I never understood why they couldn't see the way I did. I dreamed of living in a tiny rented room in the Himalaya, even if it came with a leaking ceiling and a broken cot. Redemption, I believed, would be in a view of snow-covered mountain peaks, in the steaming hot cup of chai every morning, in the vibrancy of colors and people; redemption would be in the life that resounded throughout this place.
I had never been there but my imagination knew no bounds.
I wanted to be a tortured writer, I wanted to write desperately, I wanted my mind to run free, unbounded. Desperation, I knew, would produce works greater that I deemed possible from myself.

                                ..............................................................................................

I'm sitting at a table. The wind is ferocious and it rattles the windows and the paper thin walls. I wrap my shawl tighter around my shoulders and put on a second pair of socks. The candle light serves better purpose casting eerie shadows in the tiny room than providing light. Nevertheless it will suffice. I let my mind wander, slip a pen into my hand and watch as words and stories are brought to life. I write and smudge words and cross out others but by the end of it, I am satisfied.
I blow out the candle and climb into bed. The mattress is thin and the frame is sagging in the middle but it will do.
It has been a long day and I fall asleep under the cover of three blankets. Tomorrow is a new day and there is a bazaar to be visited and a road to be run.

and so, i'll return in the fall.
my dreams were only dreams.
i'm terribly frightened for what awaits.
but i'm not sure i've any other choice.

"It should not be denied... that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations, with absolute freedom, and the road has always led West." 
— Wallace Stegner

alaska, 2010

Stampede Trail where Jim Gallien dropped off McCandless

Cassin, Sultana, Tuya - beautiful names for beautiful dogs

i feel, oddly enough, happy. as though this is happiness i do not deserve. as though it will be snatched from my hands. but im happy, and it is all that matters for now.

and an update:

For the past two weeks I've been working in the inner city with African American kids. The surroundings are miserable, broken down, and often, heartbreaking, but the kids show such resilience; I have yet to hear one of them complain. I love each and every one of them and I want everything for them.
I am smitten with wanderlust, I am impatient, and consequently I loathe commitment. But the places I've been and the organizations I've worked with have always left a mark and I dream of the day I'll return. So it is with this program. I could never stay committed to working here for more than a year and yet I know years from now, the indelible imprint that it will have left, will leave me yearning for a chance to return.

I've been reading lately. I am now reading Anna Karenina.