What's in a name?

When it comes to picking out a name we all have our favorites. Most of us have them picked out before the baby arrives. This was the same for me in the case of my fur baby. It was the first time ever that I, myself, was getting a dog. Well my boyfriend and I were getting a dog. And we discussed names long before our puppy got here. We wanted it to be meaningful for both of us, and a great name. After some debate we came up with Hercules, a good strong name for a full grown 100 pound Rhodesian Ridgeback.

Now don't get me wrong, I liked the name. But I had my hesitations. You see, Hercules is a 3 syllable name, and kind of hard to say. Seriously, try saying it three times fast, it's a bit of a tongue twister if you ask me. I had this issue from the very beginning, choosing a three syllable name would make training a nightmare. And naming my dog Hercules to call him HERC. Well I don't really need to go over all the reasons that wasn't going to happen. But I was a bit stuck, and couldn't seem to come up with a better replacement. 

And then my boyfriend did. "What do you think of the name Moose?" I mean, I was sold. Who names their dog Moose. It was absolutely brilliant. More to the plus, the bf goes to Alaska every year, so Moose had sentimental meaning for him, and I love Mooses in general so perfect. Or not, 3 days later the bf decides he doesn't like it anymore. I offered up compromises to sell this new amazing name but the boyfriend wasn't budging. 

He came up with another name...Bowser. I wasn't a fan at all, especially after finding out it was a video game character. Ok some of you may love classic Mario. I can even appreciate it at times. But your dog's name is a huge reflection of you, and I'm super anti video games. He kept pushing for it though.

A week after we had received our puppy, he still didn't have a name. We took him hiking and on that hike we polled everyone in sight, asking them to vote between Moose and Bowser. The vast majority voted Moose, because it is an awesome name obviously. So we tried out Moose for a week. The boyfriend put out a veto, he just didn't like the name, that he came up with in the first place...

At this point I was very much resenting the fact that I okayed the 'this will be "our" dog' idea. If it was my dog I could have named him whatever I wanted. Instead I had to fight tooth and nail for any name I liked. To be honest, I couldn't come up with anything better than Moose. We tried Cannoli and decided we didn't like it. We tried Tiny. We tried Hercules again, nope that three syllable issue still bugged me. Bandit, Mega, Gelato, Ridge, Ridgey (you would be surprised at how many people suggested I name my ridgeback Ridge. Hopefully you aren't one of the people I have to explain why Ridge for a ridgeback is not unique at all and actually is just horrible. At least the BF and I agreed on that) Dash, Flash, Blitz, Zeus...this wasn't even half the names we considered and nothing was good enough for our awesome puppy. AWESOME? nope, love the word, but not for my dog's name. Sven, Beast, Ares, Bonus, Agent, Heist...

HEIST. Now this had promise. Because our puppy had a "black mask" and "white gloves" he was totally ready for the Heist. And when we got our girl...well obviously her name would be Diamond. Diamond and Heist, that was it. But after a few times actually trying to say HEIST and call it over and over. Its a one syllable name that's almost impossible to say. And oh by the way, no one got it. NO ONE. So we decided against Heist.

All the while I looked at my sweet little puppy every single day for three weeks and couldn't find a name that would stick. Now initially when I was trying to sell Moose to my boyfriend, I offered a huge compromise for our future girl puppy's name. #KENAI (pronounced Keen-eye). It was a very special name to my bf that I vetoed right off the bat, we'll save the why for another time. Just know that it was a HUGE deal for me to offer this name. He still wouldn't go for Moose.

But after three weeks of calling your puppy "Bub" because he doesn't have a name and considering every single possibility known to man, you start to realize that a lot more goes into a dog's name than it being meaningful to you. 1. you have to say it all the time, so it needs to be no more than 2 syllables. actually after this process I have realized that this is absolutely the key factor in naming a new dog. Take all the other things you thought were important off the list. 

I was so sick of coming up with cute three syllable names that were impossible to call. I was sick of considering every possibility. I wanted a cute name that was easy to say. Preferably 2 syllables and something unique. And the big one, both me and the BF had to like it.

So I called the BF one night while I was out of town and I made a wager, "I'll give you #KENAI, if I get to name the girl without your input" his only requirement was that the girl's name would not be Moose, or any variation thereof. It was a deal. His name would be #KENAI. I made it official on instagram the next day. #KENAItheridgebackpup. There was no going back, he had a hashtag.

A few days later though I was doubting my decision. Pretty much every person I said the name to, repeated it back with an inquisitive look, "Canine?" Really you think I would name my dog Canine? It's downright horrible first of all, secondly, no, just no. We considered for a half second to go back on the choice it took us 3 weeks to agree upon, but going back to the drawing board was not an option. I just didn't want to do it again. Some amazing name was not going to pop up out of the blue, I had been over every single list. KENAI was easy to call and I liked it. It's meaningful for the BF, and my sister's puppy is named KODA from Brother Bear. Our cousin puppies would be called KENAI and KODA, that was cute enough for me.

Then of course my bf name drops the perfect name for the girl puppy...KENYA, the african lion huntress. SOLD. Just to be clear though, choosing the name was my decision alone, as agreed upon based on our previous conversation. And so it is. Our 15 week old puppy really does look like a KENAI. I guess that tends to happen after you call your dog 158 times per hour. I like that its original and no one has heard it. I like that it is an easy name to say (even though it seems that somehow 88% of everyone I talk to can't get it right.) And most of all, I love that I already have the girl's name picked out for when we get her and that we do NOT have to go through this grueling process again.

#KENAItheridgebackpup #KENYAthelionhuntress #adventureswithKENAIandKENYA

Mt Wilson and the Case of the Rollaway Peanut Butter

As you can tell, it's been a while since I have sat down to put fingertips to keyboard to write you a story. You wouldn't believe me if I told you writing is a passion of mine, that secretly all I want to do is become a famous writer with readers all over the planet, so enthralled with my stories and laughing at my words. Being so hooked that they lose track of hours, and just can't put my book down. I absolutely love writing but you wouldn't know because I haven't done it, not in years; many of them to be exact. I just haven't had a story worth telling, life gets mundane and writing takes inspiration. I guess it's a little sad that I haven't found much of it in the past few years, but it looks like times may be changing as I'm sitting down and writing for you today. I didn't expect to be when the day started, god knows there was no way in hell I could have predicted what was going to happen...

Mt Wilson, if you didn't know, is one Epic hike. 14 miles round trip with 4,000ft elevation gain, well on paper it sounds like a walk in the park, I guess technically speaking it actually is just that -Tell that to your burning calves as you attempt to walk up it's 45 degree incline. And let's not forget it's winter, so time is not on your side, it's a strategic race against the sun to make it to the peak with enough time to get back to the car before Sunset. I'll kill the suspense now, we didn't make it to the peak.

But when you are hiking, there can be several peaks within one hike. The views from all of them may very well be spectacular, the harsh reality though is that you might not reach your initial goal. After all, 9.5 miles with 3500 ft in elevation gain is still one for the record books, at least at this point in my hiking experience. Hopefully by summer we can make it a lot further, hopefully all the way to the actual top. This story, however, is about making your own peak, especially when you know the real one is unattainable on that day. 

Like I mentioned earlier, when you hike during the winter, the closer it gets to lunchtime, the more you start assessing your crazy thought process of hiking 14 miles in a day, because after lunch every step you take towards the peak is one you must repeat on the way back down and sunset creeps up on you deceivingly fast. Even as a novice I know if you didn't plan on staying on the mountain overnight, it's not something you really want to do. You have to buckle down and get your little behind back to the car by sundown or you might be in for a few not so nice surprises as night creeps in.

We started out feeling good, at a decent pace, throw in some interval hiking (100 steps hard, 50 steps easy, repeat 3 times, stop do 30 full squats and repeat again). The first couple miles I was convinced we would make it all the way, until it was 12:45pm when we hit the halfway to the peak point, I guess we weren't travelling as fast as I had originally thought. 3.5 miles with 2500 ft of elevation gain feels a lot more like 6.5 miles with 3800 ft elevation gain. We however were not a half mile from the peak.

2pm approached and we were 4.75 miles in. 2.25 miles to the top. Even if we were to continue trekking, it was past lunch time. We came to a giant fallen log on the trail and decided to stop and eat. But first, I really had to go, so I walked up the trail to find a good spot to go because hey, when nature calls... Unfortunately, there wasn't one. Steep cliff side to either side I pondered whether or not to commit a big no no and let it go on the trail. I decided against that which turned out to be a good thing as there was a fellow hiker about 100 paces back. #listentoyourgut

When I got back the yelling had commenced, "Bee can't you just hold the f*cking peanut butter..." Tea was pissed and I couldn't quite figure out why. Bee strikes back, "you are capable of making your own sandwich..." they continued to go back and forth when all the sudden I notice the peanut butter rolling down the hill. The yelling persisted, we were sure to lose the peanut butter over the edge. But then the impossible happened and the jar veered right, back on to the trail, and was heading directly for Kay and Ty.

"Don't worry Tea, I got this," it looked as if the peanut butter was saved, until Kay world cupped it off the edge, falling on the trail in the process. We watched that jar bump and crash all the way down the cliff, dislodging twigs, leaves, and rocks in the process. Let's just say watching that jar disappear into the cliff's abyss was theatre worthy. We all thought the show ended there, until Bee came through with the most unexpected encore.

You see, Tea hadn't stopped yelling from the time the PB started rolling down the hill. She was ripping Bee a new one. Something about him being such an a**hole and not caring about her needs... So he got up and followed the Peanut Butter's tracks, down the trail to where Kay was still in her fallen state, and then off the side and down the cliff. He ran and slid and bumped along just as the peanut butter had. "You better not die Bee, I'll find you in the after life and kill you again..." Tea was getting nervous at this point. And then the unthinkable happened. Bee found the now broken jar of peanut butter and picked up its remains.

We all watched in anticipation as Bee tried to climb up the cliff he so effortlessly seemed to ski down. He couldn't get his footing without his hands, so he threw the peanut butter back down where he found it. Life is more valuable than a jar of peanut butter apparently. Bee chose his steps carefully, getting back up was proving to be more tricky than it was on the way down. Rocks tumbled beneath him creating the most dramatic of backdrops of this live time epic event. We were all nervous...

"Be careful," ..."watch your footing," if he would have lost his balance...well that would have been the end of life as he knew it and I'm not exaggerating. We all knew what was at stake, so when Bee stepped up onto a large boulder and started to do just that, we all held our breath for what was to happen next.

Here's the thing, in these types of seemingly harmless life or death situations, you don't really even consider that you could die. You set off on a day hike with 10 friends, and you never actually think you will lose your life, or watch your friend from 100ft up, fall backwards and tumble down a cliff to his death. You joke that it's a possibility but deep down you know it will never happen, until the stage is set and you watch as he loses his balance; arms flailing as he does in fact lose his footing off of that boulder. 

And in that moment, I'm sure we all could attest and so could you if you were there, that you watch life as you know it flash before your eyes, and that wave of helplessness floods over you. Because really what are you supposed to do, do you slide down the hill to try and save your friend who lays there lifeless and put yourself at risk of the same fate? Or do you run the 4.5 miles back for help, and then hike it all again hoping to get back in time? But let's be honest by the time you got back your friend had already suffered through his last breaths... Or do you break down right there in tears, fall to the ground and ask how the day had actually led up to this moment, this unexpected not in a million years would it happen but it's happening moment...

I looked over at Tea and she was commencing on option number 3. Tears streamed down her face as the love of her life lost his footing off the boulder and fell backwards. Luckily, it was only a stumble and we didn't have to watch our friend tumble to his death. But man, I'll be honest, I can relate way better to the whole "life flash before your eyes" thing, and it wasn't even my life. 

Bee made his way up the rest of the hill with ease, Spiderman like even. No more suspenseful is he going to fall moments. But once, you've had one of those, you're changed forever. Tea grabbed him and scolded, "Don't ever do that again. Don't ever chase a jar of peanut butter down a cliff..." Ty cut her off, "if that's not love Tea, I don't know what is." Bee just stated the obvious, "It looks like we'll be having honey sandwiches for lunch..." And we did. Honey sandwiches have never tasted so good. 

As we discussed the events that had just played out, we figured out that in fact it was not Bee who threw the peanut butter down the hill, rather #KODAtheadventuredog had knocked it off the log to send it on its journey. And I found out that Tea was so mad in the first place because she had dropped her slices of bread on the ground. How Kay managed to kick the peanut butter off the cliff is still a mystery. But to be honest, those are all seemingly insignificant things now. And how ironic was it that Bee had yelled out to Tea early on in the hike to "Stay on the trail..." and not follow Ty on the rock climbing short cut routes.

Yeah we sat and ate our honey sandwiches and decided there was no better peak on this hike, not today. No view could be more impressive or suspenseful than the one we had already witnessed. And on top of all that, we had every reason to believe that getting stuck on the trail after dark was a terrible idea, because when you have a real brush with death, the impossible seems probable, and the grim reaper had already come just a little too close.

Now if you would have told me this is the story I would be telling you when I left for this unsuspecting hike, I probably would have laughed in your face, I would have said it was impossible. But here we are, and who would have thought I'd start writing again, all because of a jar of peanut butter. 

 

Disclaimer: Story Based on true events, names have been altered to protect the innocent. All except #KODAtheadventuredog. Follow me on Instagram: @rdmoney or connect with me on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/rachelle.denaro

Not my story...

This story is not mine to tell, so I will not say one word. I want to share the things it has made me realize about myself though.

I spoke with a friend from Australia today, one who knows me well enough to know that I have a lot to say all of the time. My stories are lengthy, this is not a new find. However in serious situations, I am one of very few words. It is what it is, and discussing in circles is a complete waste of time.

He recognized the severity of the situation because there was nothing to say back, no joking, no laughter, just acknowledgment of a terrible occurrence. It was a bite size story but I appreciate his ear for those short six words. I'm grateful he allowed me to say them and that he listened intently. Sometimes six words is all you need, this time six words was enough. And for that I need to say thank you, because its nice to have a friend across the world with whom I can share a story that isn't mine to tell.

I'm not one to get shaken and I do not dwell. I don't let situations take my attitude, because really in life that is all we can control. I find easy solutions and I make myself believe them. I convince myself to move forward and swallow any emotions that might get stirred. I don't lay down to be walked over, but I figured out today, that I don't fight either, instead I turn, leave, and don't ever look back.  After discovery of this inherent truth, I have to ask myself if I believe that this is an admirable quality, and at this point in time, I just don't know the answer.

One thing I do know is that over the last three years my life has been a bit unstable. I learned to walk away and I do it very well. I figured out how to be happy, and how to ignore the things I can not change. I learned to be unattached. I always expect my expectations to be completely wrong. In several ways it has made me a hell of a lot stronger. It's taught me to focus and to be independent.  In these types of situations though, it has chilled me to the core. I can feel it.  I had to teach myself to be the way I am today, but I can say with intense conviction that these behaviors have become habit. I'm just not sure if I will ever be one to commit, not after my life and definitely not after today.

saying goodbye

Travelling is exciting. Being out on your own, seeing new places, meeting new people, tasting new flavors, hearing new accents and languages, if you couldn't tell there is a pattern here, travelling is "out with the old and in with the new." That's why it is so attractive, that's why we love it, that's why we make sacrafices and do it.

I wouldn't lie, I was ready to step on that plane on July 9th. I knew I wouldn't miss Australia, my time there had come to an end, and I was going out with a bang. It was meant to be because for the first time ever by a very slim and unlikely chance, I got upgraded to business class.

Let's pause and view why this was such a significant event in my life. Well as you probably already know I am six feet tall or one hundred and eighty-four centimeters (however you want to look at it) so flying coach is, to put it nicely, absolute agony. I sit cramped, figiting, re-adjusting, and restless on every plane seat that has the daunting "Economy" label. I'm not afraid to fly, but I often hate it because of the lack of room issue. I almost always exit the plane with a tweaked neck and sore tailbone. So flying isn't scary, its just insanely uncomfortable.

Business Class is luxery. "May I bring you a moist towlette Ms. Denaro?" a moist towelette, seriously? Yes please!! As if I could ever afford to fly business class, (one day after I become a famous writer...I'm very good at dreaming.) but being upgraded doesn't cost a thing. The odds of that actually happening are slim. The chance you get upgraded on a sixteen hour international flight are one in a million, and the only quote that comes to mind, "so your saying there's a chance!!" I was confused when they called my name to print me a new boarding pass, I was shocked to find out that I would not be sitting in coach on this particular day. No, on July 9, 2010 I flew the 7,500 miles from Brisbane, Australia to Los Angeles, California in complete comfort. I was saying goodbye Australia in Business Class style.

I was ready to leave. I wasn't going to miss it, but here I sit three weeks later, unsure if July 9th will really be my final australian goodbye. If I am honest, I miss Australian accents, I miss their attitude, I miss the quarkiness down under, and I really miss my friends. Only three weeks later Australia feels a million years away. The only thing that time warps me back is this funny program known as Skype. All the sudden I can hear and see everything that goes on in my former country of residence and I long to be there, to smell it, to taste it, to feel it. On July 9th I was sure I would not go back, at least not for a long while, on July 29th I'm not so sure how that will actually pan out.

The next year of my life is basically planned out, go to France and get paid to play water polo, awesome and exciting life. I know better than anyone the length of one year. When everything is new, a year feels both extremely long, and unfathomably short all at the same time. At the end of the year though, when I left the lovable country down under I convinced myself that I was ready to leave for good. Bon Voyage Australia, I'm off on a new adventure. Three weeks after my concrete goodbye, I'm looking back and wondering what significant event will bring me back there again...

Writing my life away...

I have a theory that people who talk a lot make the very best book writers. If I dug up every single report card, from each teacher I had in elementary school, they would all have one thing in common, and it had nothing to do with my grades. No, the noticeably similar attribute on each academic report would sit there looming in the citizenship column, “Hard worker, but talks excessively,” or “Talking interferes with progress,” or “Very talkative.” In school, talking was always a negative thing. So when I got older, I was self conscious about my habit, but did that minimize my gab? Apparently not. In college, I was nicknamed motor mouth and people often commented on my voice volume. By the time I was finished, I had accepted my talkativeness as a stubborn quality that was never going to change, I don’t think it was something that I quite loved about myself though, it just was kind of the way it was. While travelling, people continued to make comments about the amount of words that would spill out of my mouth, but something changed. In countries outside of the United States, people blamed my trait on being American; I refused to accept that as the truth. In fact, when I was told that I was talkative because I was American, I would defend my mannerism as a unique quality. I decided that having a lot to say was a gift to be cherished; the characteristic that everyone viewed as “the worst feature a person could possibly have,” was going to be the very thing that made me great.


In Australia, I wrote an entire book in one month. It hasn’t been published or edited, but I still wrote a book in thirty days. So at 25 years old, I have written a book, and whether or not it ever makes a single dollar, that’s already a huge accomplishment. Even though I grew up being the most talkative person I had ever encountered, I’m quite positive that there are many others in the world who could gab up a storm, so being talkative becomes nothing special. But if you took every individual who told long winded stories and asked how they made that attribute work for them, I don’t think many could answer, “I wrote a book by the time I was 25, and by the time I turn 26 I plan to have three done.” Please notice that I am not promising greatness, there is absolutely no guarantee that any person on the face of this planet will read one of my books, let alone pay money to buy it. But I wouldn’t let that stop me from writing them in a million years.

I’d say I’ve lived an unplanned life, sometimes it’s messy, and others it is exciting. I can declare with the deepest conviction though, that I am grateful for the way my life has turned out so far and I am interested to see where it goes from here. I know I want to write, so while I get to work on my second book, I’ll write all sorts of other nonsense here.

How do I know when I'm ready?

For a mountain climber, Everest is the toughest that it gets. A traveler should be satisfied once they have visited each and every country on all seven continents. A designer feels accomplished if they have received countless reaffirming reviews on the red carpet. A writer, just like the others, strives to be published in the ever daunting “New Yorker”. This is the best that it gets; it’s the top, and based on our nature, we will do everything it takes to get there.


They tell you there is a process, they say you shouldn’t do it unless you are ready, but come on, what does “ready” really mean? If you are a mountain climber, you can train everyday for seven hours; as a traveler you can read several books; a designer can draw and sew until a dress is produced; a writer can write. At the end of the day though, no matter the amount of time you have spent preparing, Everest is still the tallest mountain, traveling is fearfully unfamiliar, and dresses can only be reviewed if you are willing to put them on the red carpet. For me, I could write a thousand and one pages, but the New Yorker will defiantly never publish my work unless I hit the submit button at the bottom of my screen. The question still remains though, “Am I ready?”

I have researched the topic; “Am I ready to publish?” and I feel like Google has failed at giving me a sufficient answer. Each page that comes up as a search result offers the same advice, “Don’t publish until you are ready,” thanks a lot Google; apparently I am right back where I started. My Everest, if you haven’t figured out, is writing, yours might be college, or a promotion, maybe it’s a complete career change, but before we actually decide to step out into the unknown, we all question whether we are equipped to make successful decisions. The fact of the matter is, change is scary, rejection is terrifying, and failure, well I’m just not quite sure if there is a single sole on the entirety of this planet who attempts with the intent to fall face first in the mud. If I’m truthful though, in my experience, most people don’t get it right the first time around or the second or the twenty-eighth. Isn’t that motivating?

I met a boy while traveling in Australia, he commented on my “overzealous” willingness to ask questions, he also complained about how the world is always in my favor. First of all the universe or world or whatever force that is out there is not really in anyone’s individual support, but if you are keen to ask, you automatically increase your chances of getting what you want by fifty percent. I like those odds so I open my mouth, I act.

Let’s not forget though, that I am also fifty percent more likely to get rejected straight to my face, to be told “no”, to be brushed off as inexperienced, and to be informed that I in fact am not, and will never be, quite good enough. I smile, say thank you, and continue doing whatever it is that I love. I practice, I write books and articles, I submit my work, I ask, and I repeat the damn process until I am successful. I fake it ‘til I make it, as they say, and I stop worrying about whether or not I am ready.

This year, wait let me rephrase, this June I wrote a book, cover to cover in thirty days. Was I ready? Well, according to the research I did on Google, hell no!! I had never written a book before. I wasn’t an English major at Harvard University. I had not attended workshops or night classes. To be honest, I hadn’t even researched it on Google (I did that after I finished). I didn’t know if it was inappropriate to write a book on a ten inch computer. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to sit at a café for eight hours in a row and create twenty-five pages of nonsense. I didn’t do an outline. I had no idea about style and I broke almost every English grammar rule that exists in the written record of language. I fully accepted the possibility, NO wait, the probability that there was a very slim chance that outside of my family, no one would ever actually read the words I put on paper. I never thought for one moment that I would be paid a single dime for the hours that I spent; I haven’t made any money for writing anything at all, ever in my entire life. But this June I wrote a book, so I guess the rest of it doesn’t really matter, not in the end anyway.

Today I’m writing three measly pages, comparatively to a two hundred and fifty-nine page memoir, three is insignificant, unsuccessful, and pointless. Why bother waste my time? This isn’t really a short fictional story, it doesn’t exactly follow nor break any rules, and there is the always the gloomy and looming likelihood that these three pages could possibly be the absolute worst grouping of words ever transcribed in the history of mankind, however here I am putting fingertip to keyboard at the young inexperienced age of twenty-five, with the direct intention to get published by the New Yorker, yeah I admit, I’ve got huge dreams and they are probably insanely premature.

That said though, who really wants to sit at a dead end job, making cold calls from nine to five, and bringing home two thousand dollars a month? I know I don’t, actually, I won’t. Unfortunately, if you look at a majority of Americans, the growing half is slowly convincing themselves that dead end is exactly what they deserve; that grey “really brings out the color in their eyes”; that those few extra pounds around the middle does not really negatively affect their health.

I have been out of the country for the past two years, defying all odds and traveling the world. I didn’t save a single penny before I left. Needless to say, I have worked some interesting gigs just so I could eat barely enough to survive, but when you constantly have to think on your feet, you end up getting really creative; colors aren’t scary anymore and change becomes exciting, exhilarating, and preferred. Being away though, in a weird way, always brings you back, and coming home becomes just as thrilling as leaving for the very first time. In July of 2010, I flew the 7,500 miles from Sydney, Australia to Los Angeles, California and noticed my once vibrant home country is currently very drab and grey.

There are however hidden splashes of vivaciousness in the slightest yet most eager comments. There is a definite lack of much needed laughter, but if I am enthusiastic about sharing my dreams, I have noticed that the wealth created is contagious. The dormant flowers bloom as if the first spring has finally sprung, and a once dull room with no ambition becomes lively and vigorous in a matter of seconds. So I pause in that moment and breathe it in, it smells as fresh as rain, it looks like a perfect summer day on the beachside cliffs of Malibu, it feels like love at first sight, and I am hooked, addicted from the very first taste. Their dreams give me confidence that I will surely achieve my own and the colors that rush into the room spill over onto the street where I live. They rush towards the next town and break through the thousand different shades of black. It travels at the speed of light. The abundance of energy seeping out of one dream is enough to fill a thousand souls with hope, drive, and motivation.

It is so effervescent, that it swallows the worry to fail in a full embrace of the process. One dream brings life, if a person is bold enough to step out and scream, “Today, against all odds, I am ready to conquer Everest.” His cries will be heard by the yearning traveler who decides to stop reading and buy his first plane ticket to everywhere. That ticket stub will fall in the lap of the designer who finally agrees to shout out that her designs would be perfect for Cameron Diaz to wear on the red carpet at the Emmy’s and that dress will be the inspiration to write an Earth-shattering article for the New Yorker; a story to reach the world, to arouse each individual to pursue their dreams, even if Google says they will absolutely never be ready. One cry will induce the domino effect to instigate profound change.

So I choose to kick and scream. I will pour every inch that I have into a very concise three pages. I will encourage you with all of my being to convince the world that you alone are ready to achieve greatness because inspiring your dreams makes me confident in my own. There is always the possibility that I am not ready, but I run towards my dreams as fast as I can anyway, I hold my breath to retrieve my desires from the deepest trenches of the Indian Ocean; I travel on planes and trains, in cars and buses. I shout with the deepest conviction along the way, I recite my wishes out loud, I write them on napkins and other scraps of paper. I polish, I type, I close my eyes and then, I press submit. I take a deep breath and smile. I don’t regret or look back for even just a moment. I never stop to question whether or not I am ready because maybe, just this once, the World is ready for me.

a bit intimidating...

so last week i was at the beach and met a new duo of lifeguards. Really I don't do very much in Australia...I just spend all my time in the water and Im loving it. But it leaves a lot of down time, so i spend it at the beach. I live with one of the lifeguards...Russall, who is awesome. Just love him to death. Ive lived with him now for a month and a half and just found out hes a 3 time world champion Surf Life Saving Competitor. Not only that but a more than decent guy. I really enjoy living with him...awesome times.

Next ill list my ex flatmate, who to say is a world traveller wouldnt really do it justice. He spent 2 years traveling around africa with a tent strapped to his back...puts a new meaning to the term backpacking right!! always good for a great conversation or a laugh...i think i got to liking him a little too much in the beginning but all is well now and I really enjoy spending some good times with him.

My flatmate Tessa. Homegrown from Amsterdam the Netherlands and shes got the mouth to prove it. Although outspoken she is a halarious girl, not afraid to cut straight into it and lay it all out on the table. I think crazy is an understatement but she is a great girl and I love hanging out and having girl time.

Megan. Introductions thanks to Carl Hayward, she is a top notch gal. Super successful, this girl is quiet spoken and well mannered but a doll to be around. Her boyfriend Nick is a cool guy as well, and we've all spent some time discusing american politics and why the system is so terrible...Probably my closest girl friend here in Australia. We have girl's night at least once a week...thank goodness for that. Shes the opposite of me being a little more quiet but a life long friend nonetheless.

Jess and Ugo my two flatemates downstairs. Ugo is not really worth mentioning except that we got off on the wrong foot from the beginning and I don't know much except that I make fun of his french accent on a regular basis...there is no way you can live in an english speaking country for over two years and still pronounce things so wrong...i know im mean but its so true. And Jess well she is such a gem! Gorgeous to boot with a closet full of all the clothes I never had. She funds my saturday night outfits as my wardrobe is running dry after a long year of travelling.

James "the lifeguard". We went for a paddle together last week during his lunch break and have great conversations...as I said I dont do much so i talk to the lifeguards when I get bored...passes my time and theirs in a bit more interesting way than sitting alone and bored at the beach. Well it turns out he is a world renowned big wave surfer and stand up paddle boarder....lets just say there is no way he was paddling to his capability when he went on the broad water with me...and I feel a little stupid knowing were supposed to get together and paddle tomorrow...

B+Rad...reffering to me with out fail as the fuckin american this kid is a crack up. Hes the closest to an older brother that it gets here...always naggin and given me a hard time. Hes got a soft side though being one of the most encouraging people on my first long paddle ever. Shh dont tell though, it could be shattering to his bad boy reputation...

Onika...this one Ive kinda taken under my wing as the younger sister. Shes only lived on the Gold Coast for 8 months and is kind of at that weird age, 15. She is always invited to girls night with Megan and I...and just learning to survive amoungst the rest of the crew at the Surf Club.

Rory Duggan...my first link to Australia and worth noting. He put me up and introduced me to this whole crew down at the Southport Surf Club. A genuine guy with all the best intentions, Im so glad we met in Bali as this adventure is proving to be a life changing one. The people here are absolutely amazing and this will be a year to enjoy and remember.