(http://wallsdesk.com/aziz-ansari/)

I don’t know where to begin, I just know that I have to. I started to write this when we heard about Brock Turner, when we heard the degrading, sexist comments that came from our now President’s mouth, when we first heard women shouting #MeToo. Each time the media gave us another piece of the conversation, I’d start to write and then decide to just sit back and stay quiet, discuss it amongst the women in my life instead. However, I was struck by a quote the other day by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.: “There comes a time when…


Woke up this morning and walked into my kitchen. Straight to the sink like always, all Bambi-legs and heavy-eyelids. Did the dishes from the night before in a half-awake, half-dreamlike daze: my favorite time to lather and wash and rinse. Doing something with your hands helps ease it.

Sat down on my living room sofa and continued to breathe. Felt it. Eyes closed, in and out, until I made my way, forehead on the ground, to my knees. Asking for direction. Welcoming the push and the pull that would take me where I was needed. Pleading for release. …


It’s hard to believe it’s been only a little over a month since I packed up as much as I could fit in two suitcases and moved down to Ocean City for the summer. It’s hard to believe that I was ever not living here, not settled into a tiny space in an attic with just one dresser and a twin-sized bed. Not running around serving vacationers margaritas and Mexican beers with limes with a rose in my hair and shorts that practically expose the tattoo on my butt. Not breathing in the smell of the bay on my morning…


Even when I write those words, “moving to Ocean City,” I feel the fear in the pit of my stomach expand and push outwards and up, creeping all the way to the base of my throat. I hear the incessant questioning of myself: Am I really doing this? Am I really cramming all of my stuff (and all of my boyfriend’s stuff) in the back of my little baby car and driving three and a half hours away to live and work at the beach? Is this really what I want to be doing, what I “should” be doing, the…


I have a problem with staying still.

As far as I know, it’s always been this way. My mom describes me as an “imaginative” toddler, says I’ve always kept myself busy, even when I was alone. What I remember from my adolescent years is constant creative pursuits: notebooks full of writing and collages, cooking show recipe remakes, months of footage on my dad’s old school camcorder spliced into movies. I even had a “band” at one point (and I am not musically inclined). I know that by middle school, I had submerged myself in friends and activities so that all…


Pai was one of the places that I knew I couldn’t miss in Thailand. Notoriously known as the “hippy town” of the North, Pai is a city in Thailand that travelers visit and never leave — and truth be told, I met multiple people in Pai that had made it their home, some having lived there for months now, some over 6 years.


“For those who know the value of and exquisite taste of solitary freedom (for one is only free when alone), the act of leaving is the bravest and most beautiful of all.”
-Isabelle Eberhardt

I stepped off the plane in Chiang Mai mid-afternoon with no idea where I was going (as usual). My taxi driver dropped me at a street corner, pointed down an alley way and muttered something like “That way,” and drove off. Here’s the scene I walked up on: more Westerners than I’d seen in days sprawled out on towels and pool chairs around a small in-ground…


My first day in Bangkok plays in my mind like a movie scene. And I’m both impressed and confused at my aptitude in getting around, even more so in the way I went from a state of total fear to release, to uninhibited. Within two hours of arriving in Thailand, I was sitting on the wooden boat seats of the ferries on the Chao Phraya River, the easiest and cheapest way to travel to the Grand Palace. …


I can’t quite explain the feeling of boarding the AirChina plane, looking at the monitor on the back of the seat in front of me, and realizing I had a 13+ hour flight ahead. I’m still not sure why this came as such a shock. I had booked the flight… I restarted the monitor, and checked the time again. 13 hours to go. I closed the application, checked again. 13 hours!? I was crammed next to four people after trying to board the plane last and get two seats to myself. I’d managed to find three and sprall out, satisfied…


“Start now. Start where you are. Start with fear. Start with pain. Start with doubt. Start with hands shaking. Start with voice trembling but start. Start and don’t stop. Start where you are, with what you have. Just… start.” ―Ijeoma Umebinyuo

I’ve been meaning to start a blog for years. Years. I have talked about it countless times. Sat down and pulled the browser up, ready to get into the details, only to come to a frustrated, fearful slamming of my laptop shut. …

Lizz Dawson (To Our Depths)

writer lover seeker yogster bruja travel-bug mess

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