some 2018 resolutions:
summit more mountains
read more nonfiction outside of class
hike and explore + appreciate nature
start going to fitness classes again
get rid of stuff
challenge myself intellectually, both with the courses I take and independently
take care of my skin (it’s our bodies’ biggest organ!!)
look for the best in people
examine + evaluate my moods before taking them out on others
hopefully inspire more people, especially my friends, to travel. there’s so much out there to see.
Her face is a map of a lifetime on well traveled roads.
I want to get better at photography. I want to paint pictures with my words and capture them with a lens. I want to post less about myself and more about the world around me. I’m just a symbol to remind you that there’s more to see. I want to travel for my own sake but do good for others’. Eventually I’ll have to find a purpose beyond my own cranium, my own type O+ blood and veins and jumbled mess of joints and organs. If I don’t, I fear I’ll look back on my life and see all the adventures but no purpose; see memories tainted with selfishness. Because what’s the point of seeing the world if I do nothing to better it? This is a concern for future Martha to worry about, because I have a lifetime to make a difference and find a calling, but it’s a thought to keep in mind now, next year, always. The world doesn’t wait; despite all its beauty, there are problems of such a completely overwhelming magnitude that I don’t even know where to begin.
It’s strange, how a dream can wreck you.
He was here last night. Upstairs in the loft. Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I’m quick to fall and slow to move on, maybe because I hate being misunderstood and yearn for a chance to explain. But most likely because, deep down, I’m an absolute masochist. Or at least my subconscious is. I asked him to leave and he just stared at me with ocean blue eyes that perhaps explain his love for the sea. What began as a midsummer night’s dream turned into a nightmare, and I flinched away from his phantom touch. Dreams sometimes tell us more about ourselves than reality, and I think the anger and confusion in that reaction is a good indicator of my headspace.
Is it not flattering, in a way, to affect someone so deeply that they write about it?
I wanna feel the way that we did that summer night
Drunk on a feeling, alone with the stars in the sky
In the last six months or so, I’ve grown increasingly interested in minimalism. Travel, in particular, has made me realize how little I need but there is still a compulsion to buy stuff, especially at home when I have a hole in my soul that I need to fill. It’s easy to live with very little on the road, but going home and actually parting with possessions is absurdly difficult. I watched a lot of documentaries in the cabin and one, called Minimalism: A Documentary About the Important Things, ended with a line that stuck with me: “Love people and use things, because the opposite never works.” We all have voids in our lives, and in Western society, where many don’t struggle for money but rather for society’s skewed definitions of success, these are caused by a severe lack of free time to explore our real passions and really connect with people beyond the monotony of the workplace. I think experiences are so much more valuable than things, but how many times have I procrastinated an assignment by online shopping instead of going out and doing something? Advertising and our society give us the illusion that if we have things, our lives will be better: glamorous, carefree, envied – just like the models appear in those ads. Well, newsflash: those models are real people with real problems too. They’re characters in the plot to sell us as much as possible, even though stuff doesn’t fix our broken lives or make us happy (for long, anyway). I realize that this is a very privileged problem, because in many parts of the world, people don’t have the spare change to constantly buy buy buy. But in regards to my own little corner of the universe, I think I’m happier when I’m consuming plane tickets and views rather than trendy t-shirts that were probably manufactured in a sweatshop, and which will end up in a landfill or back in a third-world country in a few years. (Someone, somewhere, is probably wearing a white t-shirt with a picture of eighth grade anorexic me sitting on an alligator, and that’s the strangest thing to think about.) For more on this, watch the documentary The True Cost.
“I wish everybody could become rich and famous so they could realize it’s not the answer.” – Jim Carey