Life, you beauty

I’m a happy kind of girl. Unless there is something pretty painful that I’m grappling with, cheeriness and optimism are my default state. This past year in New York has been a good one. I’ve made fantastic friends, I’ve gotten to know one of the greatest cities in the world, and I’ve been learning a lot in an intense but rewarding program. School drove me a bit insane at times, of course, but the madness just made all of us closer and I always managed to have fun.

But this past week, I have felt

for the first time in a long time.

I skinny-dipped by moonlight in the Indian Ocean. I danced with abandon till 3am with people I’d known only a few days but already loved to pieces. I wandered around deliciously sandy and salty and just feeling the sun on my face was enough to make me wriggle with joy. I slept in odd places and at odd hours: on couches and buses, under palm trees. I met someone from Durango halfway around the world. I ate a coconut straight from the tree. I spent several nights singing karaoke, strolling the dusky streets of Nairobi, and overlooking the cityscape from the rooftop while soaking up the company of some really special travelers whose paths all overlapped for a stolen few days. And when you meet a like-minded person on the road, the usual boundaries don't apply. Friendships are near instantaneous, deepest wishes are shared, spontaneous travel plans are made together, next week and two years from now, and you totally mean it.

Being here, meeting other people who love to explore… it’s scratched that itch in a big way. It’s funny how single-minded I’ve been about working in East Africa. I said something recently in my post about going back to Tanzania that I’ve been thinking about a lot: how maybe your first adventure is always the one you fall in love with. I love it here. I truly do. But I wonder if I’ve been so set on coming back here and working long-term because my time in Tanzania was the coolest thing I’d ever done and I wanted to recapture that feeling - and now that I'm here, it feels silly to have ever thought this was the only place I could find what I was looking for.

So… I still want to come back and work here. But probably not for a hard news organization like AP, and probably not for as long as I had planned. I was so gung ho about really immersing myself in the culture for a few years, minimum. Now, I could see myself coming back to work on a documentary, freelancing some radio stories, and then... leaving. What a marvelous concept.

Because, the thing is, there are just so many more places out there.

It’s incredibly liberating. I'm looking at the world today and it all seems tinged with the fire of an Australian sunset, I'm gulping the air down like I'm in the highest reaches of the Andes, each gust of wind feels like a road trip with the windows down.

I’m thinking about going to Paris for a fourth semester. Paris! Then maybe I'll work at a winery/hostel in Spain next summer and go to a tomato-throwing festival in Valencia. Then Australia to find a job with a radio station and learn how to surf. Then who knows? Not this girl!

All I know is it could be anything. And that is exhilarating.

The more experiences I have, the more I realize that what I really want out of life is just to live it. I’d still love to work for National Geographic some day, but I don’t want to make that the main focus of my existence. I’d rather build a life than a resume for something that may or may not work out. It’s like the state forcing elementary teachers to teach to standardized tests. Sure, you may have gotten the end result you were hoping for, but what did you miss along the way?

I have skills now that I can take with me wherever I go. I can shoot and edit video, write and produce a radio story, take photos good enough to sell. I may have lost a camera this summer, but I can't wait to find out what sights the future cameras will capture in my hands. I know wherever I go and whatever I do, I’ll do good work, and I’ll wind up somewhere beautiful.

Out of this world

Between the NYC marathon and the insanity that was Halloween, it was a big weekend around these parts. There's also a certain team from hell in the World Series right now, which a lot of people seem to think is a really big deal, but whatever.

Watching finishers swaggering around in their metallic space blankets made me want to start training for next year's marathon immediately. Runners wrapped in those babies may as well have had "BADASS" branded on their foreheads. Crowds parted for them. Swathed in mystique, they flaunted those tinfoil sheets like battle scars. A gritty glint in their eyes said, "Yeah, I just ran twenty-six miles. Now get out of my way, because I'm about to puke."


I saw one guy running in a pair of FiveFingers, which made me happy beyond all reason.


This was my first New York Halloween, so I checked out the Greenwich Village parade despite the rain. It was as if a big soggy lingerie bomb had exploded in Manhattan. 


It was fun taking in the scene, but I also found myself jumping out of my skin because I hate not being able to walk freely. I relish stretching my legs with a nice long stride, and now that I think about it, crowded sidewalks are one of my least favorite things about city living. I frequently get the urge to punch slow walkers in the back of the head. 


Later in the evening, I headed back to Brooklyn where the costumes were a lot less slutty and a whole lot more ironic. They do loft parties right in Williamsburg - there was a keg of Brooklyn Lager. Good stuff.


As for my costume... well, lately I am tempted at least a dozen times a day to be that Red Sox fan starting "Yankees suck!" chants in the middle of Manhattan. So I chose to fully embrace that urge and go as Belligerent Bostonian Killed By An Irate Baseball Bat-Wielding Yankees Fan.

I pretty much acted as obnoxious as possible. It went over well.

Ode to Fall on the East Coast

There were two mornings last week when I woke up and was actually cold. After the miserable, hot, sticky nights we'd been having, I was positively giddy. I didn't know what to do with myself. It's warmed up again since, but that little tantalizing taste was enough to get me daydreaming about my favorite time of year.

Photo credit goes to Paul Keleher


Fall is the one season the east coast does better than Colorado. Summers in the west are cooler at night and drier. In the winter, the powder is phenomenal. In the spring, it doesn't get as rainy and muddy and the kayaking is at its best because of the snowmelt. And the fall? It's beautiful, don't get me wrong. The aspens turn a brilliant gold and the already spectacular views get even better.


But the thing is, out east, you get the full palette. I like some red and orange in the mix with my yellow. Then there's cranberry bogs, apple orchards, cider mills, pumpkin picking - and even though some of those things can be found out west, for me, the thrill of them will always be inextricably linked to that multicolored backdrop set against a pristine blue sky.


Chilly hands after bike rides through crisp air, goose-bumped knees and flushed cheeks after running through the woods... I can't wait. Leaves burning. Hot apple cider, haunted houses. Halloween. Bundling up in jeans and a soft sweater and a warm scarf. That smell in the air. And with luck, the Red Sox deep in the postseason.


(I know this is a New York blog, but I'm a Massachusetts girl by birth and I'll be damned if I pander to Yankees fans.)


A few crunchy things I have on the docket headed into the fall:


Free tai chi at Bryant Park
The Long Island Fall Festival
Free kayaking on the Hudson
Minor League baseball on Coney Island - give it up for the Brooklyn Cyclones!
Biking around Staten Island and Governor's Island
Running on Roosevelt Island
Brooklyn Botanical Garden
Astoria Beer Garden (hey, it's a garden!)


I'm also working on making my room in Brooklyn feel less like an urban concrete cage and more like an earthy retreat, not an easy task seeing as the window is about 80% bricked over by another building and when I got here, the walls were a color I will dub "Mint Vomit." But I'm giving it my best shot.

Lizard Feet

Gear post!

The topic of the day: Vibram Five Fingers.

There was an excellent article about these babies in the New York Times on Saturday. I've had a pair for a couple of months now, and I adore them.

I wore them as my camp shoes when I was a field guide and found them to be perfect, not as unwieldy or heavy as Chacos or Tevas, but tough enough to protect against sharp rocks and thorns. I wore them rafting, for which they proved ideal - they stick and provide traction even when wet. I have friends who've worn them climbing, and though they're not quite as effective as climbing shoes, I'm told they work well enough as long as you're not trying anything too crazy. I even hiked in them; interestingly, I came to prefer them to hiking boots because I tend to roll my ankles a lot and I'm convinced they helped me avoid that. With hiking boots, if you step on something wrong, there's only one fulcrum point: your ankle. Wearing the Five Fingers, I was far more aware of what I was stepping on to begin with, and then my whole foot was capable or curving and wrapping around whatever wobbly rock or loose log I was stepping on. Very prehensile.

Finally, I've been wearing them running. The New York Times piece I linked to gives a pretty clear picture of the barefoot running vs. cushioned running debate. As the article allowed, most people have different needs when it comes to running, so what works for me may not work for everyone. That said, I'm surprised and delighted by how well they've worked for me. The first couple of times I ran in them, they made my calf muscles extremely sore because of the way they force you to run on the balls of your feet. That wore off after a few outings, leaving only a beautiful sensation of extreme lightness and the sense that this is how I was meant to run: unencumbered and agile. They've actually made me more excited to run.

A side benefit is the reactions you get when you wear them - reactions from New Yorkers, no less. These are the people who are supposed to have seen it all, the people who are fazed by nothing. A lot of incredulous stares, sure. A few disgusted comments: "Dude, they make you look like a lizard!" I mean, they are undeniably freaky-looking things.

But mostly, I've found that they are a fantastic conversation starter, the ice breaker of all ice breakers. I've made more random five-minute friends in the short time that I've been a Five Finger owner than the previous 23 years combined. Everyone who catches sight of them is gobsmacked. They feel compelled to say something and find out why the hell you're wearing rubbery toe socks on the subway. When I wore them to Trader Joe's on 14th St. (a crunchy Manhattan hotbed if there ever was one), I thought they were going to make me their queen.

A bonus: if you walk through a field, flowers get stuck between your toes.

It looks like Five Fingers can be found in at least eight locations throughout New York. You can check the store locator here.