last week we stayed two nights at the house of worldly things. no, that is not its actual name — it is the name I’m giving it. I am sure there are countless houses like this in the world, but this one in particular is located in the Berkshires, deep inside the embrace of trees
when life and love are weighing me down, tango might make me feel worse. but sometimes it doesn’t. sometimes i’m lucky and it’s so good it’s like therapy.
the way i got over you was by pretending that you were in antarctica. it wasn’t my idea. a friend, seeing my pain one day over coffee, suggested it - and it was brilliant.
excerpted from a collection of essays I wrote in 2013 during my study abroad semester in Mongolia — exploring notions of mother and motherlands
tango was never about love. in tango, you’ll see the one you love dance all night with other women — their eyes closed, enveloped in him. in tango, you’ll close your eyes to try and imagine
Those chicken feathers blew like pillow feathers in the wind. Somewhere in Middle America — maybe it was Wisconsin, South Dakota, or Minnesota — somewhere in big sky country where the horizon didn’t end
she told me that the milonga felt like home and i thought — no way. no milonga could feel like home for me when even home takes effort to feel like home.
my little brother got a job at a bank last week, my brother - the one who picked his nose in the backseat, colored me pink ladybugs and begged me to please leave puberty
tell me about my country, and i’ll tell you about yours. you see, the problem is that when i close my eyes now, i can’t really remember.
My dreamer tries to forget that he’s being thrown into a category with thieves, rapists, and murderers.
we talk about our tango addiction and laugh. as if getting in the car at midnight to drive an hour to a milonga was something normal people did.
and now the two of us are crossing paths - as strangers, acquaintances, friends, lovers - whatever we are to each other, independent of name or form - and who knows, when our paths might cross again? life is mysterious like that.
a list of things I learned from my first six months of being a full time artist-business-human being. (well, all at the same time.)
finding more joy and purpose in social media. how can we reframe it, so that it adds to your life and wellbeing — rather than detracting from it?
how i got myself out of a dark cloud of anxiety, and created this metaphorical zen stone stack — a structure for what i need to live most vibrantly
ways of combating the feeling of “not enough” when you’re addicted to sweet taste of accomplishment
on the nature of carving a niche, serving our audience authentically, and building a “brand” for oneself.
how to build your life’s creative work, one day at a time. here’s my old tool - the pleasurable, daily discipline of Magic Hour
A fundamental skill in the hard discipline of caring for oneself is discerning the difference between false comfort and nourishment.
how to wake up early even when it’s winter and nobody’s forcing you to
how to sleep early despite being at the mercy of a self-imposed, flexible schedule, the creative muses, the tango gods, and a nocturnally inclined, musician boyfriend
This is my list of 13 nourishing practices I keep coming back to everyday and every week, no matter where I am on the emotional spectrum.
a review of my journey over the last 13 years: how i got here, and where i’m going