navigating the universe.


It is completely obvious that I’ve been in a different state of mind as of late.

I at least know my co-workers see it. My pacing back and forth in the kitchen. Staring off at the rack of spices, hopefully fooling them into thinking I’m working something out for a recipe.

In reality, I am moving through some tricky waters.

I feel excited and scared and scattered because I am entering new territory, even with all of my experience as an almost 30 year-old human being, I am starting to notice that maybe I’m just scratching the surface of a new horizon.
These things make me feel flustered. Is that right to say?

It’s hard to focus on the thing in front of me and I feel like I can’t perform as usual. When people try to ask me questions about my process in working through it, I have to just sort of shake my head. What a luxury it is to have options and ideas.

How terrifying is it to realize you are going to submerge yourself into a project that will direct the trajectory of the rest of your life? Sure, we can change whenever we want to. We can move. We can learn how to make a canoe out of a single piece of wood. Most likely, we will settle with what we know how to do best and let that guide the rest of our lives.

My generation is bad at this. I’m bad at this. We just have too many options and too many things we’d rather be doing.

My generation is also in this position where we’re creating a lot of our own jobs. Maybe it is a ‘rejecting what our parents did’ sort of thing, but also an economy thing. I drank the kool-aid. I am that statistic and I am navigating these new, open waters.

Granted, some days feel like I’m treading those open waters. I am taking on more water on certain days, while others I am sailing free and fast and straight.

Then maybe the sails die down. The water stills and I am left to think of what to do next. I am no stranger to this season. We are all aware that life is fast and slow, and right now it feels kind of fast. I love it and I am terrified of it but deep down in my belly I know this is where I’m supposed to be navigating.


I realize I am being vague with you all as well.

But for those of you who, by the grace of something bigger, have kept up with me know that I have been through a lot the past year and a half.

I’ve had to slow down. I’ve had to pick up and leave. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cook anymore.

I’m here to tell you that I feel very alive and light. Though I am at times weighted a bit with these thoughts of mine, I am moving forward with the hope that my ceiling won’t collapse again or that I will not break another bone anytime soon.

I can’t make any promises of knowing where I’ll end up, but I’m looking forward to bringing y’all into this season of life and I feel so lucky to have this.

We are as infinite as we want to be.
I learn more and more each day this truth, that we are capable of wonderful tiny things that make up an entire universe.

And that everything,


is important.

Tom Hanks (And What ‘Cast Away’ Taught Me About Hope and Fear)


I really like the movie Cast Away.

I guess I just like Tom Hanks. (Though I’m not super stoked about his mustache right now.)

There is a scene at the very end, where he’s at a crossroads.

He had set out to deliver a package, one that he had kept the entire time he was stranded on the island. On the front, was an image that gave him the idea to build a sail onto his raft. It saved his life.

We see a woman and her dog pull up in a truck. She gives him options as to where he could go next. She turns out to be the owner of said package, but in the movie, we don’t know what happens. He delivers it to her home, but she isn’t there. Yadda yadda yadda. I’d like to think they lived happily ever after, but I don’t think they did. I think her role in his life had already run its course. (But then again, this is me watching Cast Away at one in the morning.)

In his passenger seat, is a volleyball, that I assume will take the character of Wilson (again), his past volleyball friend. Also, about three jugs of water.

In the back of my mind, I think, “Dang, he must be like, super healthy…eating nothing but raw fish and water and coconut.”

So he leans on his car, and eventually drives away, but we don’t know where.


I’m not sure why this image is in my head. I suppose you have to be in the moment, and not reading this as randomly as I’m writing about it. Because for five years he stayed on that island. He accepted death, and was able to leave only by the means of a random piece of garbage that washed ashore.

I guess the moral, near the end, was that you never know what the tide will bring.

And I think about his seclusion, his loneliness and anger. His needing to survive. I think about desperation, and the point at which you give up.

I wonder, at which point does hope become greater than fear. I believe both are big driving factors.

Some days, I feel as though I live more in fear, than I do hope. But there is something much deeper in hope. There is nothing to gain from fear, except maybe protecting yourself temporarily from something harmful, which isn’t always the best way to handle it.

So I don’t really know if this is about Tom Hanks surviving on a big island.

That one scene though, where he has all the options in the world, is really liberating. Not because I have a million options, but because sometimes life takes a turn, and you are presented with them, like a gift. Though what it took to have those options, could’ve been a nightmare, or simply, a change of heart.

To his name, he had a map. Some water. A volleyball, and Elvis. (And I’m sure a lot of FedEx money.)

So I guess you can’t really give up.

It’s too easy.

And you can’t move in the way fear makes you move. (Unless you are being attacked by a flock of geese, or something.)

I’m talking about the expectation of fear. Fear of reaction, fear of disappointment.


Move along, though.

There is plenty to see. Plenty to do.

In fact, the world relies on you to do it.

And hey, if Tom Hanks can do it,


so can you.