Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always. Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always. Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always. Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always. Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always. Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always. Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always. Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always. Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always. Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it. 
Love. Always.

Dear Uncle Basse,

You were a constant reminder that we all have a purpose and that happiness is what you make it. You are a large part of who I am and who I want to be. I’ll do my best to never forget who that is.

May you rest in peace. And may you have a bad ass time doing it.
Love. Always.

My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance. My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance. My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance. My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance. My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance. My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance. My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance. My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance. My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance. My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life. 

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago. 

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk. 

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for – 

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown, 

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it. 

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee. 

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola. 

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half. 

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification. 

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

 She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school. 

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little. 

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself. 

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there. 

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance.

My first time embracing routine

My last two weeks have been filled with revisiting things once familiar —

With visiting the things I’ve forgotten for too long, and doing so with a new perspective.

I have not been able to stop smiling to save my life.

XXXX

It was a little after 8 this morning when I opened the little glass door of one of the establishments that sold me on moving to Gainesville three years ago.

A long, thin and visibly bored girl with short curls started to pour me a to-go cup of homemade granola and almond milk.

I’d been out of town for more than a week, but apparently people don’t forget how much you like their granola.

The idea of routine may seem to contradict the very foundation of what this blog stands for –

On the contrary.

Every day deserves the opportunity of the unknown,

But there’s also beauty in knowing what you like
and embracing it.

All the more beautiful is approaching a familiar experience with a new mind every time you encounter it.

I could never understand why someone would read the same book more than once, but I’ve found that a growing mind changes with the fingers of a clock.

If you watch one film a second time, and you aren’t left with a slightly different perspective or a new knowledge of something you may have missed in the first impression — then perhaps my thoughts are underdeveloped

But as I shook the miniature right hand of the giggling two-foot-tall, Marti, I realized the beauty of a changing routine.

She was here the Monday before last at the same time.

We were the only two tables, given the hour, and she must have been on her way to kindergarten class.

She shared a table with mother and father who I assumed to be recently divorced as I listened in occasionally through my sips of coffee.

All of this was merely a character development I was building in my head in between pre-work writing and bites of ginger granola.

She was very sweet and mature for her ripe old age of what I guessed to be 4 and a half.

Her father encouraged her to introduce herself to the “big girl,” and I remember being mildly annoyed at the thought that that was my new identification.

She walked over and told me her name.


“Marti.”

She said she also enjoyed granola in the mornings before school.

I offered my right hand and taught her how to do the same, look me in the eye and hold on tight for her very first handshake.

She bounced and gurgled and jumped about a little.

I could tell she was particularly proud of herself.

I returned this morning for the first Monday in two weeks to write.

Sure enough, Marti was there.

It had been two weeks since she’d reminded me that it’s okay to smile and that we shouldn’t forget to dance.

When she made her way to my chair “to shake hands with Ashley” I saw the beauty in revisiting a situation.

XXXXX

One year ago I moved to Brooklyn for a short summer to make my first video and experience my first Independence Day in the city of dreams. I returned this year to go to a new take on the same party I ended with exactly one year ago. Here are the pictures from my City Fox Experience. Don’t forget to dance.

My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff. 

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less. 

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own? 

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around 
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself. 

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key. 

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey. 

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it. 

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

                                                  XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate. 

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end. 
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done. 

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

                                                    XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did. 

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves? 

It was a frightening  place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t. 

                                                  XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again. 

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

                                                  XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential- 
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs

My first time deciding my last time.

Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell.

I remember reading the sentence through the cracked glass of my iPhone while melting into the white linen couch on some stage in Miami.

They were all of the words I’d been looking for for months strung together in one perfect little line. That Edward Abbey knows his stuff.

The sun was sinking a little lower, and the crowd in front of me seemed to be bobbing around a little less.

I told myself I wouldn’t work on much that weekend, but I’d been hung up on this one project as about 45 more were blurring by. I was beginning to lose it.

In nature growth just happens. But why do human beings obsess about it.

Is it ultimately exponential — does it always lead the decomposition of something else – would anyone care if it did?

What traits imbedded into the roots of pollination – the molecular structures of mold – the intricacies of Fibonacci’s numerical explorations—
has mankind taken, restructured and claimed as its own?

What modern interpretations have we attempted to choreograph around
the chemical romance of spontaneous combustion and apply to our innermost decisions?

I asked myself.

I took time to put myself into the situations and chose to put the other usual mental deliberations on hold.

My thoughts and open tabs were interrupted momentarily by a charming British accent fighting the music to ask about a key.

I expressed my disinterest. I was finally feeling a little less grey.

The questions were tugging at me so hard for months that I ultimately decided I didn’t want to create anything ever again, and I certainly didn’t want to write about it.

My last first rodeo had been my last. But I’d still finish the project.

XXXX

The project

During these few months, I was working as the photography director for Gainesville Fashion Week. The quiet theme of the year was “inspiring growth.”

I took the role while wrapping up my last semester at UF, freelancing for the Sun, starting my first full-time job, helping facilitate a few other random endeavors, and trying to be very much of the human being I am genetically destined to be – degenerate.

It seemed to only make sense to put work into the art exhibit at the end.
To say I’d create something entirely new and harder than anything I’ve done.

It was to be around the theme — Inspiring growth — and it seemed easy enough.

XXXX


It wasn’t until I decided I wanted nothing to do with it any more that I remembered why I do any of this.

It was a frightening and humbling place to dig into, but I’m glad that I did.

Who hasn’t gotten sad? Who hasn’t felt uninspired or questioned the meaning behind the ways we run our lives?

Who hasn’t had to meet their ego face to face and stare into the fabricated version of themselves?

It was a frightening place to dig in to, but it takes a reminder of what we already know to move past what we don’t.

XXXX

Long story short, I learned to ask myself why, again.

After asking for months, I finally remembered my answer.

As I type, things seem to be getting a little less grey.

It’s time for a new rodeo.

XXXX

Growth
-Inspiration- Pollination-Adaptation-Decomposition-Exponential-
Special thanks to Patrick Smith, Albey Coronel, Niko Pifferetti, Nicole Collazo, Benji Haselhurst, Davis Hart, Ashley Young, Tanima Mehrotra, Lindsey Buz, Jennifer Staples, Victorria Sanchez, Olivia Sanchez
and Adrian Alahs

My First Team Portrait Session

After a more than 12-hour day of helping organize and shoot casting calls, orchestrate the more than 120 model head shots, set up a make-shift studio, take the entire team’s portraits in the back, and help finish god-knows how many bottles of wine,  the GFW2014 team photos are edited and live.

Thank you everyone for a very productive First Rodeo.
My First Team Portrait Session

After a more than 12-hour day of helping organize and shoot casting calls, orchestrate the more than 120 model head shots, set up a make-shift studio, take the entire team’s portraits in the back, and help finish god-knows how many bottles of wine,  the GFW2014 team photos are edited and live.

Thank you everyone for a very productive First Rodeo.

My First Team Portrait Session

After a more than 12-hour day of helping organize and shoot casting calls, orchestrate the more than 120 model head shots, set up a make-shift studio, take the entire team’s portraits in the back, and help finish god-knows how many bottles of wine, the GFW2014 team photos are edited and live.

Thank you everyone for a very productive First Rodeo.

My First Earthskills Gathering

Even during my temporary affair with veganism, the idea of surviving on only what you grow or kill has always been extremely intriguing to me. 

It’s romantic, hunting for your meal. Taking life with your hands, and thoughtfully and thankfully putting each piece of something to use. 

Romantic.

This dance is sadly something today that at first glance seems barbaric in a generation consumed by consumption. 

Once a year in the woods surrounding my tiny college town exists a gathering dedicated a self-sustaining population.

This year I went.
My First Earthskills Gathering

Even during my temporary affair with veganism, the idea of surviving on only what you grow or kill has always been extremely intriguing to me. 

It’s romantic, hunting for your meal. Taking life with your hands, and thoughtfully and thankfully putting each piece of something to use. 

Romantic.

This dance is sadly something today that at first glance seems barbaric in a generation consumed by consumption. 

Once a year in the woods surrounding my tiny college town exists a gathering dedicated a self-sustaining population.

This year I went.

My First Earthskills Gathering

Even during my temporary affair with veganism, the idea of surviving on only what you grow or kill has always been extremely intriguing to me.

It’s romantic, hunting for your meal. Taking life with your hands, and thoughtfully and thankfully putting each piece of something to use.

Romantic.

This dance is sadly something today that at first glance seems barbaric in a generation consumed by consumption.

Once a year in the woods surrounding my tiny college town exists a gathering dedicated a self-sustaining population.

This year I went.

My First ‘Outliers of Normality’ Feature

I was in the passenger seat of one of my more spontaneous First Rodeos, when I had a stranger point out this attraction I seemed to have towards outliers of normality.

Well over a year later, and somewhere along the same salty southbound Florida roads, I remembered the conversation and thought it might be interesting to spend an afternoon or two searching for a few people who chose to live life a little differently and capture a glimpse of their stories.

Captain Steve is the first of those little stories.

He had everything he was raised to believe he ever wanted.

But one day he decided to throw in his time card and all but 100 of his possessions to live on a tiny boat parked in a marina outside of Key West.

He spent less than $16,000 to live last year and doesn’t have health insurance, but he’s the happiest he’s been since he can remember

Steve’s parents grew up during the Depression.

Growing up hungry, they compensated later in life by owning a lot of things and raising their son to believe that things were the key to success happiness.

Steve Neil had a secure corporate job for years with Harley Davidson, a nice home in Florida, and all of the things most people spend their lives working towards, but one day he gave it all away to explore a life of minimalism, living just a little bit outside of the realm of normality.

My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember. My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember. My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember. My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember. My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember. My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember. My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember. My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember. My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember. My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers. 

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt  and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike. 

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember.

My First Time Going Home to the Keys

Where are you from?

To someone who hasn’t had one address for long enough to remember the zip code, this the single most annoying question in the world.

The concept of “going home” changes regularly, but since my mother made the recent move to the small stroke of islands strung beneath Florida, I went home to the Keys this Christmas.

Words cannot explain the feelings that came with experiencing the truly deserved joy in her I found when I finally got to visit her.

To see one of the strongest and most beautiful women I know in love, in paradise and in the moment of a lifetime was the best present I could have hoped for.

xxxx

It was New Year’s day.

I pedaled as fast as I could through the colorful old homes of Bahama Village exchanging warm nods and smiles with weathered Bahamian men through their long white mustaches.

Dodging cats and roosters, I wound through cigar shops and coconut stands getting momentary peeps into the lazy porch-side conversations of aging artists and writers.

The sky opened to empty sheets of abrupt and heavy rain, and in an instant it was only me and my bike.

No roosters, no mustached men, nothing but 8 square miles of rain. I biked to the southern most point of the country and drank a coconut as far out on the rocks to Cuba I could get.

When I realized the rain was going nowhere, I biked to the little spa that my mom was working at.

The back door opened.

One of the massage therapists whispered, “Take off all of your clothes, lay down on the table and I’ll be in in a second.”

Who argues on New Year’s?

While I enjoyed every second of a massage, my clothes were drying with spa towels, and the second it was over, I opened the back door to find a miraculously sunny day.

Here’s to making every second of the New Year a First Rodeo to remember.

My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up My First job as GFW Director of Photography 

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins. 

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent. 

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion. 

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn. 

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up

My First job as GFW Director of Photography

Spontaneous combustion: A substance with a relatively low ignition temperature begins to release heat. This may occur in several ways, usually oxidation by a little moisture and air, bacterial fermentation generates heat. The heat is unable to escape and the temperature of the material rises above its ignition and combustion begins.

Sometimes in nature, seemingly unrelated elements are introduced under unexpected circumstances causing unbelievable exchanges of energy.

Getting the job as the director of photography for this year’s Gainesville Fashion Week meant the opportunity to do just that.

A chance to build a team of talent.

Each segment with backgrounds and skills almost completely unrelated.

But each with a disregard for limits on potential and a thirst for growth.

This year, GFW is about inspiring growth with a team built on raw talent and passion.

After working with just a few of this year’s faces, I know It’s going to be one hell of a first rodeo to watch what happens when the fire starts to burn.

Additional Featured Artists:
Patrick Smith- Photographer, Albey Coronel- Director, Ching Ya- Stylist, Niko Pifferetti – Make up