To feel the pulse of a community. To feel the exhilaration of uncertainty. To feel the gentle kiss of loneliness and the bittersweet caress of goodbyes.

I travel to taste.

To taste the joy of a chance meeting. To taste the beauty of local cuisine. To taste the sweetness of serendipity.

I travel to explore.

To explore my boundless mind. To explore the fears I cling to as a lifeboat in an ocean of uncertainty and a world I don’t understand. To explore the tiny fibers of humanity that bind the least among us to the fiercest.

I travel to love.

To love the life I choose not to “vacate” but to experience. To love the person I evolve into with each journey. To love the ones who wait for my return.

I travel to learn.

To learn the sorrow of war. To learn the ecstasy of triumph. To learn the value of truly living.

I travel to see.

To see things beyond my comprehension. To see innocence in the eyes of a child living under occupation. To see wisdom etched on the faces of my elders.

I travel to be.

To be an engaged and enlightened citizen. To be a better human. To be true to my soul.

I travel to be in this world.

Thanks for traveling so many miles with me, dear reader!

I wrote a letter to my private email peeps on the TinyLetter, stating why I had been silent for so many weeks and contemplating the type of words that might best fit their needs and the next step in my journey as a nomad.

I left my RV, stepped out into the desert sun and went for a long walk. Across town- and really, I use the word “Town” loosely- there’s a lovely lady with a small bus converted to an espresso producing thing of beauty and I had a craving for that bitter liquid gold. And she truly knows her shit! Finding espresso in this one-horse town that doesn’t come from a packet- or McDonald’s- is not a common occurrence.

Donna & the Espresso Bus

I let all the thoughts that I’d just put in my letter run through my brain a I walked through the desert wash that runs under I-10 and ends up at the big swap meet in town. I tried to find the people I encountered on this walk charming. I didn’t find them charming- I found them old, white, very large and consuming mad amounts of cheap shit made in China and shoving deep fried snickers wrapped in bacon into their grills. I tried to remain open- truly, I did- yet the specter of judgement and anger started to creep in.

Seriously, chocolate covered bacon and deep fried Snickers live here.

Why do all these people need to consume all this cheap crap? Why does this town even have giant swap meets that sell all this garbage? When did this town go from selling and trading real gemstones and minerals, filled with miners and prospectors, to buying and selling plastic back-scratchers, twirling iridescent yard art and fried Twinkies?

Why, people, why?

I made it to my espresso oasis and the owner greeted me with her warm smile and invited me into her bus. I then struck up a conversation with a photographer- or ex photographer. He was a paparazzi photographer and photojournalist from the 80s/90s and made alot of money doing so.

“I drove a Lexus. The women, the people, they all looked at me different, because of my car!” Or his exclamation went something like that. He was blown away at the life he used to live, a life filled with Los Angeles’ wild times and high-end luxuries. He had the Beverly Hills home, he had the girlfriend and he rubbed elbows with the stars.

And then he left it all. All of it.

He hopped on a bicycle and headed for a cross-country journey to NYC. He had plans to start a studio out there, continue his work and branch out after a few months of reflection and soul searching. Instead, he ended up taking a drastic left turn in Washington state, literally, and hopped a ferry to Alaska- or something like that.

He then went on to describe his wilderness experiences. He lived off the land, went from riches to nothing, and one day found himself woken up by wolves.

That’s right- wolves.

“I had wolves licking my face and my sleeping bag. And I was too tired to do anything about it. Wolves!” Now, I’m assuming there might have been embellishment in his story a little, but still, his come to Jesus moment involved wolves in Alaska.

That’s kinda cool.

And we talked for quite awhile about living a simple lifestyle. He spoke so warmly about his life now, his bicycling and his big old Buick. He lived in RVs, camped, lived off the land, gardening, whatever he felt like. He had the luxury of time and he walked away from a life in Beverly Hills to do it.

We warmly spoke of living in Airstreams, yurts, campers, tents, tipis and both knew about the adventures of Dick Proenneke. He understood my desire to live in an RV better than I did.

This truly spun my wheels for the rest of the day. Even if the wolf thing was an exaggeration, it’s still an interesting visual. He knew something wasn’t right with his life. He knew that the shiny car he drove and the perception of the people who saw him in the car didn’t belong to him. This did not fit. It wasn’t his true self. Now, even with the struggles and trials that a life off the radar- off the grid- can provide, he had peace. He had laughter. And he was happy.

I contemplated this as I walked back to my RV- aka The Writer’s Cave- and truly put somethings of my own life into a better perspective. While I’ve never had the Beverly Hills lifestyle or salary from my work to reflect that level of external validation- I’ve never needed to escape into the wilderness and have wolves like my cheeks to wake me up to an authentic existence. While I may be about to radically shift gears into a more stationary world- a world I’ve turned away from for most of my adult life- with rather strong vocalizations and beliefs of a different way of living- I can still do this my way.

I know, shocking revelation for a person who, I’d like to think, has a rather high level of self-awareness.

I began to revisit my Airstream Daydreams this evening. In fact, while walking back from my lovely barista, I saw a tiny canned ham trailer for sale. I stuck my head in and glanced at the set up. Now, it’s about one step above living like a nun, but it was cute and had the essentials. It started spinning my wheels even faster.

Maybe I could live on the East Coast, in an Airstream, and live off the land and not be considered the next Ted Kazinsky.

Maybe I can have a vegetable garden and live on the cheap and not have to adhere to the standard urban lifestyle- farm removed from my food and its source.

Maybe I can create a bubble to live within that protects me from the suburban lifestyle I’ve spent my adult life avoiding and still not isolate myself from community and people. I do like people- most of the time- even if I am silently cursing them for not seeing how their actions are enforcing the ills of our society.

Maybe I can live on my own terms, in my own manner- on the East Coast. Well, duh, of course I can.

For those of you who have never lived out West or spent more than the occasional week vacation out there- the difference is strong and it’s distinct. And the East Coast has a very different mentality, one that puts me on edge and shocks my energy in ways that takes me days- or weeks to recover. I’m moving back there for amazing reasons, to start a life with a man I truly love more than anyone I’ve ever been with, so I’m excited about the change. Just apprehensive about a few minor details.

Like geography.

So, anyway, my point being here, do we really need the wolves to kiss our cheeks in order to open our eyes to the life we’re living and how far removed it may be from our true selves? Can we not incorporate a life that reflects our real desires- not the need to fit in to other people’s myths or society’s narratives?

And can I maybe stop trying to fit into the narratives that exist and just be my fine, freaky self if I so desire? Do I need to wait for the wolves to knock on my door before I just accept that I find RVs more charming than homes with foundations? Do I need to have the external validation of others to feel like my desire to figure out how to live totally off-grid is more than a fad or an attempt in rebellion- or total insanity?

Can I finally make peace with the fact that I simply do not have the desire to make a million dollars with my photography and play the game that I know I’m totally capable of- and sometimes get excited about- but know that the things I’ll have to sacrifice to reach that scale are too sacred to leave exposed and unprotected while undertaking such an endeavor?

Maybe my chance meeting with the former photographer was more than coincidence. Maybe he was my message and his story was validation from the Universe that I’m doing just fine.

And no, there will not be wolves kissing my cheeks anytime soon.

The latest blank page and inspiration for this essay.

In my world of digital existence, where all the work I once loved was produced on purely analog devices and craft based production methods, the beauty of a blank page and a pen is simply divine.

The blank page represents possibility.

The blank page gives space for ideas to find a home- to come into existence.

The blank page allows the mind to run free and wild, with no constraints or lines to follow.

And an entire book of large, blank, white, beautiful pages represents many serendipitous moments where the daemon can enter my world safely- with all the subtle nuances and innuendos that it brings into my creative world.

The possibility of the blank journal is endless. It’s been with me since childhood. When the world crumbles around me and I’m left wallowing in the desolate spaces of a beaten heart and an exhausted soul, the blank pages offer a space of solace and the opportunity to grown from the sorrow.

When the world is abundant and filled with joy and laughter, the blank pages give me the space to express my gratitude- even if only to be embraced by myself and the Universe to which I send such sentiments.

When the future is cluttered with endless options and delicious decisions, the blank page gives me the empty vessel to create the structure I see in my mind.

It gives form to vision- a plan for my walking towards my dream.

My blank page in Paris, with a little fuel.

The blank page is so much more than just paper.

It is possibility.

It is creativity.

The blank page is hope. Understated and often overlooked.

Without the blank page- where would all the brilliant ideas of humanity have originated?

Without the blank page, the ideas that power our world might have simply existed in the minds of the creators- never to see the form and structure of an idea given to paper and surrendered to creation.

A woman takes a smoke break on the streets of Eugene, O.R.

How did this isolation occur?  When did we move away from the core aspects of community and engaged citizenry to the individualistic motivations of a person or a company striving to improve the bottom line- at the cost of anyone who might stand in the way?

Did we achieve this isolation by accident or was it a structured design to keep us all distracted and isolated from one another in an attempt to push through a more powerful agenda by our governments? Have we allowed ourselves to be removed from the lives of others because we fear what collective action might create or because we feel the need to protect ourselves from all the dangerous elements that live beyond our homes and our neighborhoods?

All over the place, from the popular culture to the propaganda system, there is constant pressure to make people feel that they are helpless, that the only role they can have is to ratify decisions and to consume.       ~ Noam Chomsky

The Revolutions of our past were begun in pubs and churches- the places where people gathered and communed. The places where people furthered their ideas and their goals for a brighter and more enlightened society. The community gathering locations of our pasts- which, by design, are difficult to find in modern times- are the places where people connected and united in a common goal of searching for freedom and independence.

Freedom from tyranny. Freedom from oppression. Freedom to live as one saw fit, to build, to grow and to create.

Our forefathers had the sight and vision to recognize that some things- some basic human rights- are worth fighting for. But they found the connection and the common ground to move forward because they chose not to isolate themselves from their fellow neighbor or community.

I look at the modern society we live within and my heart breaks a little. I’ve spent so many years traveling about, seeking out community gathering spots around the world, that I’ve had the opportunity to see community in action on many levels. My heart breaks because there are truly very few community gathering locations- also known as “Third Places”- that allow people to speak freely and further ideas to better their communities and their futures.

Paris is filled with Third Places (as is most of Europe). Could contribute to their active engagement with revolution and the actions of their governments.

If we had been paying attention to one another and truly listening to the pain and struggle our neighbors were experiencing- with love and compassion instead of fear and judgement- might our country be in a different place at this moment?

If we had paid attention to our government and came together to stand against the blatant removal of our democratic rights, might we not be staring down the double barrel of a defunct government and economy- both on the brink of collapse?

If we had been paying attention over the past decade or so, might we have noticed the consolidation of our media, the selling of our political elections to the highest corporate bidder and the outsourcing of all our manufacturing jobs?

If we had been listening to the cries of the minority, might we have taken the actions necessary to preserve such an amazing country for our children and their children?

Yet, we retreat into our homes at night, watch the distractions delivered to us on the television and hope that someone, somewhere, is actually doing something to fix these problems. We judge the people taking to the streets in protest or we simply ignore the reality that we are part of the 99%, that we are effected by the actions of the Wall Street and government elite and that we can take action against it.

I say we, because I am just as guilty as the next person. While I’m pretty active in following the news, both alternative and corporate, and I pay close attention to the happenings in our world and the source of the angst I see around me, I am just as guilty as the next. I have yet to occupy anything. I retreat into a comfortable, quiet home in the evening and I spend my days working to make a living in this economy. I am part of the 99%, yet I’m not standing up for what I see is right, nor am I participating in a physical community to build something to help counter-balance the isolation I’m writing about.

Maybe this is a self-indictment, maybe this is my call to action, maybe this is the time in my life where I use this platform I’ve built to begin to truly look at the issues I spend so much time studying. If I’m to truly help rectify the ills I see everywhere I turn, should I not use this platform to do so.

This blog has been quiet the past few months as I wrestle with these realities and my role in the world. In shifting gears to a more settled and rooted existence, I’m faced with the reality of taking the past few years of nomadic minimalism and making them fit within my re-entering of the professional media world. Its a delicate balance of maintaining identity and embracing the antithesis of what I mentioned above- yet still play the professional game on a level that I see relevant to justify the effort.

And in doing so, I will be looking to engage in community. I will be looking to actively participate in the face of what is to come for our society.

We are faced with two choices at the precipice we stand before. We can either retreat and amplify our isolation- living in fear of what is to come as our society continues its slow (or rapid) decay.

Or we can choose to participate.

We can ride the waves of turmoil and unrest as our society redefines itself and aligns it’s priorities closer to the hearts of it’s people and not the Corporation, holding tightly to the collective community and building a better reality with the help of the people we hold dear- and the strangers we have yet to meet.

Every government degenerates when trusted to the rulers of the people alone. The people themselves are its only safe depositories.

~ Thomas Jefferson

A street performer in Riva Del Garda, Italy makes his way towards his "office".

How often do we stand at the edge of a fire, embrace the heat and then leap through the flames to find the results of that change we are so desperately seeking? For some of us, this leap of complete faith in the potential outcome is a welcome yet uncomfortable occurrence. We recognize that the intensity of the discomfort now is a direct result of the potential of what lies on the other side.

Yet, this is not always the case. Most people fear change with an intensity that is manifested in the current state of our society. We’ve become so complacent and expectant of the amenities and social institutions that we are all engrained within, that the very thought of any upheaval to the expected routine brings about a desperate fear that has no remedy- besides maintaining the status quo.

We see this in our antiquated educational systems, designed for an era long before technology became mobile and knowledge instantly accessible. We see the fear of change in our political institutions to such a perverse degree that we’ll actually vote for the very person who would wish us dead or render us in utter poverty rather than elect a person who might bring about actual, tangible change- not merely use it as a slogan of propaganda. We see it in the demise of our very economic structures and our inability to force change to occur at all levels of the systems we’ve become enslaved to.

And we see it on the faces of the people we pass on the street everyday. This quiet desperation of the souls who need to change the patterns of their life, but do not have the knowledge or the will to do so. The status quo is much easier to maintain.

And we see the fear of change in our own eyes.

Even if we are an agent of change, we still feel the sharp sting of the unknown. We are blessed with the ability to recognize the source of our fear, and if we’re truly lucky, we’re able to act upon it.

If we lose the ability to change, as a collective whole and as enlightened individuals, we will never evolve into the people we are meant to become.

Our society will never fully embrace all of its potential. In our misery at maintaining the lives we’ve created and the societies we’ve built, we will act out upon one another with anger, resentment and fear. We will continue the paths of destruction that bring us a perverse sense of comfort.

We will continue to destroy the things we love most and the people we cherish through our inability and unwillingness to do the difficult work of changing the paths we are walking down.

Books for sale on the streets of Paris.

If we fail to enact change, we will continue to justify the deaths of others as benefiting the greater good. We will continue to look away as parents abuse their children, as people starve in the streets and children grow into adulthood having never seen what love actually looks like.

We will close our eyes as the world which was handed to us shrivels and dies a tragic death.

For to truly evolve, we must function within the cycle of perpetual change- individually and as a collective. We must have the ability to question our premises, understand the sources of our prejudices and judgements and look beyond the truths we thought were absolute and see what lies beneath.

We must have the strength and the wisdom to dissect the institutions we live within and the relationships we’ve cultivated and truly decide their value and whether or not they play any role in nourishing the person we’ve become.

If we are to evolve and embrace all the potential that lies before us, we must open our eyes to our reality and change it. Now. We must embrace change with all the respect and joy it deserves and step towards the vision of what lies beyond that radical change.

A couple strolls through Paris on a summer afternoon. image by cstreet

Have you been blessed with the knowledge and the wisdom to recognize your role in this world and create the opportunity for your beauty and your energy to touch others as you pass gently through their world?

Do you wake up each morning, slightly curious about who will cross your path and what energy or experience you may share with that person? Do you contemplate the possible ripple effects of your random interaction with a stranger- or your loving advice to a dear friend?

Can you look back at your work, your passion and your presence in this world and see- with clarity and definition- the positive influence you’ve had on the people around you? Or on the souls you’ve never met?

I’m asking such questions because I am blessed enough to be able to answer all those questions with positive answers. I’m fortunate enough to have built a platform to share my experiences with a vast world of people I may never meet, yet can touch gently as I pass through their radar and as they float through my art. I’ve had the wisdom to recognize that my talents and intuition play a larger role than just effecting my life. The work I produce, the art I create, the lives I hold closely to my own- they all have been effected by my presence. Some in tiny little minute ways and some in massive life-altering manners.

Not blowing sunshine up my own ass here- I’m just verbally reflecting on the past two days of my life. My nomad world has been a whirlwind the past couple weeks. So much so that I’m not even sure what day it is, what month I’m in and this morning I woke up thinking I was in a different time zone. Hell, it felt like a different dimension. In this time frame, some beautiful opportunities and people have entered my world- and I’m contemplating my current nomadic path and if I should possibly merge it with a more sedentary life that gives me more strength and stability to leap from.

One of my lovely travel companions in Europe.

During this reflection period and before it, I was questioning my role as a “blogger”. I really don’t see my work in that genre- even though I publish a blog. I see where this has evolved into so much more- but I was beginning to question the why of my online writing and if it even had the impact that I envision. I don’t write list articles to garner a larger audience, I don’t structure articles to boost traffic, build my email list or even include keywords or metatags in my posts. Hell, I can barely get a damn newsletter out once a month.

And over the past month or so, every time I log onto Twitter and scan the conversations across my lists- I feel redundant. I feel as though I am seeing the same shit over and over again. And I felt like I was writing the same shit over and over again.

So, I took a step back. I re-evaluated and I went silent for a bit. I ate my way around some major cities in Europe, I documented a beautiful family vacation in France and Italy, I worked on a large multimedia project and I fell in love. I lived, and am living, and it is fantastic.

Yesterday I finally had time to spend with my online world. I published the photos I took in Italy and France, I sent out my private newsletter with a story about my little 6 year old travel companion in Europe and I sent out my monthly newsletter to my lovely readers from this blog.

And the response was overwhelming. It was humbling. And I was and am moved. People I’ve never met wrote me personal emails telling me that my writing brought them to tears. Readers told me how moved they were by my stories. One reader emailed me for advice about a personal topic of a deep nature that I had written about last month. Another reader, Debbra, sent me this little poem:

Risk more than others think is safe.

Care more than others think is wise.

Dream more than others think is practical.

Expect more than others think is possible.

And my loved ones sent me letters and told me how touched they were. My mother even sent me a lovely email and she had actually looked at my writing as a reader- not a mother- and she was moved as well.

And just now, I opened an email from one of my oldest and dearest friends and she told me our recent time together had rubbed off on her and she some major life decisions that opened up a world of joy for her that she needed to explore. And she was happy for it.

I feel as though I have too much joy in my heart in this moment- and this joy is present from the people in my life who connect with my energy, my love and my art. And my life would be a total void without them.

So, I guess I’m posing the questions here of how our work influences those around us- both total strangers and the people we’ve known all our lives. How does our wisdom and energy effect our lovers, our children, our co-workers and total strangers? How far is the reach of your work and can you touch lives from a distance- with the same gentility and passion as you would someone standing in front of you?

Is your work touching this world gently as you pass through or are you merely walking through this world without sharing your soul as you travel by? If the latter is your answer, I implore you to step back from your life, evaluate all that you embody and begin to emanate the beauty you wish to behold in this world. Be the beauty you wish would find you- and I’m sure you’ll realize the power you have to touch this world during your time here.

And if you have a platform to influence others- if your work and your passion are already living in this world and touching people as you pass by- I commend you. And I celebrate the wisdom you cultivated and protected from the crushing influences that society can place upon us. You stand before the flames and declare to the world that no matter what, you WILL touch people gently as you pass through.

And you sacrifice and fight for the privileged and the ability to continue touching humanity as you walk among us. You, dear warrior, are the reason I have hope in this world. So, I thank you.

ps- the comments are off, but the conversation is on- hit the Twitter- @crystaldstreet

pss- All the pics in this essay are from my recent trip to Europe. You can buy prints at my gallery or just click on the photo and start shopping! Go on, you know you want a little more beauty on your walls.

I purchased this savvy device at the beginning of my recent photo assignment in Europe and downloaded an app that replicates the Holga film camera. I had a vision for part of my assignment and the Holga had to be a part of the total body of work.

Dinner should always have such ambiance. Riva Del Garda, Italy

Several years ago, while taking a logic class at UNC, I began to see things in squares. I know this sounds insane, but while learning to understand logic- my creative mind was trying to learn to see in medium format. Let me give that statement some context.

I see in rectangles. I see in black and white. I see light and I see shadows.

My world has been immersed in 35 mm photography for so long, that I see everything as a potential composition- even if my camera is no where to be found. That’s my world. That’s how my mind works.

And has been working for over 20 years.

Strolling through Riva Del Guarda.

When I shifted into digital almost a decade ago, I lost a part of the joy of my passion. Things became technical. They became complicated and they began to be measured in pixels. And unfortunately, the cameras I enjoyed, the instruments that truly sang to me, were film cameras.

Last year I took a step towards satisfying my passionate needs with an amazing professional digital camera, which has one major drawback. She is a massive beast of a tool. She’s amazing and when I lift her to my eye and interpret the world through her lens, I find joy, peace and flow.

But her size and weight prohibits me from truly engaging in the creative outlet that makes my heart sing- street photography. Simply documenting the tiny slices of humanity that I encounter when I wander through the world. My professional companion is amazing for commercial work and outstanding for intense photojournalism or documentary projects, but when the time comes for me to embrace my inner Henri-Cartier Bresson, the sheer magnitude of her power inhibits my art.

An afternoon in the park in Annecy, France.

After the summer when I began to see squares, I purchased a Holga, the lovely 20 dollar toy camera that shoots medium format film. I lugged her to Palestine, Jordan and Indonesia. And fell in love with the odd, dreamy, mystery square that I created with her.

A Holga is truly a piece of masterful shit- really. She leaks light, has only one exposure setting, focusing is more of an abstract concept rather than a precise technical skill and you get 12 shots a roll and that’s it. I actually close her shut with electrical tape, so changing a roll takes at least 5 minutes. And you never know what you’re getting- which is part of her charm.

But now, technology and my passionate needs have collided in the most unlikely of places. An unlocked, Italian Droid smartphone with a Holga app. Go fucking figure.

For the past five weeks, while shooting a documentary assignment in Italy and France, I have kept that damn phone in my hand the entire time- even while shooting with my lovely professional beast. I must look like I’ve lost my mind- standing next to the Notre Dame in Paris, a $5000 camera draped over one shoulder while obsessively shooting with a $200 smartphone. I feel like I’m cheating on my lovely pro companion, but I just can not help myself.

I am the proverbial kid in the candy store.

Standing outside the Pantheon in Rome.

Yes, its a smartphone, and yes, its a computer app. But this new tool pushes me to translate the world the way I truly see it- and try to capture the vision in tiny slices of time.

The smartphone allows me to strip away the complications and get back to the basics of composition. I can simply look for light and wait for my subject to step into that light. I see a visual metaphor unfolding before me and simply wait until the right moment to capture it.

I can simply sit and watch. I understand how this computer application in my phone reads light and I compose my images around these methods of interpretation.

I can return to simply reading pockets of light, long shadows and contrasting objects of black and white.

I can return to the core of my art. Composition. Joy. Flow.

The full collection can be seen at my online gallery- where, of course, you can take a few pieces of art home with you. Click the images above or the previous link and bring a little Europe into your home.

A Storytelling Traveler’s View – Images by Crystal Street

Enjoy and pass them along please! Click on the bottom right hand corner of the image player for the full-screen version!

In a church quietly watching the light dance across the artwork within. Annecy, France.

And here’s the tragic irony of it all- our society dictates to us which emotions we are to embrace and the ones we should be embarrassed by or simply ignore as irrelevant or a sign of weakness.

How many times in your daily life has an emotion risen and you dismissed it as a sign of weakness? How many times have you shunned a feeling or a true, authentic emotion- because that voice in your head (not really your voice, but some father-figure or mysterious masculine identity from your past)whispered in your ear that you were a complete pansy for even letting that thought cross your mind?

I ask this because over the past few months- or even years- as a nomadic gypsy, I’ve crossed so many paths with so many people. I have met both the enlightened souls who willingly embrace their emotions and the tortured souls who run in fear from the very feelings that dwell deep within.

Yet the conflicted one, the ones who come to me at some point in time- usually in a personal capacity- who need a catalyst and are seeking some drastic change in their lives to help them step into their own, are tortured by their emotions.

The conflict is so easy to witness from the outside and as a person with a strong sense of intuition, I can immediately recognize this tortured soul. Their actions do not match their words. At the first moment of emotional engagement, they disappear. And I may not hear from them for months, sometimes years.

It breaks my heart because somewhere during their life, some voice or some person took this soul, at their most vulnerable and exposed moment, and told them the emotions that engulfed them were not supposed to be present. This poor soul was crushed and smothered and told that the pain and turmoil that was real and thriving inside of them was wrong and they were weak for even possessing such an emotion.

And now, this person stands before me as an adult- unable and unwilling to sit with the discomfort that life presents before them. I can see their true self, buried beneath all the emotional garbage they’ve harbored for so long- and that true self is so beautiful, lovely and in such pain. Yet reaching that true self is not possible if the person can not touch the pain and the turmoil the lives within and keeps the soul imprisoned.

For to truly live in this world with your eyes wide-open- to see all of life’s beauty and all of its sorrow- you MUST be able to sit with the entire gamut of emotions.

You MUST sit comfortably with your anguish. You MUST embrace your sorrow with the gentle arms of a longing lover. You MUST recognize your vulnerability and then hold it out for another person to witness and recognize- and respect. You MUST greet your pain with the mutual understanding that it demands and simply be one with it- for however long it accompanies you.

You must walk along side your sadness and feel its every caress, its every whisper and its every kiss until the day when you are simply able to part ways with it, with the respect and the admiration that it deserves.

Annecy, France.

There are no pills to remove these emotions. No drink nor drug can take the intensity of these feelings and remove them from your soul- such distractions will only prolong their presence in your life. Ignorance, in this instance, is not bliss. It’s a waking death.

I parted with my long-term companion several months ago. My sadness, who walked as a quiet companion for over a decade finally told me it was no longer mine to bear, and it simply left. Clearly and distinctly, like someone was whispering in my ear- it said goodbye. But to get there, we traveled many roads and many years together. It’s a sadness that I had come to understand and truly, had come to welcome in some moments. It was my familiar. And that’s not to say that over the past 12 years I haven’t had moments of pure joy and ecstasy- that I haven’t lived a life that was filled with the experiences and moments that others dare to dream of- my life is all of that. Yet, sadness was always riding in the backseat. And that’s OK, I understood its presence and it was warranted.

Annecy, France

But since we parted ways- with the inevitable understanding that we’ll probably cross paths again at some point in life- people have entered and re-entered my life who embody all that I was seeking and all that I knew existed, but was unable to see clearly enough to bring them into my life.

In the past few months, I’ve had the blessed pleasure to have men (and some lovely ladies) enter my life that not only recognize the full gamut of human emotion- but they are not afraid to embrace their presence. And the refreshing relationships that have ensued just make my heart sing. Finally- men who are not afraid to actually feel the emotions that society ignores or degrades. Finally- men who will sit with their vulnerability- and mine- and not run screaming like a banshee in the other direction.

Finally- men who harbor the maturity, compassion and wisdom to recognize both the joy and the sorrow, the pain and the sadness, the beauty and the fallacies of being human.

(side note- we women carry all of these emotions as well- and ignore them in just the same capacity, I’ve just been able to bring a handful of powerful, strong and beautiful women into my life over the years already)

And this gives me hope. Knowing these souls exist and are part of my life now gives me joy.

Enjoying a stroll through Paris.

And while I’ll always be there to try and guide the lost souls who are seeking a different path in life and I will try to translate my perceptions of the world into something that can act as a catalyst for them- it is truly invigorating to have beautiful people in my world to share this lovely and arduous journey that is life.

So I ask you, lovely reader, are you able to sit with your emotions? Can you embrace all the sorrow, anguish and joy life has to offer and understand why it exists in your life? Can you grow from these intense feelings- or do you hide them away in fear and disdain?

For if we are to truly evolve into the enlightened beings that the world now needs- and is demanding from us- we MUST understand, recognize and embrace all of who we are and what we feel in this world.

The comments are off- but the conversation is on- hit the Twitter!!

The images in this essay were taken on my current assignment in Italy and France and you can purchase a print or just see more from my travels at my gallery or just click the image.

A lovely, grounding being in Portland, Oregon.

What happens when we open our arms to the delicious, juiciness of love? With all its thorns and sharp edges- with all its intense colors and energy shattering power.

We find a world we didn’t know existed. We are propelled into an abyss- where nothing looks the same and every truth we ever knew or ever placed on our identity is questioned.

When we strip down our walls and shatter our shields- we find this river of delicious love coursing through everything around us.

Our reality is sweeter- with a hint of bitterness. Our reality has to shift- for what we thought we loved or the objects, energies and relationships we thought were love no longer carry the same definition. And while love once existed in these places- we begin to question its merits. We begin to question its source. Were we in love with the idea of that person- or in love with the true soul dwelling within them? Or were we just in love the idea itself- something created by our ego to satisfy a role we sought to play within society? A role within a narrative created by society, not necessarily a narrative in alignment with our authentic self- with our true soul.

And when this person or energy entered our life- did we even know what love looked like? Could we even distinguish the difference between lust, love and obligation? When we stood before this institution or object- which we willingly gave our self to- did we even understand our authentic self enough to know what we were sacrificing?

In my past, I have loved and I have lost. I have placed the wrong emotions on the wrong people– and given them my power- because I felt an obligation to do so. Obligated to the institution of something I didn’t understand. Obligated to the identity that I thought should be mine. In my past, I’ve walked away from many men. After misplacing my love and sacrificing my energy- my authentic self finally screamed uncle.

It starts as a whisper, and grows into a cry which manifests into a scream. A scream for the real. A scream for the truth. A scream for freedom.

And no matter how much logic I used to stifle the scream-  at some point I just surrendered. For our authentic self knows what MUST happen. Our authentic self knows what it needs to breathe- what it needs to sustain life.

Our authentic self knows what it MUST do to survive. It seeks love. It seeks the real. And it finds that which it needs for survival. At all costs. No matter what it shatters along the way- your relationships, your career, your family and your the world as you know it. At some point the authentic self places the ego in balance- or surpasses it altogether.

For the beautiful and sad truth is this; once our eyes are opened we can never close them again. Beautiful because of the possibilities that vision encompasses- sad because of the things we may have to leave in order to keep walking through the world with our eyes wide open. For closing them is not an option now. Closing our eyes at this stage leads to death.

In my past- the further I’ve moved from my authentic self, the worse my reality became. To the point where I no longer recognized the person who stood before me in the mirror. And many years ago, after I went through yet another cycle of surrendering my true self to some false identity or to some man who neither deserved nor understood all that I encompassed and all the beauty I had to offer, I said enough.

I recognized that in order to survive in this world and find the love that I could feel but not define- I must understand myself. And I must align myself with my authentic being as much as possible.

And I did. And I still am.

That, dear readers, is the reason for my lifestyle. It’s not a manifestation of reading some GTD book or traipsing around the world in search of the next adventure, or living a life of perpetual motion to evade responsibilities.

I live this way- because my authentic self demands it. I dove into the river many years ago and have swam with- and against- the currents. Always searching for the balance to remain true to self and still function in a world where I must put food on the table and live within the fabrics of society- even if I choose to remain on its fringes.

I’ve swam in that delicious river of juicy love seeking a place of understanding, peace and balance. And while my journey will always involve this ebb and flow of balance, learning and life- I now know what it feels like to hold love. To be encompassed by the beauty of untarnished, undefinable love- from the Universe, from my dearest people, from lovers and from life itself. A love that does not smother or contain. A love that does not demand or dictate.

A love that simply is.

And I have to say- it feels deliciously juicy and divine.

If you’re like me, it depends on that particular moment in time, my geographic location and the actual work I’ve done that week to pay the bills. My response also varies based on my mood and the energy of the person asking the question.

This man owns his job- and everyone on his bus! Our bus driver on the Hipster Tour at WDS!

My recent time at the World Domination Summit really brought home my ability- or inability- to clearly state who I am and what I do. Hell, for the first two days I failed to even state my last name during an introduction.

That’s right kids, I couldn’t even own up to my own full name.

Wow- that’s some serious insecurities and uncertainties right there.

For the first two days, I would stutter over my actual description of what I do. I even had a hard time articulating my simple and short elevator speech- “I’m a documentary photographer, commercial multimedia producer and I publish my essays at the StorytellingTraveler.com.”

Simple, right?

Apparently not, because even listening to myself try to say those words was embarrassing. My out of body experience during those awkward introduction moments was downright painful- and I was the one speaking!

Something shifted that weekend and by the end of my time at this summit, I was able to articulate with clarity and confidence exactly who I am and what I do.

And then something fabulous began to happen.

As Danielle LaPorte mentioned several times during her presentations- you have to own your choices. Not only that, I need to own exactly who I say I am. It’s really that simple. So, from that point forward, I made a conscious decision to own the statements of who I am and what I do.

Prior to this point, as soon as I would utter the words- or simply spit them out of my mouth like a wad of rubbery, rock-hard chewing gum devoid of flavor- a little voice in my head would immediately attack the validity of my statement of self. That’s right, my inner-gnomes immediately attacked the very statement of who I am and what I do. It sounded something like this:

“You’re not a real multimedia producer, you don’t even have a physical studio.”
“Yea, you completed a project for Nissan North America, but landing it was just a fluke.”
“Documentary photographer? Really, when was the last time you documented anything? You don’t even carry a camera with you all the time.”
“Writer- seriously- do you see a book with your name on it anywhere?”
“You’re a commercial producer, really? Have you seen your recent bank statement?”

And on, and on, and on.

By the time I was done telling anyone who I am and what I do, I was ready to curl up in a ball, start suckling a bottle of single malt and escape to my happy place. Or just go back to bartending- at least there I didn’t have such intense insecurities about my work- I can make a martini that will blow anybody’s skirt back and shuck a dozen oysters in my sleep.

And since that moment, several weeks ago, when I decided to simply OWN my definition of self and OWN the actual art that I produce and truly EMBRACE the truth of who I am and what I do, the Universe has responded in kind.

Projects are moving forward, new clients are stepping into my life and I’m truly standing in the exact place I envisioned so many years ago. I AM a documentary photographer- I AM a commercial multimedia producer- I AM a writer- I AM a nomadic professional diva.

Another shift that occurred with such ownership is the ability to finally charge what I’m worth and not get squeamish when dealing with money issues attached to my work. And yesterday I was able to take that new found confidence out for a spin. It looked something like this:

A friend and sometimes quasi-client asked for some photographs for an upcoming project. We’d talked about the photos he wanted for several months- usually just in passing or casual conversation. Time to put the big girl pants on and send out the numbers! So, several days ago I sent an email stating my rates for the project. I even attached the friend discount. The following day I was standing in line at the Starbucks (only coffeeshop in town, located at a resort, and many of my local folks congregate there for business and brainstorming- and the baristas are a riot) and my friend jumps in line. We chat and he goes, “your prices are too high, the girl down the street charges $50 bucks.”

I placed my sassy smile and one-eyebrow raised face on and made the following statement without hesitation:

“Of course she does. I am a national award-winning photographer. I charge way more than $50 bucks.” And I turned to another business colleague who was also in line for some java and asked him, “Isn’t my photography worth every penny?” He looked at my friend without hesitation and said, “Absolutely.”

And while I love my friend and all his charming Southern ways, I know he’s not going to hire me. (Particularly if he reads this blog- you know you still love me, darling!) But, in that moment, in line for coffee, I finally stepped into myself- without hesitation or apologies.

I am worth every dime that I charge- and I’m not cheap. I’ve worked my ass off to gain the pure talent and creativity that I bring to every assignment, commercial project and moment that I document. I do not, and will never again, apologize for what I charge and truly stand behind the value of my work.

And just that tiny little shift, that tiny little moment of ownership has brought my worlds together and placed me in a position of leaping forward into everything this Universe has to offer.

So, I ask you, dear reader- are you owning your work?

Do you stand confident before someone who challenges your worth and tell them why you are deserve every dime you charge?

Can you answer the question ‘What do you do’ with confidence and complete ownership?

Because I have to say, it feels fucking fantastic when you can finally step into your own.

The comments are off- but the conversation is ON~ hit the Twitter!! And if you enjoyed this essay and would like to dive deeper with my private newsletter- please sign up here!