Tag Archives: Wandering

Happy Birthday Anchors & Freedom (!!!)

So I raise a glass to one year, full of successes, and a second glass to a second year ahead, of remembering to experience life in all of it’s messy, cake-fight glory with respect for all of my Anchors and constantly, ever searching for high seas and adventurous Freedom.

I can’t really fathom the fact that this blog just turned TWO.  It still feels like yesterday that I was sitting on the patio of an apartment overlooking the Pacific, eating crab, drinking margaritas, jotting down notes in a Moleskin that read “the second you get back from California, you are going to start a BLOG.”  I remember brainstorming the name.  I was wearing a gold necklace with an anchor charm on it, thinking how wonderful it would be if I never had to ‘go back’ and could simply wander around, move forward, and experience life differently every moment.  I had my anchors: money, family, friends that not only were supportive, but encouraging – people you will never leave behind.  But I wanted freedom: the ability to let go without being considered villainous for it, constant change, to see the world, and to live a thousand different lives with a thousand different people a thousand times over.

And so, Anchors & Freedom was born.  A place for me to work with myself in a medium that wasn’t necessarily the most conventional.  A place to connect with people that maybe saw things my way (or at least a little differently).  A place to watch myself grow.  A place to encourage growth.

This blog, much like any creative child, has had it’s ups and down.  It has gotten me in trouble, it has caused drama in unlikely places, it has helped me connect with people I otherwise would never have connected with, it has centered me, it has provoked me, and it has changed me.  But most of all – these pages, and those of you who read them, have helped me find my voice.  Not the voice that has always existed; loud and obnoxiously defiant, but the voice that makes me who I am, as a creative.

Writer.  Rambler. Freebird.  Dreamer.

Blogger.  Scorpio.  Artist.  Shaker.

Wanderer.  Malcontent.  Difficult.  Outrageous.

Creature.  Fragile.  Stubborn.  Rough.

Disaffected.  Whimsical.  Determined.  Distraught.

It is impossible to describe ourselves in one word.  In four words.  In eighteen.  Yet we ask this of ourselves, as do others.  This space, in this tiny little corner of the Internet, has made it so that I no longer have to.

Happy Birthday, Anchors & Freedom!  I’ll be eating a piece of [gluten-free] cake for you today.  Because I love birthdays.  And I love cake.  And I haven’t had breakfast yet.

& THANK YOU.  Thank you, thank you, thank you, to all of you who keep coming back.  To those of you I know, to those of you I wish to know, and to those of you I will never know – you are wonderful, you are supportive & you make me smile every day.

xo & yw & here's to the big 0-3!

Even Texas has Turbulence

At 36,000 feet my breath slows down.  The slant of the aircraft is comforting, the nose still angled up.  I’ve never had to put “home” in quotation marks before, but that’s all I write on my iPad note page. “Home.” Question mark.  The man beside me watches me do it.   He’s headed for business in Houston, complaining about the cold in Chicago.  I don’t give a fuck about either, but I can tell he’s thinking about my 8 character statement. “Home.”  ?

Since when is home intangible?  Sure, sure, it’s where your heart it, but it’s still a place isn’t it?  The place where you have your underwear drawer and your income tax receipts and your old high school boyfriends hockey jersey?

Maybe.  Maybe not, though.

Maybe for some people, home is literally where their heart is.  Like at that instant, home was right there, beating and jet engine powered at a 35 degree angle over Galveston. That puts a twist on things.

“Where do you want to live? Like… ideally, for the long run?” My brother asked as we shotgunned up the Sea-to-Sky highway. “…no where…really…” I could only answer.

The Pilot comes over the speakers. “We’ll be heading through storms over Texas, please remain seated as I keep the seatbelt light on for your safety.”

Texas has never had turbulence before.

And neither has “home” been in quotations.

xo & yw

Are we living the American Dream right now?: Girls Gone Wild edition (in which 3 ladies own Daytona Beach for one weekend)

My days as a University student are behind me in the wind somewhere.  I may go back and get my Masters one day (read: intend to), but as it stands I plod along doing one course at a time because I prefer to make money.  I know, I know, they go hand in hand, you do your time, whatever.  Not me.  Blazing my own trail through here.

But even as a University student I was never really a University student.  I lived at home.  Had the same friends.   Didn’t need a student loan.  Never went away for spring break…

Well.  Better late than never right?

Florida is sticky.  I mean that in all sense of the word.  From the people to the coconut oil to the air when you get off United Airlines (don’t ever fly United airlines), it’s like walking into a recycling room that hired an interior decorator.  The good news is, you yourself get sticky pretty quickly and then you can just go party with the rest of them.  And boy, did we ever.

Three girls, all star-striped and spangled, hit the Florida Turnpike for a weekend of classic American fun.  Are we American?  No.  But our attitudes were.  For 4 days we lived in a Kid Rock video.  A Luke Bryan CD.  A Jake Owen song.  A car that was born and bred in the USA being driven by the mentality that we were wild and free.

We pulled into Daytona to discover that the 71st annual Bike Week was in full swing.  Harleys and Leathered bad asses roamed the streets like foam on the ocean, holding a title that we were about to claim for ourselves: wild.

In a town where Strippers dance to “God Bless the USA” and locals won’t let you cross the street without holding your hand, we managed to find a place where we could less loose and disregard everyone’s instructions to “be careful” and still party like it was the last time.  Proving we were worth our American flag bandannas by quoting Metallica and rocking out with middle aged rebels.

We made poor choices.  Rode on the back of motorcycles down interstates we didn’t know at 3am with men we knew less.  We disregarded wedding rings and smoked too many cigarettes indoors.  We did all of our shopping at 7-11 and stopped believing in clothing, in boundaries and in places called “home.”

On Sunday afternoon, we ventured off with three Florida beach boys.  We sat on the dock, nuzzled up to fishing boats and palm tree huts, eating alligator and oysters.  Making  jokes about how haggard we looked in our Ray bans and biker tanks.  “We know we’re a little old for this but…” we chimed as an excuse for our pleasure at the whole situation.  “Naw babe, that’s just wrong”  one Florida boy drawled, offensively.  “You ain’t never too old for Spring Break.”

And it’s true.  Why do we feel like we need to justify freedom?  Like there’s a certain age where said “living” becomes unacceptable or society deems it inappropriate?  Where it ceases to be “living” and starts verging on irresponsibility?  Why can’t we just stop washing our hair and stop giving fucks like we did before we had to pay rent?

We can always find another way to make money when the plane lands.

So ladies, if the bikini fits and the ‘stang has gas… next year it’s Panama.

January.  Ring in the New Year in New York City
February. Deprivation month (no alcohol, no gluten, no crying)
March.  Spend an All-American Spring Break in Florida
April. Do a lot of yoga (ommmmmmmmm….)
May. Go to a play off game
June. ROCK a Victoria’s Secret two piece
July. Take a road trip
August. Go to my favorite corn stand in the Okanagan
September. Have clam chowder in a bread bowl in San Fransisco
October. Pop a bottle of champagne in Vegas for my 25th
November. Book flight to Guatemala City for February 2013
December. Learn how to stop (properly) in hockey skates

xo & yw & on to the next adventure