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growing up without snow...

Snow is so beautiful. Growing up in Alabama, when it snowed everyone got really excited because it was a rare happening. And by rare I mean it maybe, maybe snows once a year--and usually doesn't stick.

Today is October 1, 2010. I have almost been in Mongolia for an entire year.

I.cannot.believe.it.

There are so many things that have changed in my life, some of which I'm not even sure I have noticed. The things I think, the things I eat, the things I wear, the things I can understand--there are a myriad of things that are different.

One of the biggest things that has changed is my affinity [well, and adaptability] to the snowy life. When were first arrived in Mongolia, last October, there was already a lot of snow on the ground. Immediately it was different than anywhere I had ever lived. With every passing day the weather got colder and colder and the snow became a regular occurrence. I soon realized it wasn't strange, it was a normal part of life--just like rain is to me.

This morning when I woke up the snow was coming down so hard. It wasn't quite cold enough to stick to the ground, so it formed little puddles everywhere, but as I watched it--I realized just how different it is from rain.

Aside from the obvious things like being frozen and white, I realized how quiet it was. I was mesmerized all over again, like I was in Alabama.

The quietness and slowness of snow draws you to a quiet place. A place of watching and observing what's around you.

Newly falling snow is exactly what I need right now as I reflect on the past year--all the things that have changed and all the ways I have changed.

I would have never imagined that I would come to love this winter season so much.


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An ode to my wiser self

I've been thinking about blogging a lot lately. Well, writing, rather. I used to write a lot. It was therapeutic and life giving for me. It helped me to be in a constant state of process where I was not just taking in life but searching for and digging for meaning. It kept me grounded and real, for lack of better word.

I have been starting to write more lately and have several little bits I'm working on. In the process of digging out my blog from the depths of the internet, I found this jewel that I wrote years ago. Yes, that's right... years ago. I thought it was beautiful and worth sharing. So, in an attempt to revive this way of sharing my thoughts and processing...

Here is an ode to my younger (and probably wiser) self:


Welcome to The Chronicles of a Confused Citizen.

Here I am, residing in the country I was born in, living the life I knew from my birth to year 22.

It doesn't quite feel right, though.

Recently, as I found myself living in Mongolia, I started feelin…

bring it on, world.

October 26, 2011.

That is the day I last wrote a blog. That's not the day when my life changed but it is a day that I can recognize as one of the last ones when I knew who I was and what my purpose was.

I'm not generally a quitter. Sure, sometimes I quit on books or I quit on small projects but in life, nope. I  try hard at most things, usually right until the end. I won't say that quitting is not a thought that meanders through my being when something gets tough but I have come to learn that when I stick things out I come out having learned a thing or two.

But I did quit. I quit a big commitment. I said I would live in Washington, DC and I would do my best.

I tried. I also had my very first panic attack, too.

It was too much. I couldn't think or breathe. I couldn't cope with the devastation I felt for leaving Mongolia early that March morning. I couldn't cope with no one understanding what Mongolia had meant to me and how it had changed me right down to my bo…