginning Monday. Anticipating good things this semester, in course content and grades.

Though my expressions of adoration for Idaho may be ad nauseum here, this is worth saying. Over the course of the summer, I've fallen deeply in love all over again with the enchantments of Idaho - the emerald of the Salmon, the goodness of the people here, the proximity to my family. Some things have nothing to do with place, and you can make what you want out of most places. This is my place, and these are my people. I will be back next summer to be tested upon these waters, to find gravity and truth within this canyon.

With love,
JH

Riggins, Idaho

2009-07-15T10:58:00.000-07:00

I can now say that I have lived in a trailer, down by the river.

I don't know if I would say I 'live' in there - I just come to sleep after long, playful summer days and nights. In a former life, it was the office for the river company, so it has two rooms and a tiny bathroom without a shower. I pulled up the 'driveway' one night, illumintaing a 4 point buck in the 'backyard'-ish space in the bottom photo. Awoke the next morning at 5 am to the sound of machine gun fire and lightning - a summer hailstorm on a tin roof that knocked our sales network offline for the next four days. You can see traces of it, little white piles of hail on the porch in the top photo.

July 5 was my first day running a commercial trip on the Salmon River. Our company runs 16' Maravia rafts with stern mounted oar assist and paddle support. For non-boaters, that translates to a behemoth, multi hundred pound mass of rubber, with human powered plastic arms that stick out to give the beast momentum.

I started the morning as a passenger in another guide's boat, adding a paddler to his odd number of passengers. Our lines through the rapids were for the most part clean, until our last one of the day. I have now experienced my first, and if I have my way ONLY, commercial flip and class III swim with clients. At least we sent them home with a story, right? :) All things considered, the guests thought it was an awesome adventure.

The thing is, the Salmon, and all of the wild, natural features of this earth are like the God of the Old Testament - no respecter of persons. The elements have no regard for how straight you just went into that wave, what your kid's real age is, or how much those glasses cost. This isn't a plastic coated, hand paved water park. This is a raw vein of water that has carved thousands of feet through the granite and basalt layers of the crust of the planet - play upon its' surface at your own risk. And 99.9% of the time, you'll absolutely love it.

I have found deep peace with my decision to come here. I feel that I am in the right place at the right time, a feeling I have been devoid of for months of years at a time. It was liberating and appreciated for a while, but something in my has docked here and set anchor through the depths to a familiar bedrock. I am home, all is well.

Month in Moab

2009-07-01T12:32:00.000-07:00

I've settled down for a brief moment again, this time at my mother's home in Boise. I'm en route to Riggins, Idaho for the remainder of the summer and likely part of the fall.

I felt like leaving Moab came much too soon. There were dozens of things that I'd talked about doing, wished I'd done, etc. Going there to work for a month meant that despite my deep love for the area, I was there to work for a month, and did, with only a few days off.

I love rafting, I love the Colorado River. Met some wonderful people from all over the country, made some friendships I intend to maintain indefinitely. Made some memories with co-workers, all of us part of a family company that is ever evolving, and intensely close-knit. My send-off night was a riot; dressed in costume, we stole the stage for karaoke and shut the bar down. The karaoke DJ was calling us "TCP" - The Costume Posse.

I was sad to leave the R Lazy H Ranch and the wonderful people who live there.
It was a fabulous month.

:)

Summer Ketchup

2009-06-07T10:45:00.001-07:00

In my life, there are times when I write a lot, to the point of insanity, and other times when things are moving so quickly and with such intensity that I simply seize the moments passing without having the time to explore them in words. This past month+change was something like that. Moving at the speed of life itself, I haven't written much, and utterly neglected my blog. Here's a snapshot or two of catch-up...

Newlyweds Shane and Rindy Richins

April 25, 2009.

Groomsman Andy, Bridesmaid Jenn

Congratulations! Thank you for sharing your lives with me!

I moved out of SLC for the summer right after the wedding, just shy of the 12 month mark for the house I’d been in. A whole, consistent year in one place is my limit; I haven’t stayed a day longer in one house since moving away from my mom’s. This move was especially difficult, love the people, the house, my stay there was wonderful… but, hey, that's that.

Rafting season kicked off in early May with my first commercial run of the year and guide training in Moab. Here's a shot from the office, a.k.a. the Professor Valley. All of May was gypsy style, purging the routines and consistency of winter from my free-spirited soul. From that first weekend in Moab I visited a dear friend in Park City, spent a night in Idaho Falls with another friend, drove to Montana for my long-time BFF's graduation from Montana State University.

We spent the weekend partying on Main Street, hiking, enjoying the flavors of Bozeman. I reflected on the amazing phenomena of friendship, that after four years of long distance phone calls, being together just felt like home in the presence of someone I love. The following week we spent in Missoula, getting her moved out and enjoying each other's company. I scoped out the Clark Fork river and UofM as settings for possible future adventures such as kayaking and grad school. Looked promising enough.

This photo session took place in a parking garage where a friend took us to sing with the echo of concrete - he'd gone to Catholic school, and sent some amazing Gregorian chants bouncing off the walls. Good times in Montana.

The drive from Missoula to central Idaho ranked an easy top 5 for me. I love contemplative, long gorgeous drives. From Lolo over the snow covered pass to the deep, sheer canyon hosting the Lochsa, curving road, pelting rain, and clouds through cedar forest - the smell and feel and views were truly stunning. My windshield wipers were going full-boar to combat the onslaught of that heavy rain, making it easy not to envy the rafters in training, practicing rope rescue with an overturned boat through class IV+ waves.

Photo: this cherry picker coming into my lane under the overpass inspired a chuckle!

My first stop across the Idaho border was at Shorts Bar, a sandy beach upriver from Riggins where the day-long rafting trips put into the Salmon. I took some time to write, sitting on the hood of my car overlooking the moving water, reflecting the shadows of a slow Idaho sunset through the dramatic canyon. A lone trumpeter swan flew overhead, some deer passed. Everything was green and thriving from recent rain and the excitement of early spring, and I felt I could identify.

Photo: First view of the Salmon from Twin Bridges, 2009. That little green sign says Salmon River, I promise. ;)

I spent the next three days training with Brundage, the company I will spend the latter half of the summer guiding for, rowing big, delicious Idaho whitewater. I am stoked to return to the home state. Our family cabin in central Idaho is, of anywhere on earth, the physical location I feel most at home at. And the Salmon River very well may be my next great love affair. My grandma has been telling everyone she wants me to "Find a nice Idaho boy to marry, so she'll stop leaving all the time." We'll see about that. ;)

After training with Brundage, spending a week with family in Boise and a few days in Park City, I've landed for a whole month in the little desert hamlet of Moab, Utah, where I am spending the month of June. I couldn't have a summer without at least a little time here, I am so grateful that it’s worked out for me and my employers.

The La Salle mountains from the Hidden Valley. Moab, UT.

Life in Moab has been spinning at it's normal, crazed rate, and I have been loving it. I got right to work guiding trips, and have been exchanging room and board with my friends' family for work as a ranch hand and some housekeeping chores. I have to say, I love ranching. It's a mysterious, earthy art, a task for the disciplined, an expression of being in tune with life. I'm inspired by it. The ranch here has been operating for over a hundred years, and is a precious little oasis in the middle of Moab, obscured on both sides by cottonwoods trees that grow alongside Millcreek and Pack Creek. I'll write a separate blog about it, it's too amazing for just this paragraph. Here is a preliminary photo, guess how the hay gets from the field to the trailer to the barn... ?

The veterans here keep trying to convince me that buckin' bales isn't fun. I was and am still pretty excited about it. :)

This weekend some friends came down from SLC to do a day trip on Westwater, one of the west's famous and scenic whitewater sections. I slept out under the stars the night prior, listening to the sounds of the river and mosquitos squealing in my ear. When we took off in the morning, our guide, my friend Jack, was a little apprehensive. A life flight helicopter flew by right after we passed a bald eagle, seemingly contradictory omens. Needless to say, we paddled on. Jack swam a little bit of Funnel Falls, but steered a clean line for us through Skull Rapid, an infamous class IV hole known for claiming lives on it's "Rock of Shock" and accompanying "Room of Doom" - a massive, swirling whirlpool to the right of the main current.

Our crew!

Paddle Captain Jack and me!

.......................

So, there it is, a snapshot update of my summer, so far.

I've thought lately that my wish for the world is that beauty of the earth and simplicity of life won't be overpowered or obscured by stress, cynicism, or mundane and necessary tasks. We're only here once, pretty sure. Live it up. After all, "life is too short to be against everything,"a mentor of mine once said on the waters of the Salmon River.

Love ya. Be well.

Recent sightings...

2009-04-26T19:32:00.001-07:00

Humility FAIL

Security FAIL

Wild blue somethings

2009-04-13T22:32:00.000-07:00

Just because.

Fake Bake'n

2009-04-09T20:35:00.000-07:00

16 days and counting until my friends' wedding. I kind of ski a lot, as you may know. In the spring, when it's 60 degrees out, snowmelt and sweat compete for drenching rights. The days are lovely and feel like being on a beach surrounded by endless, free slushies. A few of the noteworthy, possibly less desirable consequences include...

1. Stinky boots in the locker room. 100+ pairs of em can almost knock you out on a humid spring afternoon, seriously. Boo.

2. Funky tans. Usually only on the lower face and hands, if they're glove-free. These can be interesting conversation pieces.

Case in point: I did not manipulate the colors in this photo at all. Spring 2008's goggle tan.

Normally, I'd sport the spring ski tan with pride. However, something tells me it would be impolite to show up in the bridal party rocking a stark white chest and arms accented by a dirty tan lower face and brown hands. Especially noting that the dress I will be wearing is sleeveless, and these are my friends, and this is their actual wedding, and they probably want the photographs that are costing them thousands of dollars to look nice.

So, I did the preposterous. I paid to be locked in a light bulb coffin with the intent of turning colors. I am going to do it a few more times before the wedding, even though it is ridiculous. The cute, energetic salesgirl actually tried to pitch a $100 bottle of lotion to me - right. No. I'll only go so far with vanity in the name of friendship, that is over the limit. As if I would piddle away money that will otherwise go toward climbing gear, real life, etc on lotion, of all things.

Go ahead, play the game.
"What do these items have in common...?"

1. Tanning Bed

2. Space ship

3. Toaster Oven (buns not included.)

[Hey, you soon to be newlyweds, now you know how much I love you. ;) ]

Hello April

2009-04-08T23:28:00.000-07:00

It's nice to see you again this year, you radical old month. The Utah powder hasn't stopped yet but is no longer light and fine in texture; it sinks into the melting phase with decreasing delay. The creeks have started thumping with the rush of the daily melt, my hands are tan from hanging out the sleeves of my instructor jacket, arms still white.

April used to be depressing in high school, as the ski season would wrap up and I would have to focus back in on school to salvage my grades from absentee days. You know how some people say "I'd rather be skiing?" I took it seriously. Medical notes, activity absences for ski team, whatever I could manage. I swear my best memories of high school are of avoiding it for something better - a day skiing, lunch with my grandparents.

April doesn't depress me anymore, now that I'm a daggum "grown up." It's become the segue between my long-term winter love for skiing, and my recently acquired taste for wild summer flings with whitewater, mountains and rock faces. It's the bring-it-on month. Out with the old for now, the new comes parading in, life is gorgeous.

Random subject change: I'm in a wedding party in 16 days. I spent five hours addressing invites to the shower and bachelorette party. Some people have printers for this sort of thing... I kick it old school with a fine point Sharpie. Getting high, JH style. ;)

Speaking of kickin it old school, I caught sight of my old (read: 35mm) Pentax sitting lonely and cold in my closet the other day. I missed it fiercely, and will be going out for a photo op once I've skied myself silly in the powder that is falling on the Wasatch right this minute. I can hear the rain drumming on the slanted 'beach' house roof, and were it not for the cloud cover, the full moon would be illuminating the peaks which are undoubtedly being blanketed in thick, heavy snow of spring.

I love this state, I really do. It's incredible. I see something literally breathtaking, every day.

I still can't wait to get back to Idaho though, my soul craves the mountains and rivers there with distinct intensity. And the people... can't say it enough. I need the simplicity of good Idaho folk. If you don't know what this means, you probably never will.

I met the author of this book in my childhood, when my mother bought a condo in the north end of Boise. His daughter and her mother lived down the street, and we became fast friends - my first 'real' job ever, at 15, was nannying for them. They're wonderful people, I could dedicate a whole blog post in this sitting alone to what I have learned from and admired about them.

About the book though, Idaho Loners. I didn't actually read it until 2006 when I took off in the spring to become a river guide for the summer.

My first stop was at the base of the Tetons, to get my Wilderness First Responder certification from the Wilderness Medicine Institure, hosted by NOLS Teton Valley. Long story short, I spent 9 days at the base of the Tetons in and around a building that was once an old LDS church, sold and remodeled as the base camp for NOLS courses. The building was awesome, and even featured a whole room of bulk food - perfect for gearing up, great classroom, bunk beds, and a very nice updated bathroom. Taped on the back of one of the doors was a segment of Idaho Loners, about Jenny and Leigh Lakes and their namesake, Richard Leigh, aka "Beaver Dick."

The bathroom reader was interesting enough to fuel further reading at my second stop that spring, the family cabin, which is nestled appropriately in the heartland of Idaho. The cabin has a library host to a blessed specimen of mountain literature - Idaho Loners was right at home between some Vardis Fisher and Pat McManus gems.

I found something in those pages I identify with in ways I cannot explain. When I envision this summer, it's Idaho. It's the Salmon river, my grandparents, the cabin library, true love for life and swimming, literally, in my own transcendentalist experiences. Add a little bit of Moab to that and I am set.

And, I'm still going to wake up and ski a foot of powder. Oh yeyaaa. I love you, April.

JH

Alta Gala 2009

2009-03-23T08:35:00.000-07:00

Some photos from a gorgeous night at La Caille, in celebration of Alta's 70th anniversary. A tapas dinner, silent auction, and funk dancing into the night to the sounds of Lake Effect, 3/5 of whom are Alta season pass holders.

Out of normal ski garb, goggle-tans glowing, we were all pleasantly suprised to become acquainted under the greenhouse canopy, a drastic change from our usual elements.

The sensation of feeling as if one is in the right place at the right time is so elusive, and relentlessly pursued. In some cases, ignored for years until it rears as an instinctual longing. The confining ideal of fate dictating the course of one's life is popular, like all things that are easy tend to be. Life is way more complex than that, and because of the one-dimensional limitations of fate and destiny, I am quick to dismiss them. Skew it a little differently, like a scavenger hunt where you make all the calls but may or may not come upon the right opportunities, and I feel more inclined to embrace.

I feel that in coming to Alta for the past four years, I've landed myself in the right place for me - met the people who would teach me the applicable lessons of this chapter of my life, experienced the natural beauty of the Wasatch in a way that will forever change my energy and zest for life.

Love these folks. So very much.

Image TAG-arooski

2009-03-09T18:14:00.000-07:00

I got tagged. Supposedly, you're supposed to go into My Pictures, pick the sixth photo in the sixth file and blog about it. Participate at will and do it as you please... here is my attempt.

Sometimes I wish I had stats on things, such as the total number of days I've skied, rides I've hitched, hitchers I've picked up, how many times I've traveled some favorite stretches of highway. Etc.

This image is a snapshot of the mouth of Spanish Fork canyon at sunset last December, as I returned from my beloved Moab.

Over the past three years, I've traveled that road dozens of times. I've laughed, conversed, and even seen death over its painted lines. The surrounding vistas have stolen the breath from me, inspired thought, been grounding in their constancy, and given confidence during change.

I look back on some of the most whole, raw moments of my life, and recall the beauty of the west - the Tetons, the red desert, Montana forests, all viewed through a dusty, bug-encrusted windshield. Windows down, with no regard for the presence of rain, snow, gale force highway wind shrieking in and through the vehicle. The kind of heat that could melt cosmetic presence from my face in salty droplets and rise in blurry currents from the dashboard and hood for months, with no relief from a failing AC unit.

Unconcerned for the conditions, I'd sing loudly, sometimes savagely, lyrics of liberation. The acoustic accompaniment to some sunsets, sunrises kneading peace and contentment into wearied, taut musculature.

Dirtbag vagabonding has been a significant part of life as I've known it the past few years.
JH

Summertime

2009-02-22T22:00:00.001-08:00

My own private Idaho.

Thinking about and planning for this summer is the number one survival tactic I have for this semester. I traded a lot to go to school right now, and it's really been a bummer. BUT....

I have a lot to look forward to. I'm going home.

My friend somehow roped me into a half marathon in May. Admittedly, she didn't have to try, I want to do it. A good kickstart to the summer and tangible goal to work towards. I have two triathlons scheduled for August - that as a first training milestone of the season seems appropriate. Anyone wanna join in? May 16, Boise, Famous Potato. There's a whole and a half, Lucky Peak to Ann Morrison. Badass. ;)

My grandparents, all four of them, are stunning people - I can't wait to spend more time learning from them. It's amazing to be able to know them well and hear their stories, collected over rich lifetimes of experience. They all have a great sense of humor, and are the best company. Tonight my mom's parents were laughing about their memory slipping. Grandma said "We have a new policy. If I can't remember it, and he can't remember it," points at Grandpa, and both say "to hell with it!" laughing and grinning from ear to ear.

Thanks to the help of a former supervisor at the first ski school I worked for, I've landed my summer dream job. It looks like I'll be crashing at the family cabin, riding a road bike to and from work, and getting paid to raft a favorite section. Best of all, I get to be in IDAHO. Shh, don't tell, but it is by far the most immaculate of all states. SHH! ;)

Eyelashes Beware!

2009-02-19T07:38:00.000-08:00

It's always seemed counter intuitive to put these things reallllly close to my eye and clamp down.
Recently, that feeling has been justified. Did you know that if you squeeze hard enough, it's possible to bust through the little pad and lop your lashes right off? It is. Just thought I'd pass that on, while I'm sitting here waiting for 1/4 of them to grow back.

A Love Post

2009-02-16T22:20:00.001-08:00

un .... I. verse

Walking the lines between faith
Insanity
And a recombinant solution of the two

Discovering slowly through the travail of time
Isolation
Gave way to association, actualized, and later realized.

Pledging for years a senseless, vague, determined
Investment
On human terms, in the format of minutes, miles nearer.

Giving without expectation of reward, knowing that
Individuals
Create the beauty of the whole, within

Forming lines that however parallel may never
Intersect
Traveling freely at speeds of light or held fast

Observing and learning to be complete
Identity
Undefined in the course of others

Being, verbs, all of them, enacted by the
Insoluble
That is the I within the universe.

------------------------------------------

A shout out to the refining properties of time, the years of faith and determination that heal retroactively the wounds of a decade.

To friendship within blood
To relativity
To time showing the truth of all things
To being unaffected by old crutches
To walking freely
..... breathing deep
letting go.

[Renewal. Restart. Refresh. Rejuvenation. Welcome.]

Icetastic Valentine's Day

2009-02-15T00:08:00.000-08:00

Sleeplessness, likely due to the 65% cocoa chocolate consumed in V-day quantities, has me awake at this hour, taking a break from reading to indulge in my other favorite pastime. Blogging, duh!

My sister is a Valentine's day scrooge. Weird, since she's a total sap (sorry Dami, you know it's true) - she'll cry at just about any movie, likes roses, touchy-feelyness, romance, and is pretty dang affectionate in general. Plus, she's in a relationship. Still hates Valentine's day. None of the former really apply to me, yet I love Valentine's day.

I've never been in a relationship for V-day. I'd just broken up with someone a week or two before, years ago - he pulled into the alley of my apartment complex, left a rose and card, intending to knock and ditch. I lived on the third floor, and opened the door to hear him thunder down the last stairs and watch as he realized he'd locked his keys in his still-running car. I drove him to his house for the spare, we laughed about it.

Valentine's day wasn't a couple's affair in our house. Mom, sis and I would leave messages and doodlings on bathroom mirrors, and we'd get a vase of flowers just because. In high school, my seminary teacher (who is now my uncle-in-law, if that is possible) had us make BARF bags. Like their grade school inspiration, these would be filled with candy and cute notes. BARF stood for "Be A Real Friend," and it was a pleasant, thoughtful exchange. Usually.

Today was delightful. My girlfriends and I went ice skating, ate delish home-made chili, and dark chocolate. No make-up, no pressure, no nonsense. The company of good friends I already know and love, good food and fun conversation.

Much love!

Blessed America

2009-02-05T13:26:00.000-08:00

A shout out to the First Ammendment and the tenants protecting freedoms of speech and press. I love this country, turmoil and all.

Life as a journalist so far has been trying and rewarding. My articles have made the cover twice in the three weeks I've been writing for the Globe, and the article I'm currently working on will probably be up next Monday. Struggling to adapt to the massive style and structure shift from creative to journalistic writing, I am constantly learning and trying not to drown in the process.

The snow in Utah has seen some spring lovin' this week, sunshine and blue skies almost every day. Word on the web is that a storm is en route, rolling in to dispense some fresh powder sometime tonight.

Summer is not far enough away to avoid getting the spring chickens in a row, so I've been scoping out the prospects. There are two places that I see my Chaco-tanned, rowdy summer self: Moab and central Idaho. God willing, I'll get to spend a healthy amount of time in both places, and everywhere between. (ie Boise, the Wasatch, City of Rocks.) Ecstatic at the thought of straying the confines of the smoggy urban oven that is Salt Lake in the summer, relishing in thoughts of cold Idaho rivers, family and close friends at arm's length... YES, I will survive this semester.

Surfing Cloud

2009-01-23T12:18:00.000-08:00

Check this out! On our way into work, my pals and I got to watch this splendid little cloud formation curl over Devil's Castle like a breaking wave.

FYI - gret skiing yonder them cliffs.

Write and Ski

2009-01-18T17:18:00.000-08:00

Spring Semester 2009 is ON, full intensity. Busy is good, and an exceptionally "good" week it was. To the demanding load of 17 credits, add teaching skiing 1-2 days per week, running a small business, writing for the school paper, social events, and come what may... eeesh.

On a positive note, every class session was filled with that vague, euphoric sense of having so much to gain from the coursework in the syllabi - nerdy but thrilling to sit and know that over the course of months, my understanding is going to be kneaded, spread out, formed into something new and increasingly comprehensive. Learning is awesome.

An unexpected highlight of the week: officially being hired on for my first paid writing job. I am now a stipend earnin' Campus Reporter for the SLCC Globe. This thrilling little twist in the plot of my spring term marks the advent of my next phase as a writer.

This blog has been a refuge for me, a place where my writing has gone public for the first time, albeit with limited scrutiny. SLCC boasts a ballpark enrollment of 60,000 students, and the Globe is available at every door of every campus. A fantastic opportunity to step into the public eye and begin building a portfolio, but seriously?! Bye bye academic wallflowerism.

Other than that, the second week of the 2009th year bearing the post-fix A.D. looks a lot like: smog in the valley and sunshine and soft, melted snow in the slopes. My favorite ski conditions... the air is pure, the wind on hiatus, my favorite runs are steep and soft and I can lose myself wholly in those moments of rhythmic reaching downhill, carving, finishing, flattening, reaching, repeating. On a particularily glorious ski day, Tuesday, I was riding solo on the lifts and contemplating the feeling of gratitude - how much I feel for health, recreation, deep breaths, good friends, long hard days of calorie torching shredding, followed by wholesome nourishment.

Being alive is great! Cheers to my faith in sustaining it through this semester. :)

JH

School, Novel, Love and the New Year

2009-01-07T11:55:00.000-08:00

So, I did it. I registered for Spring Term.

I know I said I wouldn't. I know I said other things were going to take precedence over my education this Spring.

But in the final moments where I scrambled the funds together, made the payment, and registered for the 16 credits I'll be taking, the thoughts going through my mind were right on track.

The thing is, in my old age of 22, I've become increasingly goal oriented. It isn't as much about the cash-out value or trade-offs of going to school anymore - yes, I just eliminated the probability of skiing in Europe, Jackson Hole, and a handful of other 'really exciting adventures' - but I'm making a permanent investment in a long range goal, that ultimately serves to make adventure more accessible, life more stable, etc. I think of the quote "Pay me now, or pay me later, but either way, you're going to pay me." I see the face of The Man in that saying, a rasp in his voice. I'm going to pay that old bastard now, walk down the line and take my diploma a year from May, a document that may or may not make my skills more marketable, my abilities more recognizable... but will symbolize a fulfillment of a commitment I made to myself, and embody the unlocking power to achieve future goals. I could rant on and on about school, but in summary, I'm going! And I LIKE it! :)

Novel, the second subject of this post. I've had some characters growing in my brain the past few months. It's like being pregnant... I assume, I have no idea what that actually feels like, but I swear these characters kick the back of my forehead and lean on my hypothalamus til my sleep patterns go irregular and my appetite buckles. They want out. I want them out. I'm going to write them into being this spring, in the company of a writer's group I've been invited to join, which I am thrilled about.

Love. I hesitate to write this... but because things like this need to be borne, not suffocated in the confines of my skull, I shall. I've had this ongoing crushlikething for a while now, for a dear friend. I was talking to another dear friend about it a few days ago, and he said that this 'crush' is the one thing that makes him question my otherwise admired (by him) intelligence. Kind of stunning, really, like a bee sting on a pleasant summer day, the worst part of it being that I knew exactly where he was coming from. A few other good friends have made a similar point. I don't think that it's a particularly good look for an independent, whole woman to wear - this waiting, almost pining, thoughtfully patient "love." Dear friend #2, bee sting guy, says I should be 'putting myself out there more' - and he also scolded me for paying for my own dinner on dates, my typical policy. To all of this, I respond that sure, I could be more engaging in the possibilities of romance with random dates, and I guess I could let strangers pay for food I consume and would rather pay for myself, and I suppose I could forget for a while how every second I spend in the company of dear friend #1, crushguy, feels like home the way I remember it from age 9... unpretentious, comfortable, right. But hey, I don't have the time or energy to change my ways today. I'll think on it though.

And lastly, the New Year. Instinctively, I wanted to say "I hope it's good to you all." Instead, I say decide now what you want it to look like, summon your courage, fill your lungs, and press forward. 2009 is bound to be filled with unseen obstacles, challenges, trials, pain.... and possibly as much happiness and fulfillment as your soul can contain. This first week of it is the part where we address what we want the content to look like. The headlines will make themselves, the paragraphs that follow, where we record our reactions, express our rhythms, draw our character - that's all open, and is largely determined by habit.

With love,
JH

Aluminum Echoes of Birdsong

2008-12-26T21:31:00.000-08:00

Christmas was a blur of humanity and western landscape, a few of my favorite things. I flew home Tuesday night, played Christmas Wednesday morning with my sister Dami – I was too excited to give her climbing shoes and take them for a smear to wait until Christmas day, when the gym would be closed and I would be back in Salt Lake.

Our Christmas Eve climb date, following in the monthly tradition we’ve had going since September, was a trash-talking giggle fest, with a pleasant surprise this time; we met a new climb/ski buddy, a fellow Idaho native who we both agreed probably crossed our paths by divine inspiration. Family time was mellow, full of good humor about bad times, awful jokes and retelling of good times. The best part of family is nestling in to a world where people are irreplaceable, where you aren’t anonymous, where every interaction is tangibly laced with history and understanding. Christmas morning, I woke up hung over from a late night chat/debate with mom, drove across an unusually snow-coated Boise, built Lego creatures with my bro TJ for hours, breakfasting with his side of the family, and stopping to see Grace for the first time in over a year. (A year is far too long to go without being even remotely near my “other” sister!) After that happy chain of events, I set sail to the skies, being only briefly delayed in the Boise airport – which, if you’ve flown through there, you might know that it’s just a fancy glass birdcage. The resident birds of the east corridor were chirping away by the B gates, singing Christmas songs – foreshadowing for the flight, where an enthusiastic and off-key flight attendant chirped a “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on behalf of Southwest Airlines. Christmas night found me right at home in my present location, with another family I love dearly and treasure my time with. Holidays are special, not because of dates and obligation, but rather the collective good will and love that seems to reach through the Universe and tie people together, regardless of the "reason for the season."

Today, the barely-four, adorable little girl I was skiing with looked up and said, "This is fun, I love you." I looked right back at her and said "I love you too, McKenzie." Cheesy as that may sound, it was a simple, beautiful interchange. In my personal, non-public writing, I've been musing about that expression often, for months. Frankly, I've feared it, held it back, kicked it away from me and pretended I didn't hear it more than a few times. In my young adult mind, "I love you" had implications, expectations, held a certain level of the harnesses of the enemy: commitment. Over a year ago, I found myself in a house where that changed.

It was my first experience living with a family, a whole family whose ties and security hadn't been charred by the firestorm of divorce, for the first time in well over a decade. "I love you" was a liberally applied statement of affection, for those little moments simple greeting at the door, jubilant expressions during passionate conversations on any topic, part of the ointment routine for the bruises and bumps of children. "I love you" was written in the dish suds of that house, scrolled in the hardwood floors, placed in vases in the center of the kitchen table. Honestly, it made me uncomfortable for a while, and I didn't know what to say. The "I love yous" never abandoned me or begged a return of sentiment, no matter how quiet I was, how little heed I gave them.

In time, I had come to understand that reciprocation is not a requirement of a sincere "I love you," and tear-jerkingly emotional, expectation-laced yoking wasn't part of the game either. In fact, saying "I love you" isn't a game at all.

In a way, living there healed my negative associations with the words, and better yet, it healed the pathways between my heart and my brain, where "I love you" didn't send me running for the broom closet when I felt it bubbling to the surface of my own emotions, and the idea of someone feeling and expressing love for me didn't send me turtling into the collar of my own shirt.

Not that I've shouted it from the rooftop, or desecrated it with over-use or misapplication. I'm miles from that kind of behavior. But I have said it where it counts, and no longer fear the words "I love you" where they rightly belong and are backed by sincere feeling.

On a lighter note, I adore flying. For one thing, I get whole hours to sit still, uninterrupted. No matter how little I have in terms of luxury, even the cheapest flight feels like an opulence high. Something about being sardined in a sailing tin can with a bunch of folks I don’t even know, who clutch novels I’ve never read and share my oxygen, just seems oh-so exciting. The journey is always beautiful, in all my travels, but when I elect to take a plane, it usually means something about the destination is worth hurrying for, and I love the feeling of that energy coursing through me – anticipation, excitement.

I hope your year dwindles away in a sequence of beautiful winter days, and unfolds into an advent of re-birth, the turn of a pristine page on which you can write whatever you please.

In the traditional Icelandic way of saying goodbye, which I’ve become fond of…
Bless bless!

Moab Getaway

2008-12-10T10:49:00.000-08:00

Matrimony Springs, Moab, UT. "As the legend goes, if you drink from it, you will be married to Moab, and always return." I drink deeply, every visit.

Closing the door on the Red River was a little heart wrenching, the symbolic prelude to leaving town - indefinitely.

Moab couldn't be more gorgeous, the La Salles are cloaked in brilliant white, reigning majestically over the red plateaus, the martian landscape, the floor of this valley that gently rises to rub elbows with the sheer cliffs that surround it.

I love this place. It is one of my homes, a place where my soul has been set free time and time again.

I was sleeping in my car one spring night earlier this year, in a town that shares some of the same nuances of Moab, yet hosts a distinctly different flavor, and operates at a perennially lower volume. It was a frigid desert night, and I snuggled into my 0* down bag, listening to the whistling, whispering desert wind draw its fingers over the roof of my well-beat Civic. Lost in my thoughts, I came up with the idea that the desert doesn't offer much, doesn't extend its hand to feed and nourish. Rather, the desert stands stoically, silently, the liberty of interpretation and self assertion lying in the heart of the beholder. Like a backpacker appreciates food on an empty, calorie torching venture, a soul appreciates the lack of propaganda in the desert, the mind cleansed of input and free to process its own products. It takes a few days for the gunk to clear out, and that's why I came.

Cryptically speaking, a synopsis of the experience would fit nicely in these limited words. I found a life altering book on the 50cent paperback shelf at the library yesterday, which opened the vacuum sealed fluids of my brain to look at some "things" a little more constructively. In so doing, I realized the words that go along with the actions I've been taking, and how it all fits into the collective psychology of women, in my generation, with regard to my personal history. I'll make a post about it sometime, when I've finished the book - it presents some really powerful concepts I'm excited to share.

Anyhow, this voyage into the desert yielded thousands of words of progress on some writing projects, a new haircut (pictures, later) and some time with old friends. And, the soul-soothing vistas of a familiar landscape, which kind of brought it all together in the first place.

(Oh, and a desperately needed kick in the ass, dually brought to me by the deity and human hands that wrote the little paperback into being, and placed it on the discard shelf, and the allowance I gave it to rock my monotonously fog enshrouded little boat.)

I love, love, love teaching skiing. But this live out of a car, sleep on couches and in random trailers life suits me quite well. Travel writing would be ideal for me for the next few years, I need to find the words and means to unlock that opportunity, reconfiguring my off-season rhythms.

Speaking of which, I'm going to hop back into my car now, cruise to Salt Lake, and take my belated shot at some of the new powder in the Wasatch. More to come this weekend, and my beloved cousins are coming to visit soon - backcountry jump, anyone?

Life really is grand. :)
JH

I lied.

2008-12-01T14:42:00.000-08:00

Fall is not over.

Today's weather makes me question whether or not SUMMER is over... I might go hike Olympus in a bit, seeing that it is bathed in 70 degrees of sunlight.

December first. Come on.

Fall 2008

2008-11-30T20:13:00.000-08:00

The last day of JH's nanny career, for the time being.

Ski season has started off to a dull roar. There's not much snow in the Wasatch, the south facing side of Little Cottonwood is remarkably dirty for this time of year, but the runs are soft and the skiers have come into their shells, out of their eastern abodes.

Seven seasons in, I love teaching skiing more every day.

I spent this weekend in the wonderful company of a beautiful little girl from St. Louis and her family. It's amazing to be in a place where individuals and families come to enjoy life, and I get to be a part of their experience. I am truly blessed.

On one of our rides this afternoon, we shared the chair with a man from Manhattan. He asked a lot of questions about my life - and the picture I painted for him was (my reality) : I ski in the winter, am taking my time through school, and have spent a good part of the past three summers running rivers.

The man looks at me and he says "What do you think you are, some kind of diety, that you get to take the best of life and just do that?"

And I'm sure I laughed, and was pleasant, and didn't gloat too much.

Choices

2008-11-30T19:37:00.000-08:00

Whirlwind weekend. I have slept, oh, 7 or 8 hours total since Friday. I taught the equivalent amount of hours in ski lessons, and AS OF TODAY, finals week is ON.

Finals Week To Do List:
Film - Present critical analysis of stereotypes and class/race issues.
Lit - Essay critically analyzing 3 pieces of Feminist lit.
Folklore - Portrait of a Folk group and its material folklore. My topic - climbing (might as well enjoy it... and I've already written about skiing a time or two.)

Note the lack of exams. Lucky me. I love, love, love majoring in English and dodging Math courses.

Next semester game plan? You tell me, I have no idea. I have a sample schedule made up, a tentative trip to Europe in March, a hundred other things I want to do, and a burning desire to get a degree as quickly as I possibly can. Registration starts tomorrow... and I don't think I'm going to make up my mind for a few weeks.

School is such an investment of time and focus. I've been enrolled every semester of 2008, three in a row. I was looking in the mirror about a month ago and realized there were things about myself that I hadn't even been conscious of for months - weirdest feeling. Like I'd been in survival mode for so long that I didn't really stop to think about the details. Or if I were to wake up in the morning and do whatever I wanted, what I would actually choose - without impending deadlines and looming projects. Or how I might have more to give my friends and family, in terms of minutes and sincere, undistracted listening, if my mind wasn't always straddling the chasm between disciplined time-management and liberal indulgence devoid of urgency.

Although I haven't chosen a set path yet, at least I can look at all of the options I've honed down and honestly say, there isn't a bad one in the bunch. Each of my choices has pros, cons, merits for achieving goals and unique gratification.

I believe that when you are living well and being conscientious of who you are, what you want, and how you might attain it, it's usually the case that the choices in front of you are all good, and given time, one will likely emerge as the best or most desirable. Uncertainty is okay, and probably temporary. If you're working towards a goal, with persistence, it will be attained -the amount of time and the details of the journey are the variables. They count. But shouldn't dethrone or detract from the goal... just make the story of attaining it more interesting.

Just some contemplations from the evening, I felt it fit the purpose of the blog well, seeing that balancing school and EVERYTHING else seems to be an integral part of the quarter-life process.

Here for the Holiday

2008-11-27T00:43:00.000-08:00

After climbing indoors this eve, I was covered in dusty grime - I have no idea how that happened. Dami is killing me on the wall. She has some sort of natural aptitude for the sport that I lack. Where she sends gracefully, I muscle with deliberation and a little too much effort. Today was not a strong day at the gym, but we sure had a great time, and the mutual afterthought is that I should come home and we should get memberships together, and really commit/get into it. I don’t know if I can handle getting completely whooped by my kid sis just yet. ;) This pic is us, being ridiculous and loving every second of it.

Climbing was a good release from a tension-filled, uncomfortable lunch outing with Ma’s side of the fam. I don’t have much to say about it… but in the future, when the term Anti-Christ gets thrown into political discussion, I am going to silently back my way out of the room. I love my relatives, but we come at politics from a completely different frame of reference.

I chased TJ through a playground like a six year old yesterday. It was a fall day in Boise, the grey kind of day where fog clings to the trees, and steam rises off of the goose pond. We stomped across the playground bridge, dove head first through its tunnels. I followed his every move like there were no years between us, no separate planes on which we exist, no vague and uncomfortable connections. I was right there, right on his heels, flinging myself down the slide and tripping on the wood chunks, laughing, playing… I’m the only biggest sister he’s got. Why let fifteen years divide us?

And so it is in my time here, everything is a little richer, every emotion is a little deeper, every meal is shared. There is no, I repeat no, snow on the visible face of the mountains, so I’m running away to the Wasatch again on Friday, with only the memory of a day chasing bro, belaying sis, chatting with Pa til we’re both blinking back sleep, not wanting to stop the flow of dialogue dammed for so many years. A few more drops in the bucket of learning to be an individual, a complete and whole creature in the presence of Ma, with whom my allegiance has always taken part in my self-definition. A wonderful new friend, a reconnection with an old friend, some good advice, and some jaded politics. And of course, whatever delicious moments tomorrow brings.

This is Thanksgiving 2008, the beginning of a new season, the start of all things mayhem at work for the next month or so, the only November 26 where each of us resides at this age and phase…

The only day just like today. I can proudly say, I made the most of it, and loved every second.

Coin Cyclone

2008-11-20T12:52:00.000-08:00

It’s been a big week on the mindfront and in the heart.

So big that I won’t disclose the minutiae, even in private, for months to come, because I am too busy living in the delicious present, tasting and feeling every emotion in my repertoire vibrating forth in deep, harmonious melody.

The chimes come in , the bass lows, the voice within me pricks at the right moment and issues a sweet, vocal exhale of everything I’ve been inspired by.

Deep loneliness is one of the contrasting hues of the human experience. It can bring a greater appreciation for every moment of warm, brilliant, heartfelt interaction. Chapters of isolation (most people have them, I assume) whether self imposed or real, are like the reset button that follows a sequence of taken-for-granted thinking.

I've always been of the belief that one true, good friend is more than I could ask for, and yet somehow, I've experienced an influx of beautiful friendships with incredible people in the past few years, each bringing a unique element to my aggregate energy that leaves me feeling whole, overcome with gratitude, optimistic about the human condition.

I've probably said that before, but when I went to make today's post, it surfaced again in an intense rush from the heart.

That said, here's a segment of today's writing sesh that I'd like to share.....

Airfare is on sale, gas is cheap. In a sell-out world, my mind has set sail to different realities and stages of nostalgic locale, heart-warming
in essence, calming in companionship, enlightening…

Who knew it was possible to feel so whole, yet so subdivided at the same time.

I yearn for this game of Mafia we played on the plywood surface of that perennially unfinished dwelling, the abode that heals our soul and binds us together, ligaments to our different parts and functions and distinctly divided intentions.

We function with the breathless strength of a hardworking unit. We forgive, we heal. We struggle and adapt, we ponder in unison and arrive at conclusion, indifference.

You stand there in your work gloves and tell me of your fixing and creating and building. I sit with the heat of my words filling the interior of my cheeks, swirling slowly against the permanent retainer binding my front teeth. Canine to canine she said yesterday, scraping the effects of a thousand days of intake from my dentate jaws… and I thought dog to dog, bird to bird, human to tooth to bite to nourish to live to think to express…. are we so different?

My words speak soundless volumes of my interpretation of what you’ve simply, profoundly accepted and lived. I walk circles, staring suspiciously, rotating in face-off opposition, wondering… could I be there?
Could I walk this circle, drawing nearer in every round, like the penny in the cyclone, the plastic chamber that filled acoustically with the copper, nickel, silver offerings of young children, the cast offs of the paper that paid for the cheap meals - jackpot, right down the center, into the common chasm.
The entertainment of the donation and the cozy advertisement of its beneficiaries offering respite from the ensuing disappointment of white bred, enriched buns and slathered onion mix, the pseudo nourishing puck of ground beast nestled between.

And is this satisfaction, or survival? Are we living conscious, contemplative, thoughtful existences in our allotment of time, or shall we spend it reacting, rowing backwards against our natural currents, challenging not the status quo or the author of all that we’ve inadvertently come to embrace, were we to be defined as an original creature in the universe.

Rather, we blend into the monotony of a composite body, a sea of plankton in an ocean of delusion, wafting – waving with the tides, eyes closed.

Or not.

Rainwater and Grey

2008-11-10T23:00:00.000-08:00

(Story of my young adult life :)

The world and blogoshpere is abuzz today - so much to get swept away in, passionate about – so much to ignite the fires of anxiety and contemplation.

I’ve considered making political opinions part of my blog, and then realized that I don’t care to. Not because I don’t care, but because my blog is a refuge for me – a place where I let a little bit of myself into the world, or write about the little bit of the world that just affected my soul. I want this to be a canvas for belles lettres.

Instead of being riled up about an issue right now, I’d rather just be grateful for things as they were today, for this really beautiful, intricate dam of fall leaves in the gutter, the crystal clear liquid snowmelt and rainwater stocked up behind it, the way the leaves lined the rough old concrete. The water was cold and clean and fresh from the sky, and a little stream flowed through the locked fingers of last summer’s maple canopy, going on to be pooled in the next tier… I touched it with my bare toes, despite briskly frigid air, the rain coming down in wailing rants throughout the grey afternoon.

I can’t part with my Chacos… even though there is snow on the mountains not a mile from my doorstep. It just feels so much more real to have the elements on my skin and to actually get cold. I love it. I appreciated the warmth of the blanket I wrapped up in afterwards, and the hot breath of the space heater to dry my numb toes. The best part of today's walk through the rainwater was talking to Grace through it all, ranting in the impassioned way of twenty-something girls about the latest and greatest in our love affairs and lives.

So I thought about and talked of love today. I love many people. I even love myself. I love my life, I love the people in it.

I then thought about need… the need for attention, acknowledgement, praise, success. I thought a lot about the need for companionship.

I spent the past three days, in large part, holed up in my house with my roommates Tiki and Pinky. Pinky and I even shared the bed last night – in our six months of living together, that is a first. Tiki is beautiful and old and always happy to see me, and the greeting is quick, sincere, and we both attend to our own business in the house and stay out of each other’s way. Pinky is neurotic, bulimic, and bossy – she can’t hold more than a pinch of food down at a time, and insists on getting in my face, literally, whenever I try to relax, seated or lying down. Paws in my face. Drives me crazy. And Tiki, bless her, mastered the art of eating an entire loaf of delicious, expensive organic bread – the fresh baked kind with five or less ingredients, the same day I bought it. She didn’t share a single slice.

Love the dog. Tolerate the cat. Okay I admit... I kind of like the cat. Thought a lot about trading both of them in for a human today.

The other resident homo sapiens of the dwelling are out adventuring this weekend, what they do best. So it was just us - the canine, the feline, the reptile, the spiders, and the lone human… the perpetually contemplative human, who couldn’t go biking with her friends because she picked school first this semester, and was paying her dues.

I’m grateful, truly, for many things. I am grateful for the opportunity to receive an education, and the relative success the endeavor has been met with, this time around.

I’m grateful for some truly amazing friends and the blessing of having some of the world’s finest beings so close to my heart. I always feel that way the days I get to talk to Grace...

I’m grateful for the contentment I’ve found in solitude, and the time to reflect and focus on my goals, and just me. I've celebrated the independence like a kid celebrates birthday cake and Halloween candy.

But that only gets you so far. School has ceased to be challenging, I drink it up – love to learn and produce, but I have it dialed right now, it’s programmed into my operations.

I suppose what I am getting at, is that independence, in all it’s glory, can become easy, monotonous.

And it seems I have more energy to distribute, more interest to invest, more time to listen and desire to commune than I can exhaust. Maybe this is the calm before a storm; ski season has a way of exhausting all of my resources with expert efficiency.

Or perhaps this is growing up, this is the realization you come to when you’re about ready to invest in people’s lives, for permanent, for good. When selfishness has played its game, taken the winning shot and retired to the bench.

I don't know, but I'm sure thinking about it.

Gorgeous, Perfect, Wonderful...

2008-11-05T10:57:00.000-08:00

.... the first adjectives that crossed my mind this morning, as I looked out my bedside windows at white flocked bows and lawn blanketed in cushy, brilliant white. It was better than Christmas! And it's just a Wednesday.

I'm absorbing the feeling of winter getting it's stoke on in a house full of fervent worshippers. The bathrooms - all of them - have ski related reading materials. The closets, all of them, are full to the brim with boots, jackets and the like. The garage doesn't even have a car in it - gear, yes.

I'm on the brink of falling into my favorite phase of bliss. Ski season cometh.

A snapshot of me in one of my earliest winters...If you've known me for long, you know that I haven't changed much. The static life may bore and disinterest me, but there is consistency and rhythm in my pursuits. ~~*

Please, do tell me what a real job is. Apparently I've never had one, nor have many of my friends. Instead, we have fun jobs. Ironically, these fun jobs pay our real mortgages, buy real groceries, fuel our real cars with real gas. Hmm.

It's all good, I called in a powder day to my surreal job, and am spending the day surreally blissed out in a corner of the world that I think is absolutely perfect. Un-cubicled, un-wired, non-preternatural. Lucky me.

Some lyrics I adore from Ani DiFranco...

"Squint your eyes and look closer
I'm not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
and I'm beyond your peripheral vision
so you might want to turn your head
cause someday you're going to get hungry
and eat most of the words you just said."

[DiFranco, Ani. "32 Flavors." Not a Pretty Girl. Righteous Babe Records, 1995.]

It's a great song, as are many by Ani. Check her out if you're unfamiliar.

Happy Snow Day! ;)

The Fam

2008-11-01T23:38:00.001-07:00

Climbing day with the fam. I don't know if I've expressed this often enough...

I love my family.

-------------------> PAPA __TJ__JH _ Dami__MA

That's us in JPEG form :) along with our blog names - how I reference them here.

Papa has the Iron Man emblem over his heart - he is a veteran triathlete and furiously training for the epic ski season knocking at the door. He and I make a point of knocking out as many powder runs as the daylight will allow at least once a ski season. As a first time climber, he sent a double over hang route with impressive one-arm-pull-up skills, and I'm looking forward to our next climbing venture around Thanksgiving.

Lil bro TJ is an intense kid, energetic and intelligent. Though we have different mothers, he is as brother as can be. Currently he is learning the rules of the basketball in his Y-Ball league -he made a couple of really great shots his last game, only one of which counted. Apparently, even in Y-Ball, you have to dribble rather than make a break for it, clutching the ball for dear life. Too bad, since the strategy seemed to work :) we were all still proud of him, his Mom especially.

When climbing, he scaled the first half of 5.6 rated routes very well - but the full ascent registered as a bit terrifying to him. 40 feet or so is a long way when you're hardly a tenth of that in stature!

Dami(enne). My sister is wonderful. She has an affection for France, and spent her last spring break there. She's learning the ropes of the young adult life, and has a lot of love to give. I am inexpressibly grateful for the opportunity to share most of my life growing up with her. She worked hard at climbing - initially going half way like TJ, but once she learned to trust the ropes, she finished her first routes quite gracefully.

Ma is as dedicated of a mother as can be. She put every ounce of her energy the past couple decades into my sister and I, and we're eternally grateful. She's on the brink of having ALL GROWN UP children, and I'm hoping her 'liberation' will allow her more time on the slopes with Zeppelin, on cassette if need be. :) Ma is not into combatting gravity on a climbing wall, but prefers to gracefully work WITH it in descending ski hills.

So, that's the fam! TJ and Dami were knocking out 5.6s by the end of our venture, and Papa is hooked, I am sure. He has immense experience rappelling and teaching rope rescue, but never got into climbing. I remember him telling me he wasn't interested a few summers ago when I first climbed in Moab, and I think I chided him, saying that if he wanted to rapp down, he had to earn it by climbing up. I saw the fire ignite in his eyes during our day at the gym - I have a feeling he intends to scale every route we came across, and won't stop til he does.

The City of Trees

2008-10-31T13:08:00.000-07:00

Is alive and well on a passive skied, milky clouded day. I'm looking out across the valley, the Owyhees appearing misty in the background, the fiery colors of fall foliage speaking volumes about this place, adorning the resident maples, catalpas, elms...

Is it home? I don't know. I don't know where home is... Earth. Globally speaking, not regionally pinpointed.

Unless we were to speak of the habitats that constitute my collective childhood memory, in a time where home was more defined than just a feeling. The canopied streets of Boise, the sand and smell of its sage spangled foothills, the water of the arterial river that flows through it all and the days spent swinging into it from terrifying heights. The drive between here and New Meadows, that twisting, convoluted form of a house outside of McCall that seems to bow ever lower with each passing season. The footbridges and sparkling waterways and trails that carve through the Ponderosa forests, the local haunts we've danced the nights away at, whose borrowed letters helped us conquer the Alphabet Game on timeless road trips as children. The small cities, who in and of themselves have an identity to be missed and longed for - relatives of the soul, checkpoints on so many journeys - Banks, Lake Fork, Cascade, Smith's Ferry. The infamy of the Horseshoe Bend hill, the eerie reminders of the Cougar Mountain Lodge, the straight and broad, dusty road to Warm Lake. This area is what Idaho and I really have in common - our heartland. This part of the planet, even in a lifetime of travels, will forever be a beloved muse.

I'm going trick-or-treating with my sweet, wild little bro TJ this evening. At the tender, innocent age of six, he's elected to be a military Sniper for Halloween. My Dad (mistakenly, he admits) let him play Call of Duty on Playstation for a while, before banishing it for violent content. Aside from that, he comes from a proud military heritage on his maternal side - hopefully we'll play up the inspiration from the latter. :)

Happy Halloween to all!

Definitions

2008-10-24T23:07:00.000-07:00

(Insert: very, very nerdy comic. Source = www.xkcd.com)

I'm feeling all sorts of philosophical about things in this moment. Grateful for some writing time after a mellow evening at home - made dinner with my lil buddy WK, a beautiful kid and total joy, not to mention culinary phenom and soccer star.

I've done some blog browsing lately, and have been rewarded with interesting perspectives on a lot of very different individuals. I'm fascinated by the sandwich of life and what people freely choose, and how they portray their creation. Bread on bread of birth and death, and an endless array of fillers, spices, meats, vegs, pastes, creams, jellies etc you can smoosh inbetween. No matter what falls between your slices of birth/death, you've got a existential sandwich (if you will) - 100% unique, no matter how hard you try to follow influences or conform to the fight for non-conformity.

I'm thinking about my life sandwich (again...always...) - the established layers, and the forecast of layers to come, to be sought after. The fun thing about twentysomethinghood is that the space between feels so open-faced, so boundless. There's a huge expectation that you're going to slap some standard fare on there (college, marriage, kids, etc) but no real requirement other than what's in your head, what you're jonesin' for, what you think will create the most fulfillment and joy. For me...

I love, love, love learning. It might be my most favorite of all experiences in the whole Universe. I wouldn't equate a college ed to learning with any nuance of exclusivity, ever. Life is complex, beautiful, rythmic, profound. There are endless avenues of discovery.

Though it comes and goes, and it's definition is transitive and subject to circumstance, companionship is no doubt the most profound sustenance offered at the deli counter. Somewhere in my journey, I fostered a fair but of misandry, which has lent itself to fierce independence and reflexive death rays that shoot down intruders with a moment's scrutiny. I'm seeing that as increasingly benign as I wend my way down the path, alleviating the pressure of a major expected component.

The children in my life are, truly, wondrous beyond description. My vocabulary fails to illustrate the true feeling of inspiration I have gained from their pure energy, intelligence, strength, and beauty. The world is full of such life, brimming with it actually. If all the days of my own life were to pass with vacant womb, I would still be satisfied, heart and soul, with the pitter patter of footsteps on the earth itself, and the song of children everywhere.

On that note, my definition of "standard fare" and my own necessary, vital Life Sandwich components have begun (rather, began some time ago...) a dynamic separation, the latter growing and thinking and re-defining, reconstructing, constantly.

As humans, I think we all feel an intrinsic urge to attain KNOWLEDGE, fight for LOVE, and undertake the CREATION of a meaningful legacy. I want to extend the challenge to myself and anyone who reads this to take an objective, positive look at the daily possibilities for powerfully executing all three objectives and DO, regardless of circumstance.

Euro GnarShredd: 03/'09

2008-10-23T13:49:00.001-07:00

This spectacular girl I know - a skier, a student, a bundle of fun-filled, energetic life force - a fellow Altaholic... invited me to come visit her in Europe this spring at her family's new digs near St. Anton (Austrian ski resort).

Hmm let me think.... YES please!

As soon as the prospect came up on the horizon, I felt some guilt surface about spring term of school. (Euro ski trip would be paid for with Spring 09 tuition budget.) I've been really focused on school for the three semesters I've been back - three in a row.

Having taken two years off, and knowing that the motivated people who graduated with me in '05 will be graduating from college this year, I feel a sort of self-imposed rush to hurl my way through, semester after semester, til I get done.

On further thought, I realized what a luxury it is to be where I'm at. If I were graduating from college this year, I'd be on the hunt for a job with benefits and limited vacation time. I'd likely be "ready to settle down" (gag.... cough cough...) which would mean that my free time would give way to a barrage of responsibilities, snowballing every day of my life until I die, more or less. It's not a bad thing....

But to everything, there is a time and a season. And this season, I think I'm going to kick off my academic shoes, feel genuinely happy for the people who pushed their way to a degree, and be completely elated to spend a week shreddin' in Europe.

Karma calling!

2008-10-21T18:00:00.000-07:00

Foreword: This is a lil bit of something I've been working on, to illustrate the early-twenties feelings on the early-twenties Journey - the cat and mouse dating game. Warning: content infused with sarcasm, author mildly jaded. ;)

.....

They say that love is blind – love is not blind.

Infatuation, on the other hand, at least when unreciprocated….*
Contracts a unique hearing impairment, shifting claims such as:

“I’m not interested in a relationship with you.”
Which translates directly to: “I’m dying for you to ram more of your self-absorbed dialogue about how I’m wrong about this into my brain.”

“No.”
Translates to: “Maybe! Ask again! I secretly adore you and will eventually give you the answer you seek.”

“This isn’t working out for me - please don’t try to contact me again.”
Translates to: “RARRR, I love a relentless stalking! You’re killing my resistance softly, tiger.”

“The attraction isn’t mutual.”
Translates to: “The nauseated look is part of the game, I’ll jump you very very soon.”

*Has also been linked to pathetic, clumsy behavior, and absence of grace.
*Often features a defunct sense of smell, an icky touch, vision skewed by its own interest.

Infatuation lacks sense(s). Period.

All were in the same boat of undesirability and sugar coated ease, which I wanted to kick from my shores forever and shoot flaming arrows at, like a medieval death raft.

Better to have it far, far from me – whether I sit upon shores of denial, ego, and self righteousness or not...

The one saying that my passion for skiing would have to pass pending our nuptials; too expensive and risky for a wife of his, who needed to be preserved like waxy casserole in airtight Tupperware, changing diapers and living dependently off his stingily dispersed income. And this, darling, is the noble definition of teamwork!

Another, a scorpion angrily demanding a sacred place in my agenda, touting his presence in my life as “the best thing that ever happened “; defining me with all the accuracy of a self absorbed, reality skewed prick. Truly, the senselessness of infatuation personified.

And another, lovingly throwing elbows into my life, arriving breathless and out of tune, like a happy hound… asking no pertinent questions, making many arrogant assumptions, and criticizing my claims. I loved the walk around the park, but no, I don’t want to take you home. Yes, I do know that for sure, and thank you for reminding me how little you think of my ability to reason.

And so on and so forth, down the line of unreciprocated crushes.
Perhaps their little flames were stoked by my disdain –

I know there’s sometimes nothing hotter than the unavailable mystery
Of someone so distant from touching anything vulnerable in you
Incapable of shattering a carefully constructed, independent façade.

And there’s some sort of relief in disinterest – no spotlights
No emotional search warrants
You’re safe here, ducked into the void.

Mission Accomplished

2008-10-19T18:38:00.000-07:00

(yep, those are real peacock feathers! ^^^)

Best weekend ever in Salt Lake.

If it were my job to make heaven, it would look just like Little Cottonwood Canyon.

Some highlights of the weekend - two climbing sessions in LCC, two wonderful parties, 12 carved pumpkins, fall colors, amazing friends, the house to myself, and making plans for a busy week.

Many thanks to my fun, talented, generous friends for making it all possible!

It's Late.

2008-10-18T01:25:00.000-07:00

I am so very awake, for the next ten minutes at least.

I know I'm really tired when I can oversimplify everything. I just logged in just for kicks, and saw the word "born" on my page, and was overcome with thoughts on being born. Existing! I was BORN somewhere. I am alive! That seems so ridiculously profound... one day the Universe was humming along in it's rhythym and the next minute I was part of that rhythym. And I've spend a sequence of days and years claiming my space and identity... and I was born once... did I mention that..?

I'm not high, just exhausted. Maybe coming down from a sugar/adrenaline high from and sweet, eventful day.

Cleaned house, ran errands, did homework, dressed up in elements of peacock, made food, had friends over, carved pumpkins, took pictures, talked, laughed, smiled a lot.

I decided this was going to be the best weekend ever today, and it's off to a ripping good start.
Now seriously, it's too late to be writing... much much too late. G'night world :)

From the Heart

2008-10-16T17:10:00.000-07:00

A slice of introspection, from a relatively ordinary day.

First, before I write this blog, I want to make an assertion about who I am
that I can finally declare sans sheepishness and denial.

I am here for the emotional experience.

Any thrill I've been known to seek, any place that I run to, anything I love about myself and admire in the Universe is inseparably linked with my desire for emotional fulfillment.
The places I love most are the places that evoke the most in me.
The activities I have pursued have somehow brought emotional challenge, stimulation and fulfillment to my life.
The relationships I treasure with all the deepest affections of my heart are those that travel limitlessly through the dynamics of life - unconditional, uncircumstantial.

I'm all about the journey. I could care less for the destination most of the time. The destination is the end of the chapter and the impetus for a new beginning.

I write every day, and blog very infrequently. I've been reserved to the idea of blogging because it's nearly impossible for me to write impersonally, and I've felt disinclined to throw my ponderings into the public sphere. I've come to look at it a little differently in the past week - a challenge to see if I can learn to let my words be open to interpretation, and learn to filter the personally sacred from the sacred existential common ground that we all share as a human family. Some of the best things in life need to be shared, like lungs need oxygen, lest we forget the common threads that tie us together. I've been forgetful.

SO. Now that the disclaimer is out there, here are some of the latest notes from my emotional journey.

Something in me is symptomatically falling in love, and I'm not sure why.

I walked the streets of Cottonwood Heights for hours yesterday, breathing deep, viewing the snow dusted Wasatch Front adoringly, laughing at myself, balancing on concrete ledges, listening to music, feeling very alive and pleased with reality as-is. I browsed the shelves of the library, visited with friends, got really tired and slept well.

And it just seemed like a perfect day.

The economy sucks, my schedule is whack, things are a mess all over the place.
I still had a perfect day. Because perfect is the acceptance of things as they are. Perfect, in my mind, is a state of peace with imperfection; embracing who you are, where you've been and where you realistically are and want to go. Without fear, pretention, or jealousy. Or doubt. Or anything nasty and unnerving that could obstruct the clarity and peace that is always, always alive and well in the Universe, available for the undistracted heart to appreciate.

After this dazzling, simple day, I concluded that that brand of happy thoughts is usually associated with falling in love. I guess I'm falling in love then, with the promise of an impending ski season, even with the prospect of economic doom, and always with the love of good friends and cherished family.

Climbing....

2008-10-09T15:10:00.000-07:00

My Wednesday was spent in a canyon with a good friend, surrounded by autumn sunlight and orange/red/yellow mini maple leaves. I was there, in the corners of ancient cobbles and on the faces carved by a delta, settled firmly over a millennia of stillness and frequented by a breed of adventurers known as climbers.

A different breed, really. Climbers come with their own culture, lingo, practices, theories, habits, class of vehicles (fuel efficient-ish, high clearance-ish, dog friendly, hatchbacks.) Climbers have a body and an attitude that can usually be stereotyped pretty accurately – some of the more flattering aspects being quite admirable. I like the climber girls who admit to shamelessly wearing Chacos to church, hate dressing up, beat the boys… a lot of the prerogative of outdoor culture in general, just with a different stylistic flair. Very earthy and wholesome, the personification of dedication and hard work against persistent challenge. I dig it.

What I don’t dig about climbing, the moments that tap into the easy-route, gravity cooperative neuro transmitters in my head and send them on the fritz. When I am stuck somewhere painful and uncomfortable and it is just simply HARD. Difficult. Gravity is sitting cross legged on my dome chuckling at my pathetically weak struggle against it. I get nervous, I get antsy. I get unsure. Really, honestly, I DO NOT KNOW where to go next in these moments, and I feel like nothing is reaching out to me, rather that I am scrambling aimlessly at the void.

And I keep coming back for more of this. Something in me thrives every time I finish (which, incidentally, is about a fifty-fifty split) a route. Something in my inner struggle is assuaged and edified by what I learn from the rock. Something in my ego was put silently and politely, into its proper place today, moulded by the rounded curves of Maple’s cobbles. Something about the conglomerate composition spoke to me of my place in the packbottom, absolute rock bottom, surrounded by others at every stage of the game. The geology taught me of the nature of dynamic impermanence; the vibrant ushering in of the new season showing that with persistence and presence; being there in the environment, there is a promise of change.

....climb on!

Signs of the Times

2008-10-06T16:41:00.000-07:00

In all my disengagement, I haven't avoided as much of the junk show campaign process as I would have liked. Money, solicitation, wasted resources – propaganda today, landfill tomorrow. The hurled insults, the debasement, the ridicule. The looks of arrogance and pride, and the unrelenting vocal polarization of solutions and ideas. The annoying calls I keep getting from unknown numbers. "If the election were to happen today..."

I can affirm with full confidence that there is nothing supernatural or heroic about the animalistic claw for power I’m watching and listening to from the opposing camps. This is not a battle of Good VS. Evil. You do not make yourself look better by flexing your destructive powers on the opposition. I don’t want to see a well rehearsed destroyer and defamer become the next Commander in Chief.

Whether it's in simplicity or naivete that I utter this, all I want is to live a good life and be happy. I'll work for it. I'll do my part.

I don't expect the government to deliver it to me on a silver platter - though I would be among the most grateful beneficiaries of Universal Healt Care, I see it as a pipe dream in the midst of instability and financial turbulence.

I DO expect a goverment that leaves the delicate landscapes of this beautiful country AT the LEAST, preserved. Every time I hear Sarah Palin utter the word energy, I reach for a paper bag and start hyperventilating. When she says “drill” and “nuc-yelur,” I actually hurl.

I want the next generation to know what it feels like to run barefoot on a beach, ski on pristine layers of fresh fallen snow.

I'd like there to be markets and production of gear/transportation/etc. that makes playing outside comfortable. But the humans before us could ski on planks rougher than today's hardwood floors and love it, I could learn to, if push came to shove.

Growing up, we played hard and busted ourselves up on gnarly playground equipment. [Anyone remember old Camel's Back park?] If the world as we know it were to end, it might take a while to reverse adaptations to padded, plastic coated play time and easy, hand-it-to me routine, but the fittest would survive.

Is that what we're looking at here? Complete failure of the system, or a the next Savior of the human race?

Regardless of the victor this fall, they’ve got their work cut out for them. One half or the other of us is going to have to console ourselves with, at best, some new tunes, a warm bath, maybe a run around the block.

Maybe, just maybe, a run to your bomb shelter in the hills. I'd be prepared. Just make sure it isn’t on the north slope of Alaska, because it might not be there this time next year.

The beginning...

2008-10-04T19:10:00.000-07:00

Oddly enough, considering the amount of time I spend writing, I've never kept a consistent blog. Occasional rants on Myspace... but nothing particularly noteworthy.

I won't say that things are about to get consistent or routine here, but I'm interested in the opportunity for the first time.

Some things about my life, in the October of my twenty second year. Some things that may or may not be of any interest to the planet, but have profound significance in the existence I call my own.

I live in a wonderful house in my favorite residential spot in the state of Utah, at the base of the Wasatch mountains. A Major Leaguer could probably hit the face of one of the Twin Peaks from the front yard, and my ski commute this winter will involve walking down the block and hopping on the bus.

The family whom I share my new home with is made up of some of the most down-to-earth, pleasant adventurers I've come across yet, renting out a quiet back room in their mountainside "beach house," having freshly returned from a summer surfing excursion on the island of Maui.

I'm settling into a vibrant fall rhythym in the rugged arms of the Wasatch, embracing the academic life and watching anxiously for the arrival of the first signs of winter.

Despite the beauty, serenity, and ample challenges around me, my heart still lives, in part, in Idaho. I miss my family every single day. I'm constantly aware of the little things I miss in the lives of my brother and sister a state away, and despite my love of my surroundings, hear a call in my soul to return to my roots sooner rather than later.

So here I am, plugging through community college, listening to the vibrations of the universe, navigating my way as best I can to meet all the calls that come to me and lay the foundation for my future. Yikes!

This summer was intense and chaotic, I took on WAY too many credits of school, and had very little consistency in my schedule. I gained some experience and confidence in my abilities; it was by no means a wash. A few highlights: kicking off the off-season with a DC trip to visit Destiny, surviving summer semester, watching my Dad cross the finish line in the Boise half Ironman, reading books with my bro, spending time with the little H-G's and Emma (kids I love!) Fourth of July in Moab and some memorable river trips with Red River Adventures. Making some amazing new friends, keeping/getting in touch with some cherished old friends, clumsily confessing my affection to a good chum. Turning 22 at the cabin with my beloved maternal side of the fam, and starting work on a novel there, favorite vinyls playing in the background and the woodstove keeping me toasty warm.

It's a good life. :)