"For most of life, nothing wonderful happens. If you don’t enjoy getting up and working and finishing your work and sitting down to a meal with family or friends, then the chances are that you’re not going to be very happy. If someone bases his happiness or unhappiness on major events like a great new job, huge amounts of money, a flawlessly happy marriage or a trip to Paris, that person isn’t going to be happy much of the time. If, on the other hand, happiness depends on a good breakfast, flowers in the yard, a drink or a nap, then we are more likely to live with quite a bit of happiness."

  Andy Rooney

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         Friday morning, 9:08am. I'm sitting at my desk eating french toast with sliced strawberries and a few strips of bacon, hastily grabbed before I left the house. My walk to work this morning was drenched in the bright spring sunshine and dare I say I felt positive? 

         In an effort to keep my spirits up,  I've been meaning to start including three gratitudes in my nightly journal ritual. Because I keep forgetting to do so when the time comes, I will start here instead. Cliche as it may seem, actively chronicling things for which you are grateful has been shown to exponentially increase positivity (along with meditation, exercise, random acts of kindness--there is a fascinating science behind happiness). Lately it has become so easy for me to focus on all the things I long for, wishing this season away in a self-made miserable fog. Staying positive takes more work in the in-betweens and routines. There are some things that we as humans wish for so badly that it almost seems good and right and rational to let ourselves dwell in sadness while we wait for those things to come to fruition. I am guilty of this as much as anybody. So, a compilation of good things both big and small:

1. Coming up with ideas for photographic projects, actively pursuing them, and seeing all the hard work pay off in the form of a cohesive set of prints that I'm proud of. 

2. Similarly, my work being accepted and shown in a juried art exhibition at my university

3. Mornings waking up feeling refreshed, light flooding through the eastern windows, pajama shorts and my favorite Alaska sweatshirt and birkenstocks, quiet coffee rituals, familial warmness

4. Professors that genuinely care about their students' success and being pushed by them in every way possible

5. The lightness, closeness, and peace after honest, hard but necessary discussions, and the knowledge that I am being given an opportunity to learn patience

6. Sunday mornings alone before church with Lord Huron and Gregory Alan Isakov and Eddie Vedder for light-hearted reminiscing of past adventures and adventures to come

7. Giving several presentations this month to a wide variety of people on missions and better ways to carry it out, a topic I am passionate about

8. On a similar note, the opportunity to return to Kenya next month as a communications intern (would be so grateful to have your support)

9. Reading my journal from two years ago and seeing how much I've grown and the relationships I've been blessed to have been given since then. I'm not sure why I continue to be surprised by the change a few years can bring about.

10. Editing the excess from my wardrobe and streamlining to just a handful of pieces that I love

11. Perfecting the homemade americano and fledgling freckles

12. Grace for myself, practicing self-discipline, prioritizing, and being okay with stepping back to allow myself some quietness and rest

       One of the blessings about being in a long-distance relationship is the opportunity for frequent travel. As much as I hate having to be away from Jacob, I love that I get to go on adventures to see him. Jacob recently took a new job in Colorado, so I flew up to Calgary over spring break to make the trek south with him. Being back on the road with him, it was hard to believe it's already been nine months since our last big trip together. Even when I was single, my mom stressed the importance of taking trips with a significant other to "test" the relationship. She was right (as always). As Jacob and I deal with road weariness and logistical concerns, the trials and joys of each trip together only seem to strengthen our relationship. This particular trip held some stressful late nights and grumpy (mostly on my part), cold, early mornings, but they were more than made up by dirt road explorations, howling winds heard from inside a cozy yurt, the perfection of the roadtrip sandwich (hummus and avocado are crucial, turns out), steamy hot tubs on frosty nights, copious coffee stops (some better than others), breathtaking scenery even from the interstate, camping among the mesas of Moab, and the simple sweetness of being with each other. In Utah and Colorado especially I was continuously reminded of my parents' trips through these same areas over twenty years ago, just prior to their engagement. It's humbling to think that I am now in that same exciting stage of exploration and discovery, creating stories that I will tell my own children one day.

       Although I am now unable to sacrifice as much time to keeping up this blog as I'd like, it is important to me to preserve travel memories here that might otherwise be lost with the tinge of time. Photographs are, of course, a large portion of this narration. I've been reminded this semester through my film photography class of the importance of putting thought into an image, of taking care with framing and lighting. This may seem obvious, but I am grateful that I am pushed to keep these considerations close to my photographic process. Driving through some of the most beautiful parts of the country--Alberta, Montana, Idaho, Utah, Colorado--I was inspired to put these skills into practice again. This set is a depiction of Americana, the back-road oddities and breathtakingly empty scenery. (Infinite thanks to my sweet Jacob, who repeatedly turned the car around for me to get a shot, despite my protests that he didn't have to.) Driving through these often-remote landscapes, I am continually reminded of how much more there is to see. It is almost too much to fathom. I am so grateful that these are the memories I get to create amid the chaos of life.  

Lake McDonald in Glacier National Park

Passenger seat views in Montana

Frost-dusted trees on the interstate headed west

An abandoned smelter on a Montana backroad

We stumbled across some old charcoal kilns near the smelter

My cute lumberjack in his element

We spent a snowy night camping after the roads proved too difficult to get to the cabin we'd reserved. Thankfully the scenery made up for what we lacked in warmth.

Our cozy yurt in southern Idaho, the perfect reprieve from the howling winds

A change of scenery in Moab, Utah. It's amazing how different the light is there.

Entering Arches National Park

Jacob in a sliver of light at Double Arch

A classic power stance to accompany the panoramic view

Cairns marking the trail

Taking Stock: A type of year-in-review, three weeks late. As per everyone's January tradition, I was streamlining my digital footprint and ran across a handful of photographs I'd never had the opportunity to share. (Many of them, admittedly, are from roadtrips taken in June and August, or, five of the best weeks of my life.) Looking at the images individually evoked memories I'd nearly forgotten, and it was the loveliest exercise to get those reminiscings on "paper."

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March 13th, 2015, Drumheller, Alberta

I'm with Jacob in Calgary this weekend and we've driven out to the Albertan badlands on an unseasonably warm Friday. His arm is slung casually over the steering wheel and everything feels new and exciting. The wind blows loud through the open windows and Slow Black River sets the scene. That night we find ourselves in a town of 33 people at the Last Chance Saloon, or, the only establishment with any sign of life. The waitress shares loud banter with every table, all of which hold people she seems to know. I keep forgetting I'm in a different country and then I notice an difference in accent or mannerism and I'm surprised all over again.

June 7th, 2015, Big Sur, California

Last night there was nary an empty campsite to be found, so we picked a side road and followed the windy pavement in search of a secluded spot to pitch the tent. About three miles up, we suddenly broke through the dense blanket of night fog. The thick mist was spread below us like a second ocean, framed by shadowy mountains and the starriest velvet sky. I pinched myself at the sight and exclaimed to Jacob that it felt like we'd just entered Peter Pan's Neverland. Now it's a bright morning and as we descend the mountain, a tiniest touch of the fog remains. It seems it wasn't a dream after all. We eat yogurt and granola and California strawberries that taste like candy.

June 10th, 2015, Bodega Bay, California

We left San Francisco this morning and I took the opportunity to play this song as we drove down Van Ness. Now we're sixty miles north of the Golden Gate and the afternoon is waning. Jacob pulls off Highway 1 and we get out of the Jeep to take in the blue waters and the tiny surfers bobbing in the waves. We agree that we'll camp here tonight. We seek out the campground host for firewood, who also offers (mostly unsolicited) advice on camping in California. I put on leggings under my jeans and pull on another sweater and scarf. Jacob teases me for getting cold so easily. We wade through grass dunes to the beach, which is eerily misty and quiet save for the wind. I realize that it's been a year since I left for Kenya.

June 12th, 2015, Sunset Bay State Park, Oregon

Jacob and I set up our tent in a lush corner of the campground, and then go out to find dinner. When we return, the sun is setting over the aptly-named Sunset Bay. Racing against the clock, we run a half mile across a cliff in search of a better view. It's something of a dream: getting up there all out of breath, golden light filtering through the trees, the sea crashing and churning below. Jacob lifts me onto his shoulders so I can better photograph the salty spray.

July 16th, 2015, Tulsa, Oklahoma

I'm living downtown in a 15th-floor studio apartment this week. Looking down at the city, everything seems so quiet and orderly. In the evening heat, as I walk Sadie the dog around the block, I pretend I am in New York City. I continue my metropolitan fantasies as I ride the elevator back up to the loft.

August 8th, 2015, Santa Barbara, California

It's a Saturday morning in Santa Barbara and we've managed to come during the annual Spanish fiesta. We find a Trader Joe's and buy supplies for a picnic on the beach, and certain members of the family are embarrassed by Dad's loud proclamations that we're from Oklahoma. The sandy beaches are warm and I watch my siblings splash in the Pacific for the first time. I can't believe I'm back in California again.

August 15th, 2015, Zion National Park

Jacob shakes me awake at the first sign of dawn. I groan and roll over, then begrudgingly get out of my sleeping bag after a quiet pep talk ("you're going to regret missing the sunrise!"). Outside the air is crisp and sweet and the rocks that surround us are beginning to glow. He's right, I would have regretted missing the sunrise. In pre-coffee silence, Jeremiah, Jacob, and I set off on the trail. When we reach the top of the canyon thirty minutes later, the cliffs are saturated with color. We meet a lone hiker at the top, a man recently retired who travels the States with his wife. We never find out his name, so we name him George.

August 16th, 2015, Grand Canyon National Park

It's a Sunday and we hike to a secluded spot with a view of the canyon. Dad holds up the hymnal and we all sing together, and we even have Holy Communion in the sanctuary of nature. Later we go on a drive to different view points of the canyon and it's beautiful but somehow hard to grasp. The sunset tonight is all dusty shades of pink and orange as it slides along the rocky cliffs.

August 17th, 2015, Monument Valley

The air blows soft and hot and we're looking down into the valley that is home to so many western movies. If I didn't know better, I'd think we were in Europe--I hear more German than English from other tourists. I sit on a ledge and let my feet dangle over the edge towards the rocky desert. Goosebumps rise on my arms despite the heat and Jacob wraps his arms around me. It's our last night on the road together and I'm wistful.

September 5th, 2015, Banff National Park

It's prime bear country here, a fact I won't tell my mother until I'm back safe and sound. The fog hangs damp and thick and it only adds to the mystique. A tour bus pulls up at Peyto Lake at the same time that we do, and we opt to wait for them to leave before we get out of the car. I messily peel a tangelo in the passenger seat while the drizzle turns to the snow.

September 25th, 2015, Tulsa, Oklahoma

It is my sister Mariam's 12th birthday, and I am freshly 19. The two of us go out for chai and shopping and the sunshine is still so warm. She has changed this past year, become more friend than sister. We make a pact to live close by when we are grown with our own families, or at least get together as often as we can. I feel like myself.

I'm taking advantage of the last week of winter break to go through some work that's been pushed to the wayside. This set of Callyn was shot in October, when it was still warm enough to go sleeveless and the light was a little more golden. This coming semester I've enrolled in a film photography class (my first formal photography class ever!) and I'm excited to make time for personal work again.