Just Before Sunrise

The end of this month will be nine months of full time road life, next month is my birthday, and the day after my birthday marks six months alcohol free. 

There is not a day that goes by where I don't miss drinking. I long for it. Sitting in my chair out in the middle of nowhere with my cats and the sky above me in late Winter but it's almost Spring and it has felt like Spring for the past 5 months because this is the desert and oh, wouldn't a glass of wine be lovely. But a glass of wine will turn into two bottles, and two bottles will turn into crippling anxiety, and that crippling anxiety will turn into sneaking a sip of liquor before work because I do not know how to function without that demon on my shoulder. Gnawing away at my body and mind with its beautiful poison that makes the suffering worthwhile. What a gorgeous lie. Waking up miserable and afraid, a cowering little girl, believing the only way out is to drown inside that cruel wishing well. Telling you just one sip will ease the pain. Believing that sip and having another and another until you're on top of the world. And then you're on top of the world screaming and crying before you come tumbling down, breaking your spirit all over again. Pass out. Rinse. Repeat. 

There is not a morning that goes by where I do not wake up grateful and relieved that I didn't have a sip the day before. I woke up just before sunrise this morning, as I do on many mornings now. I never did this on the other side. The dark side. I lept out of my van to snap a photo. I felt compelled to capture a shot of the crescent moon signing off for duty before the sun would reach the horizon to take its place. And if you were with me presently, and offered me a drink in one hand (I'll drink anything, of course) and a clear headed morning in the other, (but I can't have both, of course) I will choose the dawn. Every single time.

Even if the sun is only out for a little while. Even if the rest of the day goes sideways. Even if by the end of it I'll pine for a drink. Clash a cup with family. Raise a glass after a big hike. Swallow a pretty potion and giggle with friends. Playing pretend. Until I fall down again. 

Because, the soft mornings. They're worth more than any hour of fleeting bliss fools gold can buy. 

Arizona

There's always so much I want to say and share and write and capture but sometimes I feel it takes away from it all. I have been living so slow and so fast that it feels like each month lasts the span of a year. I adore it. Seven months into this journey and I can feel the four of us settling perfectly. Like when you finally nestle into your pillow just right. And it isn't always easy. Maybe you don't always sleep through the night. (And yes this is a metaphor but also yes I am a light sleeper.) The point is you wake up each and every day to something new and familiar and scary and beautiful all at once. You begin again. 

Desert Moon

Sometimes I really struggle with what to say in my blog posts.  Granted, there haven't been many of them, but I'm working on it.  The truth is we have been in the same region in Arizona for over three weeks now, reeling from a less than stellar experience in the San Bernardino mountains of California, picking up the pieces and figuring out how to put them all back together in a new way.  This sounds pretty dramatic, and I guess it is.  We are still so incredibly privileged, and well, fortunate, to be exactly where we are, as stagnant and helpless as we may feel.  We've been stuck in limbo mode in the Arizona desert, cocooning ourselves as we prepare for the next plan, and I think it's finally time to transform, or, transport towards anything else that isn't sitting and staring out into the void.

I digress.

The moon has been absolutely incredible here.  I now understand what people are swooning about when they speak of desert sunsets.  They have captivated my heart.  And while I've been wondering and wishing and hoping for what's next, I have also had the pleasure of being right here.  A Supermoon I would not have been witness to had I not been in this exact spot at this exact time in my life.

Isn't that the whole point?

Bombay Beach

When we arrived at this strange little anomaly of a landmark, we'd been having a pretty rough go of it for a minute. The perils of van life, if you will. So you can imagine my disdain and also delight when we drove into what felt like outer space. Gorgeous horror, an abandoned beach town left for the artists and vagrants and outcasts (not unlike me) to make their own. Their home. It was a humbling visit. And a beautiful one. Love/hate is a term that comes to mind. And while it was easy to feel sorry for myself at the time, already looking back I will forever think of this unusual place with great fondness. Particularly the moments when Aaron and I would be sitting in the van in the late evening, listening to Iggy Pop, Donovan, The Animals, Talking Heads (you name it), and looking out on the spooky lights of a haunted oasis, dreaming of what's to come, but grateful to be right where we are.

Lonesome Town

Sometimes a certain scene or setting evokes such overwhelming nostalgia in me that my heart stops and I am transported to a time and place I've never been to, yet know so well.  And I long for it.  Does this ever happen to you?  I have never skied before.  But coming across an empty ski lift in a bed of wildflowers on a summer hike brought me back to a feeling of simplicity and purity.  Exquisitely haunting.

This photo was taken at the beginning of July while out on a hike around Mount Hood Meadows.  I tried to capture the scene in the same way my eyes experienced it, but of course, photos never do the real moment justice. 

I wish summer would last forever, but all good things never do. 

And maybe that's why I chose to live nomadically, so that I may chase summer for the rest of my life. 

Alpenglow

I am typing this one month and two days after my husband and I sold all of our belongings and left our rental home to begin van life, or nomad life, full time.  I wanted to start this blog not necessarily to have a journal where I can share my thoughts and experiences, but as a platform to host my photos that I have taken and will be taking along the way.  It's more for me than anyone else, and while I do have an Instagram, my passion for photography is not satisfied there.  Social media is a nightmare, and I'd rather use this blog as a safe space for me to create freely, without inhibition.  Any photos shared here are taken with my Canon.  I do not claim to be a great photographer.  I am an amateur at best.  I do not expect to gain recognition or income for my work.  I am merely a shy admirer with a passion for capturing images that speak to my soul.  If my photos somehow speak to you, whoever you are, then I have exceeded my initial intention with this project, and that is beautiful.  

Nomadic living is not always romantic, and it is never easy, but it is the freest and youngest I have ever felt in my entire life.  The open road, living on the outskirts of society, never committing to one place, but committing to everything all at once, is an exhilarating and liberating experience; a fountain of adventure that I have only begun to drink from.  To touch that water is truly a privilege, and I am so incredibly grateful for the opportunity.

The photos above are the first two photos I took with my Canon since we embarked on this journey.  The first photo is of Mount Hood in Oregon, during sunset.  The alpenglow was so spectacular it took my breath away.  It is my proudest photo to date.  The second photo is of the same sunset, shining through the trees that surrounded our campsite.  The beauty I have witnessed during my short time on this journey has been otherworldly, and I wouldn't trade any of the difficult days surrounding these captivating moments for anything.  They heal you in a way a stationary home never could. 

I intend to share more photos as much as I can, as long as time allows.  If you decide to come along with me, please know that I am forever grateful for your interest, support, and I welcome you to stay awhile.

Until then, thank you for reading, and thank you for being here.

-Susanna