Interweb Finds: A 16-year-old on slut-shaming, Ray Lewis’ final dance & more

sushi flintstones

So this is what John and I did Saturday night. See that not-entirely-round sushi with the carrot sticking out so it kinda looks like a tongue? We made that. And then we ate it. And it was DELICIOUS. My first attempt at a sushi roll resembled a Japanese burrito (it was huge), but we got the hang of it and ate entirely way too much. It was worth the stomach pains that followed.

I’ve got some more guest posts and interviews lined up for this week, but for now, enjoy these links:

The perspective we needed: a 16-year-old on the online slut-shaming trend.

Our past selves seem so different from our current, more enlightened selves, no? Why should it be any different in the years ahead? According to this article, we underestimate how much we’ll change.

This Nashville house tour is the perfect mix of Southern charm and casual comfort.

Analog lovers, rejoice! The lomography smartphone film scanner looks friggen awesome.

Related: I’m going to have to invest in a Moleskine photo book. Gorgeous.

Ashley from Writing to Reach You has been blogging about her efforts of leading a minimalist lifestyle for awhile now. In a particularly insightful post, she notes that once you get rid of all your non-essentials, all that’s left is you.

As a Marylander, I can’t NOT mention today’s upcoming battle between the Ravens and the Patriots. Driving through Baltimore Friday night, it was amazing to see all of the purple lights around town. WE WANT THIS SO BAD, YOU GUYS. Whether you love, hate, or are indifferent to football, you can’t not get just a little bit of joy out of watching Ray Lewis’ last dance in Baltimore. “Hot in Herre,” indeed.

And you can bet I’m wearing a lot of purple today.

Writing is for free

One of the coolest parts of putting out a request for guest writers was seeing who came out of the woodwork to answer my call. Guest blogger Jalynn Harris is one of my mom’s senior literary arts students.That’s right—Jalynn is in high school. And as you’ll see, she writes with stunning authority, authenticity, and humor.

guest post series

Jalynn

My mother’s Great Great Great Grandfather, chief of the Broke’no’joke tribe in an area of central Maryland known as the “The Hood,” has a gravestone in a Baltimore park reading: “The only things in life that matter are things that are free.”* Despite having lived over one hundred years ago, his words still ring true for all kinds of people—those looking for cell phone upgrades (I got my iPhone 4 for free), those in the American prisoner system (incarceration doesn’t cost prisoners a dime), and those looking to participate in Godiva’s monthly rewards program (I mean, if you’re into that kind of thing). But most relevant to his Great Great Great granddaughter is that writing is free(ing).

I have filled over twenty journals, written hundreds of pages in word processors, sent countless snail-mail, all for the lowly price attached to one-time investments of PC ink pens (sometimes if I’m lucky, I’ll pick up a pen by/in a trash can) and dollar store journals. My Great Great Great grandfather would deem my passion for words a “thing in life that matter(s),” and for that I am pleased knowing my actions warrant a proud Great Great Great grandfather whose pats on the back are redeemable on the other side.

But the thriftiness of writing is not the only thing tying me to the craft. True, I love free things and the fact that writing is free does make me joyful (and according to everyone I confide my journalist dreams to, it should because, “You’ll never make money in that profession! Choose a major you’ll make money in, like engineering, or prostitution!” To which I’m like, “Granny!”). But mainly, I am joyful at the thought that my words are free.

Jalynn

But this isn’t about that. This is about the art of writing. The ethereal quality of words. How they make me salivate while still satiating me. How I spend Friday nights dictionary.com-ing words just for the sound of them.

Writing makes me feel most alive. Often when writing, I enter into trance. It is inside, between, beneath, surrounded by a den of words that I hibernate. Inside of my den, I cope with the tragedies of Western adolescence—why XYZ doesn’t like me back, how my mother put too much jelly on my PB&J sandwich, #thestruggle of Senioritis.

Writing is a coping mechanism. I am the bottom of a male-dominated sibling triangle where both of my brothers have been gone away at college for years now. The extent to which I write about (and miss) my brothers is truly grotesque, but it is the only healthy outlet I have. Inside of my den, my words are malleable, yet still permanent. They are steadfast and alive.

Writing is a means of introspection. I face myself through words; I face the world through words. It is inside of my den where I am challenged to dissect my feelings and in return I am listened to. My words know me better than I know myself. When I emerge, clarity is given to all that is muddled, peace given to all that is restless, understanding to all that is unknown.

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Writing is a place of restoration. I imagine my words to be a sort of community to me and there, inside of my den, I am enveloped in an environment equipped with listening ears and healing hands. Without the strength of this community, I would know no strength.

It is this idea of community that is the most encompassing reason why I write. The fact that we are all born into community is so powerful to me, and the thought that most of us spend a lifetime running away from it really haunts me. It seems as if my makeshift community of words fulfills whatever my familial/societal community doesn’t. My words listen to me, they remind me who I am, they chart my journey, they remember all that I have un(in)tentionally forgotten.

I think the most basic thing community is purposed for is touch. When a family member dies, cheap DollarTree cards and bean casseroles are as much a form of touch as physical things like hugs and handshakes. And in the most unperverted, keep-ya-mind-outta-da-gutta way, my words are me touching myself. I know, super intimate, right? And one of the coolest things about this healing is that when I ask big questions (omgsh why have I been single for a record 17 years? It’s like I’m trying to set a Guinness World Record), when I can face myself and the world through words, I am left vulnerable. And what is a more authentic way to live than living vulnerably?

*None of this is true. You can tell my looking at my kinky hair I have NO Indian blood.

JalynnJalynn Harris is a 17-year-old senior in the Baltimore County School System who has been writing since her mother started stealing pens from pediatrics’ office. She is a pew baby who enjoys Christian summer camps, Mongolian throat music, Sylvia Plath poetry, and being the bottom of a male-dominated sibling triangle.
Her eldest brother and she have an up-and-coming blog at http://jjsanctum.wordpress.com/. In early February, she is publishing her first book, What Washed Ashore, available through Amazon. It is a non-fiction piece that she encourages no one in her family to read, and if they do, to suck it up if they are offended.

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Simplicity is an illusion

Continuing on with my guest post series, meet the talented blogger and designer behind Caffeine & THC, Diana!

guest post series

photo credit: killthebird via photopin cc

photo credit: killthebird via photopin cc

“Make it clean and simple. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

As a web designer, I hear this often from prospective clients. They assume that what is easy to digest is easy to create. Though if that were true, I would be out of a job.

Much of everything in life can be compared to fruit. An apple takes about 4 years to grow. That’s after the first few years when the tree is still establishing itself. It might make gross, inedible apples in that time. The tree must be in a well-fertilized, sunny area for the apples to be any good. You’ll need to do research—days, if not months or years—to find out the optimal conditions for the apple tree. Bugs might ruin the apples, so you need to watch out for that. Regular maintenance is of course necessary. You might get an apple tree that doesn’t make apples. In that case, it needs to be pollinated. You’re gonna have to buy another apple tree to help out the first. It might be expensive.

The apple, when ready, will take about a minute or two for your customer to eat. It will be aesthetically pleasing. They’ll instinctively know how to eat it; there won’t be even one second of confusion. It will be delicious and won’t upset their stomach. They’ll probably want to eat another one the next day.

The apple experience can be described as “good.” “Simple” is stretching it. Describing it as “easy” would be disingenuous.

The best way to disrespect an apple farmer—or web designer or hair stylist or anyone in client services—is to ask for something “easy.” If it were easy, you wouldn’t be asking for it. You would do it yourself. And your result might come out bad, because even though it looks easy, it took years of research and training to have their stuff come out good.

Every profession needs to be respected as if it were providing you delicious apples when, for whatever reason including lack of time, you can’t make your own. Appreciate the apples.

Post originally published here.

Diana of Caffeine & THCDiana is a web designer and developer from Southern California (who runs Sunshined Web Design). She loves everything cute and blogs personally about weird stuff at Caffeine & THC in her free time. Her work, pet parakeets, and coffee keep her running on a daily basis. Diana can’t seem to get into fiction writing but she’s ok with that. If you have any suggestions for cool rappers, please send them along to her. She would appreciate it. | @pixelswithin

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Puppy love

Some of my favorite pictures to take are the ones of animals.

Whether it’s John’s cats, McKenzie’s alpacas, or the sweet donkey named Mike who lives over by the bike trail, nothing excites me more than the perfect shot of a photogenic (and energetic) animal. Ever since I got my new camera, I’ve reveled in the fact that I can take tons of shots without worrying about the cost of each one, like I do with film. So the subject of my first photoshoot with the Nikon D3200? Our puppy-at-heart, Iris.

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You’ve met my dogs before. They’re stinky. Loud. They bark incessantly at the door 30 seconds after letting them out if it’s below 60 degrees. And I love them. Iris, as it turns out, is a natural when it comes to being photographed. It can be pretty tough to get most dogs to look anywhere near the camera when you’re shooting them. But not Iris. All it took was a little cooing (and lots of complimenting) on my end to get her to look my way. The results? A plus-sized modeling career in the making.

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Maddy didn’t have much interest in the photoshoot—she’s camera shy—but I still managed to catch some candid shots of her in her natural state.

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Nothing like pictures of puppies to get your week started off right. I’m dreaming of a new career—pet photography, perhaps? I love animals, and I love photography. It’s a win-win, if you don’t count the inevitable turds that come with the job. Could make for some shitty sessions. I’ll have to think more on that one. Until then…

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The “Lucky” Ones – An interview with Shanghai artist & bodyworker Julie Kesti

After several weeks off due to the holidays, I’ve been anxious to get The “Lucky” Ones interview series back up and running. (You can read past interviews here.) My first interviewee of 2013 is a creative soul with an adventurous spirit. Meet artist and Shiatsu practitioner, Julie Kesti!

shanghai is cold in winter so i jog in place

Julie Kesti is an artist—both in the traditional sense and otherwise. After receiving her art degree from the University of Minnesota, she began to explore other paths (mail carrier, face painter, museum guard, and birthing doula to name a few). But what grabbed her attention—and stuck—was another kind of art: healing bodywork. Inspired by previous work in a yoga studio, Julie learned the practice of Shiatsu, a Japanese alternative medicine that incorporates massage and stretching. She eventually started her own business both as a Shiatsu and Thai massage practitioner while continuing to create art.

A major life change, not to mention culture shock, forced Julie out of her comfort zone when her husband’s job recently transplanted them to China. It’s made for a whole new source of inspiration for Julie’s artwork—which is mostly paintings and drawings that use various materials, as well as a series of art-by-mail projects which she ships to people all over the world from her new home in Shanghai. Crediting her childhood as the youngest of five siblings, Julie’s power of observation has made her independent career both successful and fulfilling.

Welcome, Julie!

You’ve explored many careers on your path to art and bodywork. What led you to where you are now, and how did you know when you had a good fit?

I remember my college advisor saying, “It doesn’t matter what you major in, companies want employees who are intelligent and can think creatively.” I think this is probably both true and untrue. At the time, though, I somehow knew [art] was the right choice for me. Oddly I also knew that I wasn’t going to go out and try and show my stuff in galleries. I recall being really clear about that, though not about what it was I would do instead. I think studying art was developing a way of interacting with the world, and I didn’t know where that would take me.

Since then I’ve worked all sorts of jobs. In the midst of all that I also studied bodywork and eventually started my own business as a Shiatsu and Thai Massage practitioner, including co-creating a great bodywork space that hosted arts events. Two of my best roles were working in an assistant role, which is a little surprising because I can be stubbornly independent, but not so surprising because I like to find pattern and organization in things. I was lucky to work alongside brilliant experts in their fields. They each had a well-honed talent, and I was able to step in to join with them to make that work easier and better, while learning from their expertise.

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Did you experience a lot of uncertainty when you took on these different roles? How would you decide what to pursue next or when you felt it was time to move on?

I don’t exactly believe in fate, but I have to admit, as I look back on all this, there have been several times I was sure about doing something but wasn’t sure exactly where it would go.  My doula work—I was so excited about it when I began and loved doing it, but then at a certain point, I was like, I think this part of my work is done. I just knew it. It was a little awkward, really, because I had no good explanation for people, apart from saying something about a switching of priorities. But it was about that time that I met [my friend] Sarah and Blooma (the yoga studio) was opening, and things evolved from there. I was just going to work at the desk a couple days a week because I thought it was such an exciting new concept to be around, but it evolved, and I was able to take on a leadership role there that used a lot of skills I’d developed over the years, and taught me a lot of new ones. I think, really, in that case in particular, my college advisor was right—it was my ability to think creatively and organize and sort information, key tools of an artist, that made me a good fit for that role.

It seems you were intent on becoming an artist from the start. But what about bodywork? What was it about the practice that resonated with you?

This work did in some ways come out of my art practice. [In school], a lot of my work explored the idea of living in a body, how we are viewed and project ourselves through our physical forms, and more specifically, as women. One of the most influential classes I took was a course called “Women’s Images and Images of Women.” It altered my understanding of history and the way that the personal and the political reflect each other. Fast-forward a few years, and I’d lived in China for a stretch, and served a year as an Americorps Volunteer, gotten married and was back in Minneapolis. A friend of mine was in Shiatsu school and would tell me about Chinese Medicine and practiced on me. I was intrigued and thought it would be a way to keep examining our human bodies, and also a way to study that wasn’t all about book studying (which was what I’d done most of my life) but also hands-on. Shiatsu and Chinese Medicine are interesting because they discuss the body in a way that includes so many factors—environment, emotions, lifestyle, history—and that of course appealed to me as an artist.

On the surface, art and bodywork appear to be two very different professions, though it seems bodywork is its own art form, and art, healing. Do you feel the same? And how do you do both?

A friend once came for a session and noted that to her my Shiatsu work felt like I was “making a painting.” That’s a little abstract, but I think it’s pretty accurate—you are creating each session for each client, and you are listening and responding to what you notice in the body—it is a creative process. You also develop your own style as you grow as a practitioner, the same with an art-making practice. And both art and bodywork are beneficial to the practitioner—you feel good and energized after giving a Shiatsu, and painting is invigorating in a similar way.

Practically speaking, though, I seem to always have multiple interests going on—which can be both a blessing and a curse—to keep up with it all logistically, and of course to make it all work financially.

How has relocating to a completely different part of the world shifted your perspective of your work and lifestyle?

Since moving to China this year I’ve had a lot of time to think and have been forced to examine how the next phases of my work will evolve. Not much here is built-in for me, and this move wasn’t entirely my choice—not that I was forced to go, but it is my husband who has a job here, and who has studied Mandarin and Chinese culture for years and years, so my investment is different from his. There is an (I think) terrible term for this: “trailing spouse!”

So I’ve been in a bit of a free fall, which is terrifying and also a great gift. It makes me have to step up to the plate—I can’t relax in established relationships or roles or even, you know, ways of getting groceries and doing laundry. It’s a chance to Teach English (believe me, everyone will tell you, “You could always teach English!”) or Do Something Else. So I’ve been staring at Something Else a lot and trying to discern it, and exploring what others have done in a similar situation. And it seems like this is a lot of what the blogging world is about—people trying to do something other than what they were doing, or trying to shift their lifestyle, or maybe keep doing the same thing but be more reflective and/or intentional about it.

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Has your new home influenced your art? Are people in Shanghai receptive to it?

Yes, it has. Partly just in having my time wide open and saying, okay, let’s do this. Partly because I think the urban landscape is making me paint plant after plant after plant. It’s got me thinking about how to make an art practice that is viable no matter where I am—hence my experiments with art-by-mail and my new Etsy site. (Thank you postal services of the world!)

I’m not sure yet if people here are receptive to it—I am still trying to get to know the community and find a spot for myself. There are some inspiring projects here, so I have hope. The skies here can be very grey and smoggy, so I have a feeling there is a place for my colorful work in this city.

Bodywork-wise, I’ve been set up to give Shiatsus here for about a month. So far so good. It’s extra nice to create a cozy oasis for people in the midst of this huge city.

What challenges have you faced as a result of simply being in your respective fields, as well as immersing yourself in such a vastly different culture? What about the rewards?

The challenge with learning bodywork initially was going to school and learning anatomy and stretching my brain to think in terms of Chinese Medicine, which can be a very different view of the human ecosystem. I had some great teachers to guide me in this process. (Thanks Tomas and Andre.) Once you get through all that, there is the challenge of starting a business and figuring out how to share it with others. This was actually a fun challenge, however, one I still enjoy and am learning about, and one that I can now bring back around to my art-making. It’s funny—I forget sometimes how much of a learner-by-doer I am. I suppose this is why I often am not sure what the next step is, so I keep walking ’til I’m in it.

Immersing myself in a different culture is hugely challenging. And here in Shanghai, it’s many cultures—Chinese, Shanghainese, the Expatriate world, the world of the very-corporately-employed, a world of regular food scandals, a world of a pretty totalitarian government with a really annoying internet firewall. It’s a big change from Minneapolis. At many moments it has totally, completely sucked. But—but—of course, just to laugh in the face of my most pessimistic moments, of course it is rewarding to me, too. I can see in what ways I was pampered by being in one place for many years. I encounter viewpoints and lifestyles and cultural references that I didn’t in my circles back home. Generally, foreigners in Shanghai are extremely bright and ambitious people, which creates a unique dynamic to observe and learn from. Let’s be honest, I’ve been thrust into the ultimate make-it-up-as-you-go situation, so this should be right up my alley.

It makes me think about immigrants all the time. I am pretty sure I’ll be back in my home country again—I think about what it would be like if I knew I wasn’t going back.

my dog skye lives in SH too

What has been your biggest success to date, and how do you hope to see your art forms evolve?

I’m so bad at “biggest/most” questions, but I’d have to say one of the biggest successes was the Art Swap Shanty. It was part of the Art Shanty Projects on a frozen lake outside of Minneapolis. Artists are commissioned to build themed huts (like ice fishing houses) that become an interactive creative village, visited by thousands of people over several weekends in the dead of winter. Our shanty started as an idea by my junior high friend Dana, who lives in L.A., and me, and we roped in a few friends and before we knew it we had hundreds of people swapping works of art in our tiny space in the glow of our wood stove, under a giant stocking cap.

This was the first community art project I’d done, and it was cool to use my organizational skills in an arts setting. I don’t always love group projects, but we had a good synchronicity with this group, and everyone had a good skill that made the shanty work. Equally important to its success was being part of the Art Shanty Projects—they’d been going for several years and, for good reason, had a great following by then. It was an awesome experience of collaboration and of feeling first-hand the way that not reinventing the wheel has its benefits!

My other big success would be a series of drawings I “collaborated” with my nephew on. I put that in quotes because he died before I made the drawings, when he was 9 years old. I took his drawings and writings and made new works out of them. I think that project will continue somehow in the future. It involved mystery and story and maps and thinking about what a life is, and how we make meaning, which is so much of what I’ve been doing, really.  You can read more about that project here.

waiting for the subway train in SH

Are there any books you’d recommend (whether they’re personal or professional favorites) to like-minded readers?

I’m pretty obsessed with Cheryl Strayed’s Tiny, Beautiful Things, Lynda Barry’s What It Is, and Danielle Laporte’s The Firestarter Sessions right now. My favorite children’s books ever are Leo the Late Bloomer by Robert Kraus and Jose Aruego, and Andrew Henry’s Meadow, by Doris Burn, which I still refer to often. If you are interested in Chinese Medicine, Wood Becomes Water: Chinese Medicine in Everyday Life by Gail Reichstein is a nice place to begin.

(I love reading novels—who knows why they aren’t on the list today.)

Which has played a bigger role in your success: persistence or luck?

Huh. Hm. Well.

In the grand scheme of things I know I’m very lucky. Privilege upon privilege, an awesome family, and growing up in a place with fresh air and trees and lakes and educational opportunities…

But I’d say “success” requires persistence. Not in the force-it-make-it-happen sort of way, but in the keep-on-keepin’-on sort of way, and in let’s-give-it-a-try sort of way, in the letting-your-heart-grow-three-sizes-again-and-again sort of way.


I can’t think of a better conclusion to that interview. Thanks so much for sharing your story, Julie! If you enjoyed reading Julie’s story and insight, let her know in the comments!

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California, Here We Come: A Journey

This post is the first in a series of guest posts by talented writers, photographers, and more. (Though I wish the title were autobiographical!) Read on to learn about Existation blogger Rachel’s cross-country move to California.

guest post series

Eight years ago, Seth Cohen changed my life forever.

It was the summer before my junior year of high school, and I was two months shy of turning seventeen. I was young, full of hope, and easily influenced by television and pop culture (who am I kidding, I still am) when my friends and I settled in one fateful night to watch a newfangled show about an exotic place called The O.C. Cue soaring panoramic views of palm trees and the ocean, witty one-liners from the mouth of a curly-haired skater boy, and of course, this opening song, in all of its glory:

I was hooked. I had never been to Southern California before, despite frequent family vacations, and I envisioned it as a mecca of tanned surfer boys and breezy, sunshine-filled days at the beach, where everyone was rich and carefree and got to date Adam Brody. You get the picture.

Existation_guest postFast forward to the present day. As I write this, I am sitting in a coffee shop a few blocks away from the beach, listening to music and watching palm trees wave in the breeze. A tanned surfer boy walks by, and groups of people are sitting at tables and laughing outside in the sunshine.

I’ll give you one guess as to where I am…

Mmhmm. I made it. But it took a lot longer than I expected to get here.

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Except for a brief five-year stint in New Jersey when I was a kid, I am Minnesota born-and-raised. I grew up in a suburb of the Twin Cities (Minneapolis-St. Paul, represent!) and I had a wonderful, Midwestern childhood full of snowy winters and hot, humid summers at our lakeside cabin. My family traveled a lot, so I was never wanting for new experiences and places, and for the most part, I was content—that is, until Seth Cohen and his magical wonderland came along. I had never before experienced such an intense desire to be somewhere else; it niggled its way into my daydreams and future plans, and with each passing year, the cold winters and extreme weather seemed to grow more and more unbearable now that I was armed with the knowledge that a place with mild seasons and hardly any precipitation existed.

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In my freshman year of college, my friend Caitlin and I wheedled and begged our way into getting out parents to let us use our corresponding spring breaks to go to Newport Beach, home to Ryan, Marissa, Summer and Seth. Oh, Seth. At the time, we were both eighteen, and more than a little naive to the ways of traveling on our own. Too young to rent a car, we hoofed it from place to place, catching the occasional bus along the way. Also, unaware that California in March is actually quite chilly, and ignoring the fact that even when it is chilly, you can still get a sunburn, we neglected to bring much warm clothing or wear much sunscreen. The result, as you can imagine, was a couple of red faces, tired feet, and numb fingers and toes. Though the trip was ultimately exhausting, and there was nothing especially glamorous or exotic about it, it only strengthened my resolve to relocate. I wanted a change of scenery. I wanted the ocean just outside my front door. I wanted to be a California Girl.

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However, no matter how badly you want something, actually making the leap is an entirely different story. I could tell you my whole life story, but what it all boils down to is this: I never had a “good” reason to leave. I started college in Minneapolis, and after a brief flirtation with the idea of Portland, transferred to Iowa to finish up my degree (sociology, with a minor in Spanish). I was a counselor at a summer camp in between school years, and developed deep friendships and relationships that made it hard to think of living anywhere but the Midwest. I was lulled into a comfortable rhythm: school, home, camp. School, home, camp.

And on and on, for four years.

My restlessness never fully ebbed, but it got lost in between the comfortable cushions of my warm, predictable life. I probably could have gone on like that forever, but then I decided to drink and play on the beach study abroad in Costa Rica, and lo and behold, my wanderlust made a rebound. I returned from abroad with renewed vigor, determined to be home only just long enough to save up some money for a backpacking journey through South America.

And then love walked in. Or rather… I walked in on it. Pooping.

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That, ladies and gentlemen, is my boyfriend, Toby, and he destroyed all of my travel plans.

Two months after my glorious return to the United States, I went to a broomball tournament being held to raise money for the aforementioned summer camp. A bunch of us were sharing a cabin on a lake, Toby was pooping in the bathroom, and I walked in on him. No joke. Love at first sight.

Well okay, not really. But love developed over the next several months, and though my grand plans to hike around and speak lots of Spanish down south were tossed out the window for the time being, we did discover that we had one key thing in common: the desire to get out of Minnesota, and to get out as soon as possible.

Toby is an actor, and he had been torn between New York and Los Angeles for years, unable to make a definite move to either coast. Lucky for me, I’m beautiful and talented and inspiring and awesome, so it didn’t take much convincing on my part to help him choose the latter. I steered my wanderlust in the direction of California, and a year and a half later, after lots and lots of money saving, we were on the road in my tiny little yellow hatchback, Liz Lemon. Headed west. Finally.

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It is here that I need to let you in on a not-so-little secret: moving to the other side of the country is scary. And sad. And overwhelming. It is incredibly exhilarating and wonderful, but it is also all of those other things. I am a planner by nature, and I planned the shit out of our move, but no amount of planning prepared me for the nostalgia and self-doubt and what the hell am I doing with my life-ness that has intermittently pervaded my brain since watching the Minneapolis skyline fade away in my rearview mirror.

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I got lucky. I love living in Los Angeles even more than I thought I was going to, and that’s saying something, because I had the bar set incredibly high. Moving out here is, hands down, the best decision I have made in my life. But a decision being good and right doesn’t necessarily make it easy or perfect. I have spent the past year and a half going through more personal growth than ever before in my life, which isn’t an easy thing to deal with when there is so much distance between me and many of my loved ones. There have been many tears amid my general ecstasy for being able to drive to the coast whenever I want; luckily, it is the coast that usually calms and centers me in the end, and reminds me why I came out here in the first place: to explore, discover, and experience life at its fullest.

Also, I once saw Ryan Reynolds driving behind me down Santa Monica Boulevard. So there’s that.

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I wouldn’t trade my experience for anything in the world. When I look back on where this whole journey started, I am wowed by how far I have come. I finally understand the meaning of the phrase “meant to be.” California and I were made for each other. We sync up well. Every day here brings a level of excitement I never experienced in Minnesota, be it driving along the crest of the Hollywood Hills as a part of my daily commute or climbing up a giant canyon as a form of exercise. Palm trees glinting in the sunlight make me grin; being able to drive down the highway with the windows down in the middle of January makes me want to jump for joy (little hint: wait until after exiting the car before attempting to do that last bit).

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None of this is to say that I don’t get homesick or cry every time I leave Minnesota after a trip home. It simply means that at this point in my life, this is the right place for me to be. I might miss my family and friends, but let’s be real, the internet is a magical instrument of constant communication (it’s also an excellent way to share pictures of the beach and brag about how warm it is while everyone back home is dealing with negative fifty million degree temperatures. Not that I would ever do that, of course…), so no one is ever more than a click away.

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Moral of the story: life is good. I followed my passion, and ended up being exactly where I should be. And it’s all thanks to Seth Cohen. I’d kiss him if I could. Just a nice little thank you peck on the cheek, of course; I’m a taken gal now. Unless it was just a nice little thank you peck on the lips. That wouldn’t be inappropriate, right? And maybe it would linger a little bit. I don’t think there would be anything wrong with that. And maybe some hugging would be involved. Lingering hugging.

Anyway. Someday it’ll happen. Until then, Seth, you know where to find me:

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Existation RachelRachel is a photographer/writer/nanny extraordinaire. She lives in Los Angeles with her boyfriend and her yellow hatchback, Liz Lemon. Together, they go on many adventures, which she (Rachel, not Liz Lemon) documents on her blog, along with other random photos, quotes, thoughts and tidbits from her daily life. Check out the links below to see more of her photos and words; she’d love to meet you!

Blog: Existation | Professional Site: Ebb & Flow Photography | Twitter: @chickpokipsie

 

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