The List

No, not THAT list. (Bear Grylls and Dave Salmoni, btw.)


Sometimes, if I'm feeling stuck and unmotivated, I like to revisit the list of things I want to do in my life. It feels good to check off the things I've done and add new things that have occurred to me, and it generally reminds me of how much I freaking love life.

Be a ski bum.


Hike for a living.


Get a guitar.


Get a tattoo.


Be a freelance writer.


See the Grand Canyon.


Go to Las Vegas.


Ride a motorcycle.


Go white-water rafting.


Go water skiing.

See the Red Sox win the World Series.


Go to journalism school.


See Saturday Night Live live.

See the Northern Lights.

Go to Burning Man.

Go to Bonnaroo.

Go to Glastonbury Festival.

Road-trip America with my sister.

Go to Mardi Gras.

Get a short story published.

Go sky diving.

Go bungee jumping.

Thru-hike the Appalachian Trail.

Run a marathon.

Do Crow pose on top of a precarious rocky mountain at sunrise.

Brew my own beer.

Learn how to surf.

Speak Swahili, Spanish, French, and one other language.

See the Grand Canyon again, with my family.

Own a Subaru with standard transmission.

See Machu Picchu. See Petra. See the Great Wall of China. See the Taj Mahal. See Igauzu Falls. See Ankgor Wat. See the mountain gorillas in Rwanda. Backpack Europe. Climb Kilimanjaro. Visit the Galapagos. Scuba dive in Micronesia. Surf in Australia. Snowboard in New Zealand. Visit every state. Visit every continent.

Live and work in Africa.

Work for National Geographic.

Write and publish a novel.

Have a dog. Have ten.

I feel better now!


These scruffy Canadian dudes have a pretty sweet list.


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Tailor-made

I just made an exciting discovery. I can't believe it took me this long to find out about this society, because its mission is to provide exactly what this blog is all about. And it's based in New York.

It's called Adventure Society. They do archery, horseback riding, hiking. Holistic things like cooking, massage classes and yoga. Dog sledding. Cross-country skiing. I'm excited.


Some of their trips are a little too rich for my blood (dog sledding, $203 for non-members - yikes!) but others look doable in moderation. $65 for a winter Delaware Water Gap hike with optional beer tasting? I could get behind that.


I created an account to get on their email list and was asked a number of questions. My favorite of these was "What is your secret fantasy?" Cheeky. I like it.

So long, 3.4 oz toiletries

After a nice long day of swimming and yoga-ing at Chelsea Piers, I just put both my feet behind my head at the same time. I think I was like 14 the last time I did that. Yesss.


It's counter-intuitive because school is absolutely balls-out insane right now, but I feel like now that I'm in New York, I'm way less stressed out than I ever was when I was living out west. 


That's right. The city that doesn't sleep is chilling me out. 


I can totally feel it physically. I'm not as wound up. Even my blood pressure's lower. I think it comes down to the difference between the toll that normal, day-to-day busy stress takes on me and how I handle emotional stress. The normal stuff feels like a breeze right now.


Don't get me wrong, I absolutely loved my time out west. It was a ride and a half. I smirk when I look back at some of my my escapades. At various times I was homeless (voluntarily, and never friendless), literally down to my last dollar (I may or may not have visited the plasma center in Spokane, Washington a few times), and marooned at a motel in northern Montana after Canada rejected me.

Snowshoeing in Canada after I finagled my way in. Suckers.

I was also freaked out, in love, terrified I was making huge mistakes, adrift, far from my family - a ridiculous cocktail of WHOA THERE WHAT AM I DOING? I lived out of a duffel bag a fair amount. And sleeping on the ground and backpacking all the time really did a number on my body. No wonder I was wound so friggin' tight I couldn't get my feet behind my head.


I know I'll start to get that adventure itch again, probably before too much longer, but for now it's really nice to have a breather. Last week I went to Duane Reade and bought the gigantic bottle of Listerine because I'll actually be in one place long enough to use it all! IT WAS AWESOME.

Bringing the mountain to Mohammed

What's a girl to do when, after basically living in the wilderness for a year, she moves to Brooklyn where there isn't a mountain or a desert in sight? How does she keep from going all "Requiem for a Dream" from tree withdrawal, digging through the pavement with her fingernails and forlornly howling at the light pollution-obscured moon?

A) She sets up a shelter in Central Park and learns Jiu-Jitsu to help her fend off the crazies. 

B) She flies back to Colorado every weekend, because she's filthy rich like that.

C) She busts bowdrill fires on the sidewalk for loose change.

D) She crunch-i-fies her room.

If you guessed D, congratulations! You win some granola and a 30-pack of PBR!

It's not finished yet - I still have to fill in those purplish areas, add some shading, tweak a few things. I might even get super fancy and attempt a tromp' loeil kinda thing where it looks like there's a hole in the wall opening onto the scene. (But let's not get ahead of ourselves here, Emily.)

That's not the only thing I've done to make my room feel like a little oasis in a concrete jungle. Note the earth-toned wall paint. That's important.

A few potted plants (low-light plants, because my window is almost entirely bricked over by another building) go a long way. And check out my prayer flags.

Gotta have prayer flags. They remind me of my beloved Eastern religion-obsessed hippie friends. And I found them at a really sweet Tibetan store on St. Mark's Place in the East Village. I have a feeling it's going to be my new go-to store, since the Animas Trading Company in Durango is now about 2,000 miles away.

Then there's the obligatory incense/candle collection. (Note that the picture of aforementioned Eastern religion-obsessed hippie friends is strategically located next to the Nag Champa.)

Then there's the token guitar that I can't play very well. That's key. I might pick it up every once in awhile and pluck out a few Dispatch or Ben Harper tunes, but mostly it sits there looking impressive for anyone who happens to visit my room.

Finally, there's my prAna yoga mat.

I'm no yoga master, but I did whip a bunch of unruly sixteen-year-old boys into sun-salutationing shape last year, so I feel that I can say with some credibility that prAna has some excellent products. This mat was a little on the pricey side, but it's super sweet and I got a pro deal with them when I worked for Open Sky. So, neener neener.

And finally, for an extra little dose of the wild, my roommate's fat cat can occasionally be spotted stalking through the room. Don't be fooled by her unthreatening appearance - she's dangerous, all right. In fact, she once peed on my bed! Talk about taking a walk on the wild side!

I hope you enjoyed your little tour of my crunch-tastic abode. Namaste.

108 Sun Salutations

Three years ago, I spent a semester in Tanzania with the School for International Training. While I was there, I did a three-day homestay with a family of Maasai, the traditional pastoralist people who believe all the cows in the world are theirs by divine right. Here's an excerpt from one of the emails I sent home in March of 2006:

They dressed me in traditional Maasai garb; long blankets draped over the shoulder and tied at the waist, and lots of beaded and metal jewelry. With my hair in braids, one of the other students told me I looked like Pocahontas. I felt a little ridiculous, but mostly fabulous. I used my outer blanket to carry jugs of water over my head and played with the kids under a tree, hoping all the while that the warriors who stopped by would take me dancing when they left at dusk.

On Wednesday night, my last night of homestay, my yeyo put one of the big beaded collars over my head and showed me how to shake my shoulders so it jingles the way the young Maasai girls do. My papa beckoned me to follow and with three of the girls from neighboring bomas - all from around 8 to 11 years old - we set off across the sandy hills to where the warriors, who had returned home with their cattle now that the rains had come, would dance with the girls who might eventually become their wives or mistresses. 

It was a walk that will always stand out with complete clarity in my memory, though it felt surreal at the time: the silhouette of my Maasai papa with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders and fembo walking stick in hand, navigating with only the moonlight softly illuminating the land to guide him, the three little girls in their head wraps, their necklaces tinkling as they walked, the approaching lightning flashing silently, still too distant to hear the thunder, and behind me, the faint red glow at the summit of Oldonyo Lengai. 

As we entered the boma, the layered chanting of the warriors and the high-pitched responses of the girls started and I was swept into the dancing. Warriors would stomp forward and whip their blankets under a girl's chin as a sign of flirtation. Several did it to me and once it coincided with a lightning flash that showed the whites of his eyes inches from mine. They're not messing around. Girls would disappear with a warrior for a time and then return, giggling, and jump back into the dancing. Loud thunder signalled the arrival of the storm that had been threatening, and the dancing was cut short so that we could walk back to the boma in the pouring rain. I fell into bed next to sleeping little Monica, sopping wet and deliriously happy.

Those were the craziest three days I'd ever experienced. Sleeping on a cowskin with my host mother and her three children, a volcano erupting ten miles away... man. It was epic. 

Me and my little brother, Troima, at his boma by Lake Natron in northern Tanzania, March 2006.

At the end, along with the rest of my American classmates, I was given the opportunity to ask a group of women questions, and they were astonishingly candid about any number of topics, including circumcision. Many of them regarded it as a normal rite of passage and didn't seem to feel too strongly about it, but there are women out there who want something else. They were all very young when it happened to them, and there was no alternative in order for them to become women in the eyes of their culture.


I think it's important to respect unique cultures like the Maasai and the traditions that make them so distinct, and also to respect the rights of young girls who historically have had very little say in their own fate. I don't think I can emphasize enough how important it is for these girls simply to have THE OPTION to pursue a different path. 


So, this coming Saturday, I will be participating in the Houses of Hope Yoga-thon in Central Park.  From the website:


"The organization is run by Agnes Pareyio, a Maasai woman, who has been working to end FGM for over a decade through education and the development of an alternative rite of passage for young women... Agnes has built two safe houses where young women live, are educated and do not face pressure to undergo FGM. There are plans to build 6-9 more houses across Africa."


I feel like this is a small way I can create a little more good karma in the world. Thank them for the amazing experience, you know? And I love yoga. It's all one big win!


If you're interested in helping me support this awesome cause, go here (or, better yet, create your own fundraising page):


http://www.americansforunfpa.org/netcommunity/ejhargraves