london: through the eyes of my father

It takes us a long time to realize that our parents are people. They have unknown pasts, and they too were young once, just like you. Life took them on adventures; there were lovers, friends, inner turmoil, and passions that moved them from one point to the next. It’s so easy to remain ignorant to these bits and pieces that make up who your parents are. If you never ask, you might not hear, and if you’ve never hear, you may never really know the people who raised you.

I'm personally very fascinated to hear my parents' old storeis. I see two people who made it a point to pave a path distinctly for themselves and not for anybody else. I envy their bravery, and at the same time, I identify with it.

In my continuing quest to get to know them, I recently convinced my father to take a trip with me. On our way home from visiting family in Italy, we made a pit stop in London to retrace his old footsteps. A friend still owns the house he rented when he was a young spiritual hippie living in London during the 70’s. We went and stayed with her — my dad sleeping in his old bedroom, and myself on the first story in her acupuncture treatment space. During our visit, we walked around London, enjoying the parks he used to meander through and retracing his steps to places he once frequented. 

Perhaps most satisfying of all, we spent time with his friends and talked about old times. I heard stories of friends who had died, the concerts they enjoyed in the park, and the worries that were on their minds. They looked back on fifty-some years, and I got to sit there, listening to the stories of their lives. I found myself envious of all the places they'd been. The solo treks through China, the gatherings at a Tuscan villa. I wanted their wisdom. I wanted to be able to talk about life like someone who's seen it all. They'd each gone through so many things. Changed careers, survived diseases, fallen in love — hardship after victory after hardship. Here I am, racing along the path of life. I think, "that can't be me." But before I know it I'll be right there with them; looking back on the memories. 

Needless to say, I was immensely stricken by this little meander into my father's past. I fell in love with his friends. I wanted to cry at their stories, and at the same time, I was really proud of my father for attracting such special people. For all the times I want to reject where I come from. For all the times that I can only see the faults in my father. This undid them. He's a good man — a true friend, a thoughtful person, and hey, he can identify just about any tree you're bound to come across. I'm glad I had the opportunity to return with him to London, to get to see the world through his young hippie eyes. It was a very transformative experience. 

I tell you this story, so that while you have the chance, you too will make it a point to uncover who your parents were when they were young. Visit the places they visited. Stay in the places they lived. Talk to the friends that they made. Take a walk through your parents’ footsteps, so you can bring yourself closer — to them, and ultimately, yourself. The look into the past will propel you down your own road, wherever that may lead.

headspace

I live in my head. 
I live in my body.
They are always with me.
And yet, they are strangers.
I'm getting to know them.
Their patterns. Their shortcomings. Their strengths.
So strange that they feel so disconnected, and yet so intertwined.
Who is this observer that steps in to get to know them?
I can't truly tell you how it works. 
These parts and pieces that make up what we call a person.
They are one.
They are separate.
They are me.

object

Shortly after getting settled in this house, we turned one wall of our bedroom into a giant bookshelf. It has become a place for me to keep some of my most treasured belongings. Yes, the books we've read - and want to read - but also the many independent magazines I've collected over the years as well as hats, jewelry, candles, and more. It's a wall of material things.

While I really don't consider myself a materialistic person, I will admit to being a collector. Does that sound like a contradiction? At the core it is. But what I have gathered and placed on those shelves are so much more than material objects.

These beautiful independent magazines, laden with captivating imagery and words that challenge my perspective, are eyes into other people's worlds that fill me with knowledge and inspiration. This bag, it was a birthday gift from my brother who hand-picked the leather and had it made especially for me. They are objects floating in a cloud of sentiments. 

So, give me a moment. I would like to challenge the definition of materialism. For me, materialistic is not someone who places value in material objects; rather, materialistic is someone who places value in meaningless objects. A diamond given to you by someone you love has emotional worth. A diamond you had to have to impress your friends, that's emptiness.

What I'm saying is that it's ok to feel emotion towards a physical object so long as you understand why. So long as that reason is meaningful to you. Everyone has the freedom to be obsessed with what is truly beautiful, but we must also remember that beauty is different for each and every one of us. We all have our own definition. And we all have our right to love something without being labeled as materialistic.

-- 

Bag: Custom-made by Rita Sutormina

Magazine: The Collective Quarterly

november free people work

I've been a busy, busy bee, and well, it's been pretty silent on this here blog. In case you're not a Free People BLDG 25 regular, here is a little recap of my content in November. It's been a great month of inspiration, and playing around with photography. 

Hope you enjoy!

DIY Woven Pillow

A pillowcase woven with yarn and roving to add some living room flavor.

The Spirit Your Mini Bar Is Missing

Mouthwatering holiday cocktails with Art In The Age spirits.

Go Deskside With Our Graphic Design Team

A look into the creative work lives of Free People's graphic designers.

3 Lessons In Forgiveness

A personal story of forgiveness and what I learned from the experience.

weekly scenes: here, there, and everywhere

Here, there, and a little bit of everywhere. The ease with which we skip around the world today is a miracle. Just in the last month, I feel so lucky to have gone the places I've gone and to have met the people I've met. Fifty to one-hundred years ago, it would have been unfathomable. The fact that I can be in Philadelphia during the week and head up to New York state for a weekend - how I can fly to Vancouver and make my way up the coast within a week - it's not something to take with a grain of salt.

The ubiquity of travel makes the world accessible, and our generation is lucky to experience it. We can meet people on every continent, in every city, with more ease than ever before. This new age of travel is breaking down walls, and the planet is becoming a global society. 

It makes me feel like a part of something bigger; a huge community that inhabits the world. The experience of traveling across the continent and to a different country all by myself, tapped me into it and opened my eyes.  It's stunning and comforting to know that there are so many people we can get along with, connect with, enjoy, and learn from. Many a time we focus on the differences, but when you let your guard down, you begin to find the similarities. We all have more in common than you think.

Everywhere we go, there are amazing people. Interesting, creative, intelligent. We can share things with a complete stranger, and we can connect with someone who, appearance-wise, is an entirely different kind of person. When moments like that happen, life realizes meaning. Your heart grows just a little bit bigger with each interaction. It opens up a world in which we can go anywhere without really being alone.

This global community has not always existed. It's a phenomenon of our time, and something I, myself, am excited to live through. We should not let it go unnoticed how special this moment in time really is.

Here's to all the amazing people I've met, shared a moment, and spent time with on my recent travels.  You all put a smile on my face.

the mess

I'll never be well poised. I'm not well kept.

My knees are scraped. My mind is wild.

But I'm proud.

You see, these are all signs of who I am, and to hide them would mean that I'm ashamed. But the scrape my knee is the sign of a bike ride across town. The words that come out with no sign of eloquence, are raw, creative, and the mark of a thoughtful mind. My house isn't pristine because I stayed out too late enjoying friends and live music. The resulting, scabbing mess on my knee, the dust bunny blowing in the fan, the hangover - those are life's battle wounds, and they're my proof that I'm alive and living in a way that I believe in.

I'm done trying to fix it. It's taken ups and downs to get here. I spent a lot of time concealing certain parts of myself, but lately there's been a revelation causing me to embrace what's true. Maybe you have to try to be something you aren't in order to figure out who you actually are. I lay all my cards on the table, probably share a bit too much with other people, but I'm not ashamed of any of it. I'm fallible, and adventurous, and broken, and strong, and wise, and silly, and relentless all at the same time. It's a messy combination of a person, for sure. There is nothing clean about it.

The personal journeys, the tears, the bellowing laughs...it's the fabric of life. And the mess of it makes me feel alive. I'm going to keep living it. I'm going to keep sharing it. I no longer care if what you see is a perfect package.