Gratitude

Check out this Big Picture spread.

These are photos from the most dangerous countries for women. Really makes this American girl grateful for my life as a woman here in Texas. Also makes me feel like I need to do something with this information. I read an article a few months ago about societies which repress women. A common characteristic of said societies in terrorism and religious fanaticism. Interesting, huh? I guess the question we have to ask ourselves is how to make a place for these women in their respective countries. Micro finance? I don't know... What do you think?

Culture Whore

It's good to be back, close to my family, taking spontaneous road trips, eating avocados everyday, sitting on back porches and balconies, hugging my brothers, and driving home to sunsets over Town Lake. I've been struck by the verdant beauty of Austin. I love seeing people paddle boarding at dusk, with a backdrop of vibrant fuchsia and kelly green trees. I love the old power plant and the train lines that cross the lake. I'm trying to be grateful at all times in everything, present and aware of my blessings here.

But I am, admittedly, a culture whore as my friend Kirsten dubbed it. I miss the foreign, the weird, the uncomfortable, the ancient, the traditional, foreign languages, the architecture, the sea...

A vague plan is stirring in my head - save my money this year and take a trip to Turkey again, maybe visit Beirut.

7 years later

I've put this blog on the back burner since returning to Texas, and I'm hoping to get back to regular blogging soon. I started a new job, am looking for a place to live, and have been really trying to ease into life in Austin again.

I'll write more later, but for now...

The W Hotel set up shop here right after I moved. It's in a honking downtown building whose glass panels have recently begun falling on people who are poolside, on pedestrians, and on cars. I couldn't help but think that this city is getting too big for its britches. Back in school when I studied urban development, my profs were always bitching about Austin's growth and warning us that the city just couldn't sustain it. I can't help but feel that the W situation is some kind of warning sign.

Austin has grown a lot; another 6000 people are projected to make Austin home by the end of the summer. Wah!!! It's too much. When I moved here in 2004, it was way chill and way weird, I crossed the city constantly to go from vintage shops in the south to my yoga studio up north. Now that drive could mean an hour plus sitting in stop-and-go traffic. Before, I didn't spend too long waiting to be seated, even at the most popular restaurants. Since being back I can't even book a reservation because everything is full full full!! Well the times are changing, and I'm sure they'll keep flying by. I'm trying to appreciate Austin as it was and as it is, because you can be certain that another 5 years down the road, it will be an altogether new experience.

No matter where I've traveled or lived, Austin's always been home in my heart, a city that I long for and love and try to convince people to visit. I want it to stay that way.

Just a blue star hangin out in space

My childhood friend Sara is in town this weekend. Last night was spent over ceviche and margaritas, talking about life and God and psychology (she's getting her masters in art therapy). Today we're going on a vision quest to find our totem animal. I'm not totally sure what that means. Basically we're going to a swimming hole and then we're going to drive around some small Texas towns and try to fill ourselves with the charm of the Wild West before she heads back to Virginia.

A little over a year ago we went on a vision quest through West Texas. I found Fleetwood Mac's "Bare Trees" album at cool record shop in Ft. Davis Texas, and we meandered through the Davis Mountains with the disc blaring. We found turquoise jewelry and beautiful stones, saw a bear at the Big Bend, had a tarantula riding in our car with us for a couple of days (it hopped in at Big Bend and reappeared on the dashboard a couple of days later), slept in a tent in Marfa, found a hippie colony in Marathon...

Couldn't stop that spinning force I felt in me

Yesterday Bethany and I drove out to Canyon Lake. It's a limestone lake, so it's uber clean and the water is basically like a glowing turquoise gemstone. On the drive out we passed all of these funny little saloons and restaurants and what not. Apparently Girl Talk is DJing on June 29 at one of these random bar/restaurants in Canyon Lake?

Anyway, I made a summer mixtape and we rolled the windows down, turned the volume up and watched Texas landscapes zip by. Sometimes I feel like a dog because I love nothing more than sitting in the front seat with my window down.

My summer favorites:

"In the Flowers" by Animal Collective. This is my back-to-Texas jam.
"Mister Heavenly" and "Pineapple Girl" by Mister Heavenly.
"Kamphopo" by The Very Best. Esau Mwamwaya layered African tunes over Architecture in Helsinki's "Heart It Races".
"Azmari Dub" by Dub Colossus. It's an Ethiopian track, with vocalist Sintayehu Zenebe. It opens with these crazy horns and Zenebe is just incredible. I love it!!!!



This is a semi-horrible photo that really doesn't do Canyon Lake justice, but... I tried.

Shems

This photo was taken somewhere outside of Jbeil, Lebanon in 2009. Lebanon's coastline is really breathtaking. There are lots of great, low craggy cliffs that dip into the most inviting little swimming coves.

I forgot that I'd taken this picture, and I don't think I've ever posted it online before. I remember wanting to own one of those little seaside huts.

"Clarity is the last thing you are clinging to and must let go of"

I'm back in Texas, and, well, I don't quite know what to say. I feel pretty terrified. I arrived to San Antonio at midnight on Tuesday, spent Wednesday in a bit of a jet-lagged haze, and had my grandfather's funeral on Thursday. The funeral was harder than I'd expected. All of my family was there, I was exhausted, and my mom was crying, which I hate to see. I'd been asked to read a piece that I wrote for my grandfather when I was 13, so I sort of tearily stumbled through it, sweating under the already blistering morning sun.

After the funeral I was bombarded with questions - "What are you going to do now? What's your five year plan? What are your goals? What are you going to do with yourself?" Huh? Um, well my answer is pretty unimpressive. I don't really know. I feel fairly certain that I was meant to come back. And I believe in Providence. And that's about it. I don't know what I'll do next, but I do think there is a challenge before me - the challenge of not knowing. Knowing isn't necessary. It's humbling, it's scary, and somewhere in there I think that it's really freeing.