Last Sunday I attended a womens' workshop at B. Yoga. The theme was "womens' power through yoga" and I didn't know exactly what to expect. To attend was awkward from the beginning, as I realized getting dressed Sunday morning. I have always imagined events with titles like "womens' power through yoga" to be the stomping grounds of amazonian feminists and a few emotionally inept wusses. That's a pretty ballsey judgement, coming from a person who has barely stepped into adulthood biologically...Admitting my initial contempt for the workshop seemed like the first step of something changing in my view of women, myself, or something, and I left for the workshop excited to explore more.
The first thing we did was sit in a circle, holding hands and recieving energy from the left while passing it to the right. To my surprise, I wasn't judgemental of it at all, and felt very comfortable. We talked a little about our concepts of femininity and masculinity and then began to practice yoga together, about 25 of us. We did the entire asana practice, an hour and a half, and returned to our circle. When D. asked us questions about our own very personal responses to issues, and to the mediation we all took part in for 5 minutes, I was shocked at how many identical phrases there were. For example, we practiced entering our masculine half (the right side of the body) with our breathing and awareness and then compared it to our left half, the feminine. In myself I could feel a serious difference, and I haven't been in the past a person who admits to the possibility of anything less than scientific. Still, many of the women said they felt a perfect balance, and this really seems to be either simplification or denial; who is perfectly balanced??
As we continued discussing the subjects that arose-mostly self-consciousness, self-doubt, and the constant, subtle struggle of all women stuck in a male-oriented society-I felt a weird conflict with my emotions and responses. A lot of the things the women said made me a little angry, annoyed. When I spoke, no one looked me in the eye, and as the youngest person present I felt resented by the other women just for the fact of my age. I am not sure at all if that was my own insecurity about it creeping into the situation or if there was really something being directed at me. Something in between i guess, but I couldn't relax and my voice was shaking when I finally said simply that it was very hard for me to be in just a group of women, discussing women. "And that discomfort," I stuttered, "really freaks me out. Why am I so uncomfortable facing my gender and myself? Why is it that I am more comfortable practicing yoga in a group of men and women than just women? I feel there is a connection to femininity in my life that is really lacking, andI am a little surprised that I never noticed it..." Still, no one responded, and I finished the workshop confused and withdrawn.
Two days ago, after missing a few classes, I had a really fantastic silent class with D. and another woman whose name I spaced. After I asked D. if she had something I could read following the subjects we'd discussed in the workshop. She immediately gave me Yogini: the Power of Women in Yoga. The past few days I have almost finished it, and last night I woke up suddenly after falling asleep late reading a chapter about a woman who abandoned traditional yoga to find her own feminine practice. I sat straight up with words already running through my head, and I started writing and writing in my journal the whole series of my life based on my ideas about my gender. I couldn't even verbalize, I just let eveything come out in one long jumbled chain starting with "My earliest memories about gender were of wanting to be a boy," and ending with the most recent, "I was pissed at all the women at the womens' workshop and I felt like they were pissed at me. I don't like that women are ever critical of other women."
In between, a bulleted list appearedthat seemed more clearly informed of my feelings than I have ever felt. All my fluctuations, from ardent tomboy to cantankerous feminist, and all the things I've never admitted I felt.
I felt a little weird at 4 in the morning with a scrawled list of emotions in my hand, but I know that something like it is inside probably every woman (and man). Where are we as a culture (and what culture am I claiming? Is america to blame or is the western world altogether?) if women are so confused about being women that they can't comfortably open up to each other in the saftely of an environment they share almost every day (i.e. B.Yoga)? After thinking about it all day, I am so foggy in my convictions I can't exactly write what I want to about it, but tomorrow I want to give you the whole spiel.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Living off my hike.
(pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/31736054@N04/ )
I really am, too. a couple of weeks ago (is it 2 now? Wow, that was fast) 6 of us made our way to Andeer, a village high in the Alps. Daniel's grandmother lives there in a house that was in her husbands family for generations. The village could easily be one from one or two hundred years ago, minus a few electric signs in shop windows-the buildings lean and slope towards each other, and a few are covered in the traditional art of the region; frescoes, mostly black and white, in a style I might have mistaken for Italian if I hadn't known better than to step on Swiss culture's toes. We spent all of Saturday seeing the village-the river, the old covered bridge and attached forwarning (going faster than a walking pace over this bridge will result in a 5 franc fine), the church with it's steeply tiered garden-and the small bakery, butcher shop, and dairy store, for food.
As I couldn't eat the bread or the cheese, the fondue was out for me, but I sauteed some veggies and stuck my tongue out as everyone slurped hot cheese. I was the first to go to sleep, followed by Maya, too sick to hike with us the next day, and it felt like being a little kid to sleep in the quiet, dark wooden guest house, which reminded me so much of my first home.
Sunday morning we were cold and red-eyed, out in the autumn air before the sun and on our way up. And up. It was 3 hours before we reached the first plateau, the site of a little lake filled with bugs of all kinds and surrounded by eerie, huge rocks. We continued to a meadow further on, where 2 of us (michael and Kati) went down and Freddy, Daniel and I contemplated our route.
"I'm just going to be honest you guys," I said, "I don't know if I can make it UP that thing." The thing in question was the massive rise behind us, a near-vertical rocky, tree-studded climb. Freddy, a friend I met through couchsurfing a few weeks ago, shrugged,
"Well, I don't really care, it's been gorgeous just to here, so I'm content." Dainel nodded,
"Yeah, either way. It would be nice to see the top, but..." And it was so obviously a "but nothing" that I grinned and interjected.
"Ok fine, we're going." and we did. We started by descending for a moment to a lower lake, then retracing our path halfway back and cutting onto a steeper trail headed for the peak. I led, the designated pace-keeper as the only one with doubts. Minutes into the trail I was beathing heavily, but feeling just as heavily stubborn, and I pushed myself to envision my legs as something apart from the rest of me; ideally something I couldn't feel, as my muscles were starting to burn and twitch more with every heave up the rocks. I finally stopped to rest and lifted my eyes from my feet. Woah! We were already a good portion of the way up, and even tired, it was heartening to see the view open behind us with new clarity of the facing mountains.
We made it up so quickly I was laughing at myself for having doubted anything, and when we rounded to the other side, it was a wholly different landscape-we were on a kind of plateau overlooking a deep blue lake and one of the old summer-farm-houses-turned-rented-chateau, where farmers once stayed while their cows grazed on the lush alp plants. To the right, a rise of boulders swept away the view of meadows beyond, and only some plants clung to the side of the mountain. It was stunning. The grass across the valley was a rainbow of greens, yellows, and even some browns, the autumn colors just starting to touch the sharp green tones of summer. Here and there, patches of early snow twinkled under the sun.
Ahhhhh, the Alps...It was suddenly easy to realize where I was on the globe and how bits of impressions I have had throughout my life have shaped the experience into something spectacular. A mountain is a mountain, but an alp is something magical and legendary, steeper than California's mountains, and mythical in it's hosting of such old, visible culture. Undoubtedly, the tribes that formed into what is now Switzerland walked along the same path that we just had, and brought animals and supplies to build homes at the spot we looked down on. For that matter, Daniel's ancestors probably did too. The fact that I come from a very 'young' (regarding my culture's influence there) country is so obvious when I am in an 'old' one!
We started down the opposite side with the sun hitting our shoulders in a pale yellow light, and by the time we had crossed the far meadow to find our trail, its last orange glow warmed our backs. We were giggly with exhaustion (ok, I speak for myself here) and reayd to eat again. My sweat was drying but the wind felt colder as it blew my damp shirt against my skin.
For a moment, at the top, I had imagined living here-I knew that you can work, like people have for centuries, as a summer caretaker and maintain the herds of all the farmer's cows on one alp. I had imagined this lifestyle with its difficulties and it's long, quiet pride, and felt so envious of the people who do it. the thought of Returning to Basel for work was distant and dull, and it became even moreso as we neared the alp house built by Daniel's ancestors, a rock-roofed shack with a barn triple its size, overlooking the deep blue gulf the valley had faded into.
Looking over the valley, I thought of my dad, and his way of looking at nature with a very light, calm energy. I had to smile as I pictured him there with me, standing and quietly grinning at the pure fantasy of how gorgeous the natural world can be-I gave myself an internal reminder that such beauty is everywhere, and not to downplay the importance of little beautiful things just because they are not as overwhelming.
We sat, talked, and split the last of the chocolate, savoring the evening and drawing it out as long as possible. When we finally started the last climb down, I realized I wasn't envious of the lifestyle after all, just glad to share a little of a feeling that all the people who have ever climbed a mountain have felt. It was such a breath of fresh, living air into a cyclical schedule of week and weekend, work and rest. And, as every time I have hiked until sunset, I was ready to descend and find my week.
For the past two weeks I've nursed along all my little sensations of the hike to remind me that the possibility to feel that freedom is always there. With the seasons changing, days shortening, and the undeniable approach of winter visible everywhere, I often find myself in conflict iwth my surroundings, wishing for a warmer day, a brighter sun, a longer evening. Somehow it's easier to see the changes for what they are from on top of an alp: part of a cycle that I am deeply connected to. A system of exchange between life and death that is as necessary as breathing in and out, and as gratifying. It is was sustains us, this exchange, and what makes my week worth returning to. Because at the end of any season, there is another, and at the end of any work week there is a mountain to be climbed :)
As always, I am left cheesily in love with being outside. Speaking of which, gotta get out there now!
I really am, too. a couple of weeks ago (is it 2 now? Wow, that was fast) 6 of us made our way to Andeer, a village high in the Alps. Daniel's grandmother lives there in a house that was in her husbands family for generations. The village could easily be one from one or two hundred years ago, minus a few electric signs in shop windows-the buildings lean and slope towards each other, and a few are covered in the traditional art of the region; frescoes, mostly black and white, in a style I might have mistaken for Italian if I hadn't known better than to step on Swiss culture's toes. We spent all of Saturday seeing the village-the river, the old covered bridge and attached forwarning (going faster than a walking pace over this bridge will result in a 5 franc fine), the church with it's steeply tiered garden-and the small bakery, butcher shop, and dairy store, for food.
As I couldn't eat the bread or the cheese, the fondue was out for me, but I sauteed some veggies and stuck my tongue out as everyone slurped hot cheese. I was the first to go to sleep, followed by Maya, too sick to hike with us the next day, and it felt like being a little kid to sleep in the quiet, dark wooden guest house, which reminded me so much of my first home.
Sunday morning we were cold and red-eyed, out in the autumn air before the sun and on our way up. And up. It was 3 hours before we reached the first plateau, the site of a little lake filled with bugs of all kinds and surrounded by eerie, huge rocks. We continued to a meadow further on, where 2 of us (michael and Kati) went down and Freddy, Daniel and I contemplated our route.
"I'm just going to be honest you guys," I said, "I don't know if I can make it UP that thing." The thing in question was the massive rise behind us, a near-vertical rocky, tree-studded climb. Freddy, a friend I met through couchsurfing a few weeks ago, shrugged,
"Well, I don't really care, it's been gorgeous just to here, so I'm content." Dainel nodded,
"Yeah, either way. It would be nice to see the top, but..." And it was so obviously a "but nothing" that I grinned and interjected.
"Ok fine, we're going." and we did. We started by descending for a moment to a lower lake, then retracing our path halfway back and cutting onto a steeper trail headed for the peak. I led, the designated pace-keeper as the only one with doubts. Minutes into the trail I was beathing heavily, but feeling just as heavily stubborn, and I pushed myself to envision my legs as something apart from the rest of me; ideally something I couldn't feel, as my muscles were starting to burn and twitch more with every heave up the rocks. I finally stopped to rest and lifted my eyes from my feet. Woah! We were already a good portion of the way up, and even tired, it was heartening to see the view open behind us with new clarity of the facing mountains.
We made it up so quickly I was laughing at myself for having doubted anything, and when we rounded to the other side, it was a wholly different landscape-we were on a kind of plateau overlooking a deep blue lake and one of the old summer-farm-houses-turned-rented-chateau, where farmers once stayed while their cows grazed on the lush alp plants. To the right, a rise of boulders swept away the view of meadows beyond, and only some plants clung to the side of the mountain. It was stunning. The grass across the valley was a rainbow of greens, yellows, and even some browns, the autumn colors just starting to touch the sharp green tones of summer. Here and there, patches of early snow twinkled under the sun.
Ahhhhh, the Alps...It was suddenly easy to realize where I was on the globe and how bits of impressions I have had throughout my life have shaped the experience into something spectacular. A mountain is a mountain, but an alp is something magical and legendary, steeper than California's mountains, and mythical in it's hosting of such old, visible culture. Undoubtedly, the tribes that formed into what is now Switzerland walked along the same path that we just had, and brought animals and supplies to build homes at the spot we looked down on. For that matter, Daniel's ancestors probably did too. The fact that I come from a very 'young' (regarding my culture's influence there) country is so obvious when I am in an 'old' one!
We started down the opposite side with the sun hitting our shoulders in a pale yellow light, and by the time we had crossed the far meadow to find our trail, its last orange glow warmed our backs. We were giggly with exhaustion (ok, I speak for myself here) and reayd to eat again. My sweat was drying but the wind felt colder as it blew my damp shirt against my skin.
For a moment, at the top, I had imagined living here-I knew that you can work, like people have for centuries, as a summer caretaker and maintain the herds of all the farmer's cows on one alp. I had imagined this lifestyle with its difficulties and it's long, quiet pride, and felt so envious of the people who do it. the thought of Returning to Basel for work was distant and dull, and it became even moreso as we neared the alp house built by Daniel's ancestors, a rock-roofed shack with a barn triple its size, overlooking the deep blue gulf the valley had faded into.
Looking over the valley, I thought of my dad, and his way of looking at nature with a very light, calm energy. I had to smile as I pictured him there with me, standing and quietly grinning at the pure fantasy of how gorgeous the natural world can be-I gave myself an internal reminder that such beauty is everywhere, and not to downplay the importance of little beautiful things just because they are not as overwhelming.
We sat, talked, and split the last of the chocolate, savoring the evening and drawing it out as long as possible. When we finally started the last climb down, I realized I wasn't envious of the lifestyle after all, just glad to share a little of a feeling that all the people who have ever climbed a mountain have felt. It was such a breath of fresh, living air into a cyclical schedule of week and weekend, work and rest. And, as every time I have hiked until sunset, I was ready to descend and find my week.
For the past two weeks I've nursed along all my little sensations of the hike to remind me that the possibility to feel that freedom is always there. With the seasons changing, days shortening, and the undeniable approach of winter visible everywhere, I often find myself in conflict iwth my surroundings, wishing for a warmer day, a brighter sun, a longer evening. Somehow it's easier to see the changes for what they are from on top of an alp: part of a cycle that I am deeply connected to. A system of exchange between life and death that is as necessary as breathing in and out, and as gratifying. It is was sustains us, this exchange, and what makes my week worth returning to. Because at the end of any season, there is another, and at the end of any work week there is a mountain to be climbed :)
As always, I am left cheesily in love with being outside. Speaking of which, gotta get out there now!
Sunday, October 5, 2008
And Then the Coffee Hit.
It was like a massive, brown tornado had swept through the creamy tiled landscape. The 3 survivors of the disaster were sitting, like shell-shocked soldiers of war, in a, wide-eyed, ground-encrusted stupor, and I hesitated before venturing a soft, "Oh. My. god." Maya turned and responded first;
"Dani forgot to put the second filter in the percolater." Sure enough, the red flush of fear was enhanced by the certain sheen of embarrassment on Daniel's grimacing face. Best homecoming ever.
"Dani forgot to put the second filter in the percolater." Sure enough, the red flush of fear was enhanced by the certain sheen of embarrassment on Daniel's grimacing face. Best homecoming ever.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
A Long Haul
I thought that by bull-heading my way through Monday I could manage a graceful week, but no, Tuesday is reminding me that what you need sometimes is just rest. So, I'm puttering and doing domestic things, as I am pretty sure that the next 2 weeks are going to be hectic as hell (in a good way) with Maya coming and all the things I want to get done...
Why am I so tired today? Oh, right.
This weekend there was a concert at my yoga studio, with a Californian (dave stringer) doing kirtan chants which we followed in call and response. The chants are Sanskrit songs created to teach little lessons, and it was pretty cool. Each one went on for about 15, 20, maybe more minutes, and by the end, what had started out as so slow and soothing was a stomping, dancing, clapping, singing mess of sweaty yoga-nerds. It went on for about 3 hours, whew! So nice!
Then I went to Barbara's going-away party, where she had made me gluten-free berliners (jelly-filled donuts) and we all danced and sang for the rest of the night. Daniel was there in east-Germany regalia, full 80's suit and tie, and we all drank a good amount of champagne and wine. Which why, perhaps, Daniel succumbed when I bargained for him to stay the night in Basel; "I'll help you tomorrow with the cows, don't worry about it..." (He was watching the farm for his parents that weekend).
This is how, after not NEARLY enough sleep, I went to Oensingen with Daniel at 5:30 AM to milk and feed the cows, hung over and half-frozen from the bike ride to the car. I took over feeding the cows the milk that daniel milked from the others. the littlest ones are easy, you just give them the bucket and make sure they don't knock it over. Then Daniel grinned and motioned ot the final group, the biggest 'young' cows, outside in a little fenced off area by the barn. I figured that the best way to feed them was all at once, so they wouldn't compete too much, and I climbed in to the muddy field with them, proferring buckets of lapping, warm milk. It seemed impractially difficult, and just as I thought I should probably figure out a better technique, the little bull who had been hassling me and the other cows ran straight under my legs from behind, launched me like a wilted corn husk and dropped me with a graceful "schlooop" in the mud-and manure.
Still, it was a great morning, bumping reggae in the barn and dancing around the cows slopping milk, with little feral barn-kittens mewling in the hay.
The fun of playing in the mud wore off about an hour later as the real hang-over and exhaustion set in. We cooked a slow, garden-picked feast, giggled at ridiculous Bavarian pop on TV, and went to sleep for hours. When we woke up, the Sunday feeling had officially taken over, and I was pissy and bored. The village suddenly felt cloying and stagnant, stuck all over me like a still, sticky mess. It was like a triathalon of running, train-changing, and stair-climbing to make it home, and when I did, I was thoroughly ready for a coma. Which is what I fell into as soon as my head found something horizontal.
Why am I so tired today? Oh, right.
This weekend there was a concert at my yoga studio, with a Californian (dave stringer) doing kirtan chants which we followed in call and response. The chants are Sanskrit songs created to teach little lessons, and it was pretty cool. Each one went on for about 15, 20, maybe more minutes, and by the end, what had started out as so slow and soothing was a stomping, dancing, clapping, singing mess of sweaty yoga-nerds. It went on for about 3 hours, whew! So nice!
Then I went to Barbara's going-away party, where she had made me gluten-free berliners (jelly-filled donuts) and we all danced and sang for the rest of the night. Daniel was there in east-Germany regalia, full 80's suit and tie, and we all drank a good amount of champagne and wine. Which why, perhaps, Daniel succumbed when I bargained for him to stay the night in Basel; "I'll help you tomorrow with the cows, don't worry about it..." (He was watching the farm for his parents that weekend).
This is how, after not NEARLY enough sleep, I went to Oensingen with Daniel at 5:30 AM to milk and feed the cows, hung over and half-frozen from the bike ride to the car. I took over feeding the cows the milk that daniel milked from the others. the littlest ones are easy, you just give them the bucket and make sure they don't knock it over. Then Daniel grinned and motioned ot the final group, the biggest 'young' cows, outside in a little fenced off area by the barn. I figured that the best way to feed them was all at once, so they wouldn't compete too much, and I climbed in to the muddy field with them, proferring buckets of lapping, warm milk. It seemed impractially difficult, and just as I thought I should probably figure out a better technique, the little bull who had been hassling me and the other cows ran straight under my legs from behind, launched me like a wilted corn husk and dropped me with a graceful "schlooop" in the mud-and manure.
Still, it was a great morning, bumping reggae in the barn and dancing around the cows slopping milk, with little feral barn-kittens mewling in the hay.
The fun of playing in the mud wore off about an hour later as the real hang-over and exhaustion set in. We cooked a slow, garden-picked feast, giggled at ridiculous Bavarian pop on TV, and went to sleep for hours. When we woke up, the Sunday feeling had officially taken over, and I was pissy and bored. The village suddenly felt cloying and stagnant, stuck all over me like a still, sticky mess. It was like a triathalon of running, train-changing, and stair-climbing to make it home, and when I did, I was thoroughly ready for a coma. Which is what I fell into as soon as my head found something horizontal.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Weekend!
Finallllllllyyyyy.......this week was a long one. I started with my normal yoga routine and work, and somehow managed to build a small, 5-day social empire, including 1 night out with friends, 2 nights cooking dinner for friends, a modern-dance class (/potential employment opportunity...more babysitting!), a movie night, and NOT enough sleep! Last night, all was remedied with a good solid 9 hours. Ahhhhhhhhhh.........
This week is the first I feel a little like myself in all these new situations. Even in moments of extreme unease, I could just suck it up a little bit and let it go. for example, the other night I had my first class of observing 'adjustments' in class while my teacher helped people with poses. This is something I love about her classes-that she quietly helps you to find a small glitch in alignment while seeming to be barely there. Obviously, I would love to learn this technique. NOT as easy as one suspects! In fact, this peaceful, calming presence is given off by someone who is almost racing around the room (unbeknownst to the students, who are deepbreathing and focusing elsewhere) hoping to catch the right moment to throw in a soothing touch. I felt slightly panicked and embarrassed to be so confused, but i just kept reminding myself that this is what i'm here to learn. CHILL Erin...
My teacher (ah yes, she does have a name, but let's call her D.) and I both decided that it's better if I focus on my own practice for a while before I do something like that again. I just have no idea what poses really look like from the outside, so it's almost impossible for me to help a stranger with one.
So, now I will be practicing 4-5 times a week, in addition to reading and meeting with D. to talk once a week. Ahhhh, to be doing things again! It feels so great!
Speaking of doing things, today there are a whole slough. there is a concert tonight in the studio, a guy from california in fact, who does yogi-style call and resposnse and some psychedelic stuff. he's playing while we have class for an hour and a half and then giving a concert after with chanting, singing, and 2 musicians. I am going around 12 to help M. (my other teacher) set up the stage and lights, and generally prettify the place. Then, after the class and the concert, I am going to Barbara's going away party. She and Eve have set about making about 500 berliners (like jelly-filled donuts) in every flavor and variety to celebrate her move to Berlin next week. finally, there is the monthly Basel CS meeting tonight, which I am supposed to somehow squeeze in after munching gluten-free berliners...
whatever, my day doesn't start til 12, so I'm reading for the next 3 hours ;)
This week is the first I feel a little like myself in all these new situations. Even in moments of extreme unease, I could just suck it up a little bit and let it go. for example, the other night I had my first class of observing 'adjustments' in class while my teacher helped people with poses. This is something I love about her classes-that she quietly helps you to find a small glitch in alignment while seeming to be barely there. Obviously, I would love to learn this technique. NOT as easy as one suspects! In fact, this peaceful, calming presence is given off by someone who is almost racing around the room (unbeknownst to the students, who are deepbreathing and focusing elsewhere) hoping to catch the right moment to throw in a soothing touch. I felt slightly panicked and embarrassed to be so confused, but i just kept reminding myself that this is what i'm here to learn. CHILL Erin...
My teacher (ah yes, she does have a name, but let's call her D.) and I both decided that it's better if I focus on my own practice for a while before I do something like that again. I just have no idea what poses really look like from the outside, so it's almost impossible for me to help a stranger with one.
So, now I will be practicing 4-5 times a week, in addition to reading and meeting with D. to talk once a week. Ahhhh, to be doing things again! It feels so great!
Speaking of doing things, today there are a whole slough. there is a concert tonight in the studio, a guy from california in fact, who does yogi-style call and resposnse and some psychedelic stuff. he's playing while we have class for an hour and a half and then giving a concert after with chanting, singing, and 2 musicians. I am going around 12 to help M. (my other teacher) set up the stage and lights, and generally prettify the place. Then, after the class and the concert, I am going to Barbara's going away party. She and Eve have set about making about 500 berliners (like jelly-filled donuts) in every flavor and variety to celebrate her move to Berlin next week. finally, there is the monthly Basel CS meeting tonight, which I am supposed to somehow squeeze in after munching gluten-free berliners...
whatever, my day doesn't start til 12, so I'm reading for the next 3 hours ;)
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Hello World
This is probably the easiest that finding out about a life will ever get. I've always shirked blogs as an unnecessary burden, but it's finally time to just give in...they're useful as hell! so...
Almost 2 weeks ago I moved to Basel, Switzerland. I am living here on the top floor of an old house by the river with Eve, who is a musician, an artist, and an all-around badass. So far, I have no lamp. But since I arrived I have managed to acquire: a bed, 1 sheet, 1 blanket, 3 pillows, 1 shelf, and 2 wooden crates, which I'm fairly excited about the effects of-It's like I actually live here! After travelling for about 13 months in the past 16, I am really ready to be somewhere. For themomentI still have to have things like crates in a room to remind me that I am.
Tomorrow I start my second week of routine: I take a few yoga classes a week, read and write about some teaxts my teacher gives me, and babysit a wonderful five-year-old boy. For now, I'm going to sort out this room-having one is one matter. Maintaining it is another.
Salut!
Almost 2 weeks ago I moved to Basel, Switzerland. I am living here on the top floor of an old house by the river with Eve, who is a musician, an artist, and an all-around badass. So far, I have no lamp. But since I arrived I have managed to acquire: a bed, 1 sheet, 1 blanket, 3 pillows, 1 shelf, and 2 wooden crates, which I'm fairly excited about the effects of-It's like I actually live here! After travelling for about 13 months in the past 16, I am really ready to be somewhere. For themomentI still have to have things like crates in a room to remind me that I am.
Tomorrow I start my second week of routine: I take a few yoga classes a week, read and write about some teaxts my teacher gives me, and babysit a wonderful five-year-old boy. For now, I'm going to sort out this room-having one is one matter. Maintaining it is another.
Salut!
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