So far, I do things because they scare me.

I buy non-refundable airfare, especially when a trip makes me nervous and I'm tempted to cancel. Coin tosses have dictated several of my major life decisions, especially when I know the only thing paralyzing me is the paradox of choice among many good, or arbitrary, options.

Until my brain atrophies or my circuitry shorts, I want to be a perpetual beginner, ever humbled and stumbling, sampling as many facets of human experience as one life can gorge itself on.

My resume would be a clusterfuck, but it's been six years since I've written one.

Meanwhile, I've spent six months in the backcountry building trails and bathing in snowmelt at 13,000 feet above sea level [because I'd never done manual labor, gone camping, or been at altitude]; got hired and then certified as a ski instructor [because I'd never lived with snow—and didn't know how to ski]; worked as a massage therapist at an upscale spa [because I hadn't been one to touch strangers]; accepted a gig as a golf cart mechanic for Burning Man [because I'd never intended to go to Burning Man and had never worked on golf carts] which led me to plumbing huge pyrotechnics and a six month stint on the build crew for Embrace [because I'd never built large-scale art].

When I made this site in 2015, it was in preparation for bicycling up the US Atlantic Coast by myself [because I'd never biked much before], trusting that I'd be able to fund it as I went, learning about and promoting causes and individuals in whom I believed [because, as essential to one's own growth as adventure, enrichment, and soul-searching are...ultimately I don't exist in a vacuum and believe the way to be a "world citizen" is to contribute to positive global change by paying my good fortune forward]. 

[And because the mere prospect scared me.]

In between these projects I’ve made a living running nakedly amok in scattered corners of the world, living out of a car or backpack and working as an art model. Freelance modeling has alternately been my profession, my vice, my enabler, my shadow, my impulse, my hobby. Sometimes I'm helplessly infatuated with it. Then sometimes it inundates me with existential crises, first-world-feminist-ambivalence, and other stereotypical millennial dilemmas.

Sometimes I like to think I help build incorporeal treasures: stories and memories, authentic or fabricated—moments, anyway, made referenceable. The images are cut from moments of my life, but they're constructions. I regard the girl in each one as a stranger.

Being a professional poser, construct, and symbol has raised a lot of questions for me. Occasionally it’s also proffered things that smell like answers.

Offhand, I build corporeal treasures, too: some that will withstand a century of weathering and are exceedingly practical, others that shoot giant balls of flame sixty feet up in the air and are delectably impractical.

Above all, I sing. I write. I flip cars. I scuba dive. I climb things. I do yoga. I make liqueurs. I make frivolous pretty things. I get out of the car and plunge into cold water in the dark. I pet kitties. I eat bugs. I go where I shouldn’t. I fall in puddles. I fall in love. I overestimate. I overstep. I overexert. I overindulge. I falter. I withdraw. I introspect.

True story.

The trajectory of my life is a bit of a capricious shit-show but, so far, I like it that way.