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When I first begin a different sort of life in a different sort of place, I write in my notebooks, or plane tickets, or coffee receipts Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs pyramid.

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I write this at my own peril. But, alas, perhaps my end shall come anyways. Perhaps the dawn may never come for me again.

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I have a notebook and pen beside my bed at all times because some of my most comical moments occur when I wake up and remember that I had written an idea down sometime in the middle of stage 1 or 2 of sleep.

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My beautiful neighbor Linda took me with her to central Jakarta this weekend, to pop around admiring dancing fountains and eat local foods and rub our fingers against local tropical flora. We met up with her friend Franny and her cousin, and after spending Saturday night on the 23rd floor of…

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When you move to another country, especially one with a culture so different from your own, it is easy to be swept away by that which scares you.

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Nora is a beautiful tiny butterfly of energy and smiles. She is from a small town in Sumatra and comes from a devout Islamic family. Lim, one of the Chinese-Indonesian English teachers, took her and I to this eclectic hole-in-the-wall cafe in south Jakarta yesterday afternoon. The cafe is li…

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Indonesia seems, to me, to be very similar to Morocco. Perhaps this is my Western mind not able to discern non-Western cultures individually and simply lumping them all together, so perhaps this is the cultural ignorance speaking. Like how I cannot discern from which Asian country my teachin…

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I often assume a persona when I am gathering myself to go into new situations. I think, today I am going to be Robin Williams in The Dead Poet’s Society, as I enter into the high school classroom and meet the students I will be teaching for a semester. Or Julia Robert’s character in Mona Lis…

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The school day ended and I whipped myself back home, taking a quick shower and shoving a pair of wool socks, and extra sweater, my trusty hammock, a sleeping bag, an avocado and a beer in my backpack. I snagged a peanut butter and honey sandwich for the road and bid adieu to the comforts of …

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We set the alarm for 6:30 a.m., and thanks to daylight savings, this feels like 05:30, so we inevitably set the alarm for a bit longer and actually shovel out of bed at 6:37 a.m.

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I ran into Susan at the grocery store today as I was choosing which Quaker oatmeal would best serve my fiber needs.

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I am a vagabond, going about in a vagabond way from the fly-away ponytail to the scaly feet which callous and shiver away in the grassy bed I’ve taken for my own purpose.

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BILL MOYERS: Do you ever have the sense of… being helped by hidden hands?

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BILL MOYERS: Do you ever have the sense of… being helped by hidden hands?

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I love podcasts. And audiobooks. And reading. And learning from mentors who do not realize I have labeled them as such.

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I have forgotten that the librarian slouched behind the “Reference” sign can see me, the me that sits and stares with unparalleled attention at the page.

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Stanley Coren describes the dog’s sense of smell like this:

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There is nothing that restores my faith in humanity quite like a middle school tough-guy with a crush.

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The front door clanged open, and I in my Nature’s Paradise-clad self, greeted our new customer with a big smile and a, “welcome! Is there anything I can help you with?”

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I skid the backdoor open, wincing as it bounces three times against the linoleum kitchen tiling, worried the noise might wake my roommate.

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With our bellies brimming with of beans and dark chocolate after a long day of plowing through rivers and hiking across woods, Lindsey and I picked our way carefully across the river in the sudden darkness. We towed foldable plastic beach chairs and big cheesy grins; the stars were dancing f…

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I recently acquired a copy of Tim Ferriss’ Tools of Titans, and snuggling into fuzzy socks on the living room couch with a cup of matcha tea, I voraciously attacked the gigantic 670-something paged Titan.

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Today is the day of extra coffee, the kind of day where you find yourself musing, maybe I should drink some water instead? to which you kindly remind yourself today is not the day to die and also going to bed at 6:00 is too early anyways.

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There is nothing quite as serene as being slung between two trees on a bed of nylon woven cloth; the gentle breeze providing a cushioned sway to the beat of the Universe pulse. It is as if all forest dwellers sign a pact with my intelligent hammock to stay away, simply to observe and not to eat.

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WHOLEY PICKLE STICKS I HAVE BEEN IN FINLAND OFFICIALLY HALF THE AMOUNT OF TIME I WILL BE IN FINLAND! (Actually, that's not true, I still have three days until then, but I'm writing about it now because I am impatient.)

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I crossed my legs, the smooth black leather sofa on which I was perched rubbing against the back of my left calf. He was actually brillant in many ways. Capitvating in certain distinct areas.

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My mind is a cage; the steady rhythm of my feet against the trail is the key. Every time I plant a sole I turn the key a little further. A little harder. A little closer.

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To my immediate left rests a glass bottle of Raspberry Chia kombucha; to my right rests God’s most perfectly ripened avocado and a generous hunk of Radina’s sourdough Pain Ordinaire.

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I peel left into the Nature’s Paradise drive way and tuck my bike inside the earthy-scented doorway. I give a quick wave to Tasha and head to clock in. As I move, I catch a whiff of the my staff shirt; a combination of fresh air and lavender-musk dryer sheets, fresh from last night’s session…

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Into this autonomous system of ours--heart rate, blood pressure, pupil dilation, sweat regulation--we have a small button at our disposal specifically designed for our own control.

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