DIARY

DIARY

Under The Sea

So my dad just left - his Uber literally just pulled away down my driveway - and I am sitting here at my dining room table in tears. Because as much as I dreaded leaving...once I was there, I realized very quickly that what was happening was that I was on the trip of a lifetime.

And now it's over. And that's ok, of course - and of course I'm happy to be home...but still.

On a lighter note: I'd thought I'd skipped the whole "jet lag" thing (hahahahahahah) because yesterday I was ping-ponging around acting more or less like I had mainlined a whole bunch of speed instead of just popping my usual Omega-3s (that is a joke; if you think I'm together enough to take vitamins you have not been paying attention these past few years). But it turns out that I was apparently going through some kind of adrenaline-induced mania, because I am currently Zombie Jordan.

DIARY

City Of Angels

Raja Ampat, Indonesia

In No Is Not Enough - one of my favorite books, and one I think about often - the activist Naomi Klein describes taking her five-year-old to the Great Barrier Reef. She was there to study climate change and the related destruction of the reef, and thought a great deal about whether to show him the vast landscapes of barren, bleached coral. Her instinct was to impress upon him, even at that young age, just how much had been lost, and how much more could be lost still.

And yet she didn't. She instead steered her child towards the most vibrant, beautiful corners of the reef, the parts still teeming with fish and coral and the kinds of colors you see only in dreams or on acid trips (or so I hear). Because how, she reasoned, can you fight for something if you don't learn to love it first?

DIARY

Off The Grid

Here we goooooo.

Have I ever mentioned that I'm both mildly claustrophobic and not-so-mildly anxious about flying? I am mildly claustrophobic and not-so-mildly anxious about flying (especially after this little incident).

So to say I approached the idea of a 15-hour flight to Hong Kong with some trepidation would be an understatement. I pictured low-grade panic, exhaustion, and a smattering of lower-back cramps, just for kicks.

DIARY

The Fifth Line

via

The other day, my daughter pointed to one of the jagged lines criss-crossing her palm. What are those cracks?, she wanted to know. So I pulled up a sort of Palmistry 101 website, and we sat there, labeling each one. Alright, so that one's your life line, I told her. That spot where it divides in two - that's when something big changes, like maybe you get a really cool new job. 

After we'd covered the major lines - Life, Head, Heart, Fate - we twisted our hands from side to side, looking for the smaller cracks, then scrolling through the website to find out what they meant. Those little lines in between the index finger and the middle finger represent your kids, and I showed her how I have two. That's you and your brother, I said.


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