Hello world,

Today marks one year since I’ve embarked on my blogging journey. Encompassing everything that has happened during 2023 would be impossible. I’d hoped I could come on here and say I’ve had this remarkable metamorphosis but that would be a lie. What I can say though is that this last year has been one of changes, some for the good and some not so much. Such is life, as they say.

In January of last year I was living in remote Alaska at a salmon hatchery doing research on pattern migrations, and rearing over 250 million fish to join this life cycle with me. I was in my absolute element on the outside, but internally I was battling so many big feelings that I felt like I had no outlet for, which sparked inspiration to start this blog. When you live remotely, you can’t just go to the store or grab coffee with a friend and rant about it. Roaming around the island, surrounded by these huge snow-capped peaks and steep ravines deep in the muskeg you find a sense of alone-ness that isn’t possible in civilization. A simple walk also brings danger as brown bears had staked claim to our small region where food is in ample supply. I watched as mothers taught their young how to climb and hunt and reflected on my own shortcomings with my mother. It’s funny how nature can lead you to confront these feelings you tried so hard to run from. The winter in Alaska was harsh, stark and beautiful in its cadence. The pines become your friends, the wind becomes your companion and you learn to die a little.

In February I made the decision to leave the hatchery and re-enter the same society I had fought so hard to flee. Learning that self isolation was a form of punishment to myself was a hard lesson. Learning that you can still feel incredibly alone whilst surrounded by thousands of people was even harder. Regardless I persevered in my efforts to bring some meaning to this decision I made. I found a job, made friends, and formed new habits that better served the life I wanted to lead.

In the spring when the ptarmigan returned so did my joy. Snowmelt dripped in its familiar rhythm down my face and took the place of tears, and when the sunshine reclaimed its place in the sky, I looked on with a smile that had been in hibernation. You learn to be grateful for its warmth in a place devoid of its light for months on end. Its tricky for me to describe the events of April 2023, but in short I can say it was one of the most difficult times of my life. The fire that had been reignited within me was snuffed out with a cold wind that I felt in my bones.

When the fireweed dotted the hillsides, I walked with them and searched for answers. The ferns were my friends and held my hands as I questioned the creators plan for me. The cedars offered guidance with their roots planted firm and trunks built to withstand wild fires that threaten their very existence. The summer was forgiving and mild, with days that blended seamlessly to night as the sun refused to bow down to the moons silver face. Sitting on the beaches as the waves lapped at the shore I threw stones in protest. I watch the ripples fan out like a map and marveled. Waterfalls with a roar mighty enough to quiet the thoughts that flowed just as fast, I learned to let the thoughts continue on down the river like a leaf that had no connection to me.

The cyclic nature of depression is one that confounds me still. Some days I could look out at the wide expanse of beauty in front of me, or feel the mycelium roots beneath my feet while a wide canopy protects me from above and feel a fullness within myself that no drug or love could ever compare to. Other days the sights leave me with a feeling of emptiness, like my stomach, heart, lungs and liver had long since been ravaged by scavengers and left me with a hollow pit. Like a marionette I stuff the gaping hole and perform daily life, hoping no one will notice the jerky movement of my strings. This is where I learned it doesn’t matter where you go or how far you run, this shadow lingers behind bringing forth dark clouds that dump their grey rain on your fire. To keep the fire burning you have to feed it. Prepare your kindle, shelter it from the drops, protecting this flame is all we can do.

In the fall I moved my efforts south, following the ocean from the moody shores of Alaska to the sunny beach towns of southern California, chasing the sun that had long since departed, knowing my companion wasn’t far behind, but feeling as though we had come to an understanding. I thought my fire would fare better in warmer weather and was happy for a moment that wouldn’t last as long as those bright days in June. Heading east to the desert playground of Joshua Tree, to the red rock formations of Utah and the deep canyons of Colorado I chased this high as far as it would take me.

When the leaves changed, I felt a need for change within myself as well. Seeking answers, I chose to explore a quaint lakeside village in Guatemala. Boarding a flight, I found myself landing in the midst of summer, surrounded by towering volcanoes that cast long shadows over the tranquil town. Each morning, I awoke to vibrant markets, where handmade skirts and huipils displayed a kaleidoscope of colors. The smells of torta and shuko, the bustling sounds of bombas and distant barks of stray dogs occasionally felt overwhelming, contrasting with the quiet nature and peaceful candor of the locals. Engaging in weaving classes and learning the art of making handmade tortillas, I observed a community with abundant warmth and generosity despite limited resources. They say “comparison is the thief of joy”, but I couldn’t help but notice the distinct personality traits I discovered among them: kindness, tranquility, peace- so different from my own. Battling a borderline state of depression due to the challenges I’ve faced in my short life, I couldn’t ignore the fact that these individuals had endured even more, all while lacking the resources to navigate their struggles – something I’ve always been privileged to access in the United States. I should have been able to draw inspiration from their strength, but instead, I only felt worse. Returning home, I carried a newfound perspective on what privilege truly means and how its manifestations can vary across different places. Despite being considered ‘underprivileged’ here in the USA, that label no longer resonates with me. I came back with an abundance of care and a clearer understanding of the resources at my disposal in my home country. Thoughts of that town and the lessons it taught me linger, and I feel a profound longing to share my resources with them as I feel I’ve taken them for granted and no longer deserve them.

All this to say, I’ve shared numerous photos and videos of my travels over the past year, aiming to convey an ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ vibe to my followers and friends, hoping to convince both them and myself that I was living a life filled with happiness and experiences. While there is some truth to that portrayal, the reality is that social media often distorts the truth. We tend to take the best moments of our lives and conflate them, creating an image we want the world to see. Perception is a powerful tool, and I want to counteract that by being honest with myself and my blog readers.

This past year, I’ve spent time evading my problems rather than confronting them head-on. I’ve wandered from place to place like a ghost, passively observing as life unfolds around me. Even in the most beautiful locations, I find myself feeling dead inside, rather than grateful for still being here and experiencing fully. I grapple with my mental health more than I’d like to admit, but through reflection, I aim to initiate conversations on how to approach 2024 with a more mindful mindset. My goal for 2024 is to continue traveling and planning for the future in a healthier way, allowing myself to truly immerse in my own life and take control of the wheel rather than being a passenger in a car on autopilot, endangering everyone in my path.

Dear reader, thank you for following along with me this year, here’s to 2024…