I’ve never been much for resolutions. I have a hard time making myself commit to anything I’m not sure I’ll still be into in six months. (There’s probably a metaphor in there.)
Generally, if I’m put on the spot, I’ll resolve to drink more water. This is easy and everyone could stand to do it, but I never actually do. Would my life be magically transformed if I’d finish off a few Nalgenes every day? Probably. Continue reading “Obligatory New Year post”
I have a small stack of journals sitting on my desk. I don’t write in them regularly; they’re mostly for keeping notes while I’m traveling. I’ll often go weeks or months between scrawled, barely-legible entries. In the back of each one, there is a tally of annual nights spent in a sleeping bag (tents, yurts, huts, cabins, hammocks, and truck beds all count). I’m usually in the thirties by mid-May, and, for the last few years, I’ve broken 100 nights by September or October. Continue reading “No goals allowed”
A few months ago, we bought a truck. Somehow—and I still believe with all my heart that this was because someone, somewhere wasn’t paying attention or doing their job—we walked into a dealership on a weekday afternoon and drove away in a brand-new Toyota Tacoma. Continue reading “The end of an era”
I don’t remember the first time someone told me I looked just like my Aunt Kelly. It’s happened often enough that I’ve internalized it. I don’t mind; she is beautiful, and so I consider it a profound compliment. Continue reading “The Sugarbee Effect”
You never forget your first rejection. Mine came at the tender age of nine, at the hands of a haughty fourth-grader named Tommy, whose name I have changed here so he can’t come out of the woodwork and sue me for libel. I used the old have-a-more-popular-friend-pass-a-note one Friday afternoon, prompting Tommy to announce, in front of the entire cafeteria (on pizza day, which should have been a joyous occasion), that he would not, under any circumstances, accompany me to the Square Dance we would be performing for our families later that month. Continue reading “The subtle art of being rejected”
my alaskan odyssey 