As opposed to all the ‘same old same old’ dystopian novels, I would love to read a dystopian (or rather utopian, in my opinion) of where the sole survivors in this world are older people beyond the point of breeding. (Preferably, the cool old folks and none of those conservative nutbags though… know what I’m saying?)
Would it be a sad world without children or young folks? Inevitably, some people would try to “grow” babies in the lab or prolong that biological clock so our kind go on, right?
I guess it would depend on the mindset of those survivors. My hope would be that they would leave well enough alone and finally realize that humans have had their time. I have no doubt though that there would be some who would want to prolong their lives and hope for immortality. I guess that would be interesting if some cool evolutionary mutation and/or artificial intelligence became the successors. Hopefully, they would treat our planet better.
But, imagine if those who were left decided to say “Fuck it.” and enjoyed what time they had?
In a world devoid of sickening voices of valley girls and obnoxious, craft beer-drinkin’ millenials, these mature folks could go out and enjoy their neighborhood in peace and serenity. They could travel without a bajillion other people. They could road trip and drive as slow as they comfortably please.
They could swing dance in the streets at 2am when they can’t sleep. Or gyrate their hips to some suggestive hip hop. Whatever floats their boat. More power to ’em.
They could play chess in a quiet park on a sunny afternoon without the squalling of a million youngsters. The only other sounds heard would be laughter and chatter from some ladies slinging back a bottle of whiskey and some chill dudes strummin’ some tunes on their guitars.
They could stroll as slow as they want down the sidewalk or across the street without getting impatiently honked at or run over by a bicycling hippie or a punk skateboarder. Shit, they could just stop mid-stride without disturbing a single person while they figure out what they’re doing, where they’re going, or who the fuck they are.
They could smoke all the pot. They could drink all the booze. They could eat all the red meat and twinkies without anyone chastising them about their cholesterol or blood sugar.
They could enjoy each and every moment for what it is and take what comes their way without a worry in the world of what or who they would be leaving behind. Because they would know once they cease to exist they would be leaving the world a better place. A world that could hopefully thrive on its own once again without the interference of humans.
A good writing space is essential. And every artist is different. Each and every one of us will thrive in a completely different environment from the next artist.
I hate that stereotypical perception that all creatives are messy. Maybe I’m not as creative as I hope I am (most likely not), but having a cluttered workspace and a litter-strewn desk is not helpful to me at all. It is not productive to the creative processes in my mind. It’s distracting. Because my procastinatin’ brain will find every little excuse possible (clean all the things!) to not write.
Hence why I need a clean, minimalist workspace. Plus, I just love the look and feel of minimalism. I like having only what I need (or maybe want, if functional) and having a proper space conducive to the task at hand.
I like the feel of clean, bright openness. To me, that frees my mind to think, to create. It’s as if it opens a portal to all the stories hidden away in the nooks and crannies of my mind.
So, I am jonesing on the above image I came across yesterday. The natural wood, the white desk and chair, and a large bright window are just beckoning me to sit down. To write. To create. It also helps that I love snow. ❄️
Autumn… it’s my favorite time of year. I love the feel of the brisk air cooling my cheeks. I am mesmerized by the red and yellow leaves swirling in the air before they float to the ground. I love a soft, warm sweater, a pair of good leaf-kickin’ boots, and oh yes, pumpkin spice all the things. Visually, it hasn’t been too shabby of an autumn in Seattle. It seems more colorful to me than the previous two years we have lived here. Or, maybe I have been chasing after it more this year.
A couple weekends ago, the husband and I embarked upon a road trip to Leavenworth just for the drive. And while we may have missed peak color, there was one section of the drive that was an enchanting sea of yellow. I would have snapped a few photos to share, but I kind of just wanted to be selfish and soak it all in with my eyeballs instead.
The one thing about a midwest autumn that I am missing though is the smell. Some people may not know what I’m talking about while those in the midwest or New England area certainly do, and it could be because it doesn’t get quite cold enough here in Seattle. Of course, I don’t think the rain smells the same here either for the most part. Maybe that’s just me being a weirdo with a sensitive nose, but there is some science behind the smell of different seasons. I remember even the rain in Portland, Oregon smelling different than Seattle, but maybe it’s because they have more consistent greenery throughout their city and a slight more distinction in their seasons.
At any rate, I miss that smell of autumn. Seattle is situated in a beautiful spot surrounded by mountains and water, and the more I live here in the Pacific Northwest, the more I appreciate its beauty. But man… I miss proper seasons. ♥
There are days I get so restless I don’t know what to do with myself, and I’ve been having a few of those days lately.
Maybe it’s spring fever kicking in now.
Maybe it’s the world map propped up on my desk with push pins of the places we’ve been and of the places we want go in the near future.
Maybe it’s my natural nomadic tendencies.
Whatever it is, I have the itch to get on the road and explore. I know there is more to life than work, eat, and sleep and doing the same thing day in and day out. And now that we know the dogs can do pretty well and way better than we thought on the road, I have no qualms about packing up and moving again. Continue reading
Most people, upon seeing me, think I’m full on Asian and as such, I receive a lot of questions of “Where are you from?” to which I promptly reply, “Portsmouth, OH”. And of course, you can deduce that causes a lot of confusion and stammering of said rude stranger re-phrasing their question to get at what they really want to know… my ethnicity.
Obviously, I know what they’re asking, but I like to make it difficult for people who do not properly convey the nature of their inquiry.
I’m an asshole like that.
You would be too if you had to endure decades of scenarios similar to a strange woman screeching “Are you Chinese!?” in the women’s clothing department of Target.
(Sidenote: Why the fuck does it matter “what” I am??)
I know most people can’t see it, but if you look closely, you’ll see that I have that softening of the features that happens when you’re not a purebred such as myself. Half of me is white with a bloodline originating from France and the Netherlands… I think.
Someday, I’ll get on that genealogy quest. Maybe I’ll discover my European ancestors hail from one of Les Plus Beaux Villages de France (The Most Beautiful Villages of France).
And then, I’ll have some exploring to do… ♥♥♥
Happy Wanderlustin’, folks!
*Click here for image credit.
Close your eyes. Relax your shoulders. Steady your breathing. Join me for a moment of solitude and peacefulness as we listen to the tide of the ocean waves and feel the warmth of the golden sun.
Ah, wasn’t that lovely?
I’m still trying to kick this cold that I unwillingly welcomed in the New Year, and I’m hopefully on the tail end of it. I would love a warm, sunny day at the ocean because really, is there anything more therapeutic than the sun and salt air?
I didn’t think so.
Here’s to a sunny, daydreamy, wanderlustin’ Monday.
I saw this image on Airbnb’s Instagram feed the other day and instantly fell in love. This, people, is the type of place where novels are written… or people go crazy. Or possibly both.
I’ll freely admit I’m not doing very well with my writing. However, I’m doing awesome at not writing! Woo…
My biggest hangup is that I’m afraid I’m just gonna end up writing complete shit. And really, I should just get over it because yes, it will be complete shit. But, that’s what first drafts are for… shit.
Looking at this tiny, secluded house, I think I need to spend a good week there being completely cut off from society. I need to remove all distractions, so I can free my mind and create the world I know is waiting to come alive in my words.
If you’re enjoying snowy seclusion right now, I am quite envious.
*Airbnb image of Crooked River Tiny House in Waterford Maine
I’m seriously missing snow right now. I know. I’m one of those weird people who loves snow. And yes, I do mean I LOVE it. It doesn’t feel like the holidays without it. And yeah, I know I can drive an hour or so outside the city to see some snow here in the PNW, buuuut I don’t wanna have to drive to do that. And to me, there’s a different type of feeling between snow in the city and snow out in the mountains. And right now, I want that city snow.
I want to look out the window and see huge snowflakes coming down around all the buildings as I snuggle under a cozy, warm blanket and sip my hot chocolate or hot apple cider. Snow can make the most gray and dismal of days and places look so much prettier.
I want to take my pups out and have the our goofy muppet go jumping into mounds of snow like a puppy on crack or see how far the our little doodle can walk on top of the hard, well-packed snow before her little feet fall through and she tries and tries again. Continue reading
I’m not gonna lie. I wish I could take credit for these images because I love them so much. But, the credit actually goes to my husband. Who knew you could make Canadian pigeons look so good!? He has a great eye for composition, and he has never hesitated to lie on the ground or whatnot to get the shot.
These photos were made on a brisk October day in 2010 as the husband and I (as newlyweds!) wandered around the quaint town of Saint John, New Brunswick. We took a New England/Canada cruise for our honeymoon, and this was one of the first few times we used a DSLR. At the time, we both didn’t really know all the ins and outs of the camera. We used auto and program a lot. We tried flash and no flash. You won’t believe how many images we took of the same damn towel animal. :)
I kind of wish the husband would photograph more. Whether he knows it or not, he gives me inspiration and motivation when I am able to see how he sees. ♥
Can you believe that tomorrow is July already!? I feel like Summer is going to be over in a blink of an eye, and I have yet to enjoy it. Of course, it’s actually quite difficult to enjoy summers in Ohio unless you:
- Have a pool & want to be in it 24/7
- Have a boat & want to be on it (or in the lake) 24/7
- Love sweating as soon as you step outside
- Love not being able to breathe as soon as you step outside
- Love sweating (it’s worth mentioning twice)
90°+ temps and smothering humidity is the norm for Ohio summers, and this year, Mother Nature is pulling out all the stops. So this past weekend, the husband and I basically did nothing. And I’m not going to lie, we were bored.
However, I feel like we should relish the calm and boredom because it may very well get pretty crazy for us within the next month or so…. ya know, possibly moving clear across the country and all. No big deal, right? ;)
Moving has not even been set in stone yet, but I already feel the tug of anxiety on my heart and my mind racing with a list of things that will need to be done.
But for today, I’m closing my eyes, taking big, deep breaths, and willing an air of serenity and stillness to envelope all my senses as I travel to my happy place of breezy salt air and rhythmic ocean waves.
This lasts for about two seconds.
But in those two seconds, the world is working in perfect harmony.
Wishing you a happy place kind of Monday. ♥
*Above image is of a bamboo fountain in the Portland Japanese Garden in Oregon.