on running.

My mamá, she is a runner. When it's a cool summer morning, before ten am when the sun is heating up the sidewalks, she runs. Five miles. Across both bridges. When she gets home from work and it's been one of those days, she runs. When it's Sunday, in the middle of the day, and time is standing still, she runs. It's her thing. 

But it is not my thing. I am not a runner. I enjoy a long game of soccer in the rain and the mud. I love tennis in hot weather, barefoot, until the green cement has chewed up the bottoms of my feet. I will go to the gym when I feel like I need to accomplish something, and I'll turn up my headphones and work out on the machines. 

I tried running for a while, I really did. This summer, I would wake up and run with my mom - the both of us, across the bridges, through the parks. But I always ran home first. I was the first one to tuck my tail between my legs and trod on home. Running by itself is simply not my thing. 

And that's okay. I can accept that. 

But I cannot accept not doing anything. There are some days when I don't want to move. And it feels so good to lay my body under my brown blanket and rub my feet together until I fall asleep. And it feels so good to stay there, listening to the people outside the window. Some days I want this.

And I'll want to take the elevator when I'm able to walk. 

And I'll want to wait six minutes for a bus to take me ten blocks that I'm able to walk. 

And I'll want to avoid checking the mail because it is so far away from the warmth of my bed. 

But I can't do this. I need stairs. I need walks. I need experience. I need to see the city I live in, even if its grey exterior is not what I want. 

I remind myself of this whenever I see someone jogging, and instantly feel bad because I am walking. But I shouldn't feel bad, because I'm doing what is best for me. What works for me.

I'll do what works for me. 

(photo taken when the bus was twenty minutes away, which encouraged me to walk back to my apartment)

she wants to go to the lakeside.

In the sun today, Cierra and I walked to the Union Bay Natural Area. I started my afternoon with a headache and a nap, and Cierra pulled me out of bed and said "I don't want to waste the day." So I google mapped a green area nearby and we trekked to the water.

Cierra calls this photo "the glare."

a haircut.

She was so great. So cheerful. She did exactly what I had in mind (you know when you come to the salon with an idea and everyone says "it may not look just like that because you have a different face than this celebrity…" WELL it looked exactly like what I wanted). 

Center parted bangs that I can leave curly (in this photo they're straightened) if I don't feel like styling my hair that day. + short layers around my face. BANG in Capitol Hill is a beautiful establishment. 

flashback to the indigo girls

A few weeks ago, mamá & I went to a beautiful Indigo Girl's concert. Beautiful Avery bought me tickets to the concert for Christmas and it was the most wonderful gift. In case you haven't listened to the Indigo Girls,  check out "Closer to Fine" (we all stood and sang together), and "Galileo," which reminds me of car rides home after family events… and falling asleep in the back seat.

Chandeliers are so necessary.

The Pantages is a beautiful theater. If you're in the Pacific Northwest and ever find yourself with the option to check it out, definitely do so.

"And the best thing you've ever done for me / is to help me take my life less seriously / it's only life, after all." 

january 2014

2014. My year of finding more inspiration.

Cierra made me this framed bulletin board for my birthday, and I've been pinning things to it for the past week or so. And so my inspiration board has begun. Here is January's collection of photos, found throughout the internet.

From left + down to right + down + basically all over:

reminding myself it's a new year / gallery walls with antique frames / applying to a study abroad trip to Trondheim / thick sweaters and curly wavy hair and bangs / ornate necklaces with collars / a floppy felt hat from free people. 

And a little quote to remind myself to be more passionate about life.

& on into the new year.

on my mind: "tucked"

Sometimes, when I'm walking by myself, sitting by myself, I silently narrate my life. 
Or I jot down how I'm feeling, what I'm doing, what I'm seeing.

The other day I reread something I had written, 
"And I pull the sweater sleeves up over my fingers and rest my hands on my face."

Oh. I think. Perhaps I could have used the word 'tucked' somewhere in that soliloquy.
and then I'm off. One word rolling around in my head, the word 'tucked,' and suddenly I need to use it as much as I can:

"She tucked her hair behind her ear and felt more real than ever before."
"She wanted nothing more than to tuck her niece into bed and listen to her soft breathing in the rainy night."
"She tucked her folder into the rain-soaked bag and, after throwing up her hood, embraced the outside storm." 
"She lay in the bath, let her feet rest up on the top bar, and eventually tucked them below the surface of the water."

I look up the definition. 
To push, fold, or turn (the edges or ends of something, esp. a garment or bedclothes) so as to hide them or hold them in place.

And when I've exhausted the word in its entirety, I breathe. 

Columbia City, Georgetown, & Lots of Pizza

This week, mamá and I explored the neighborhood in which she raised Margaux, and then we took a detour to Georgetown (really a detour, because we accidentally got on I5). Columbia City has Tutta Bella, and we sat there in the sun, sipping on lemonade and crunching on caesar salad croutons. Yesterday was the definition of an adventure (because we got lost at least 3 times… darn our aversion to Google maps).

(If you have not been to Tutta Bella in Columbia City, you should be aware of their excellent background music and top-notch flat bread)

Collecting Rocks: Year 15

Dad and I have this tradition. Every end of winter break, we bundle up in clothes that don't actually keep us as warm as we had hoped, and we collect rocks for his elementary school's salmon tank. We climb down the muddy cliff to the stream, pause halfway through, and stare up at the trees. It's a tiny bit of serenity in the surrounding suburbia. It's my Bridge to Terebithia, my Rivendell.

Happy 15th year of collecting rocks, papá!