#whatarewedoinghere

[forzalife]

People of the Rolex 24 #PeopleWatching

There are several kinds of people at the Rolex 24.

Older men with hats, glasses/sunglasses, a racing shirt, cargo shorts, and back packs with a labored walk.😎

Young men with glasses/sunglasses, a beard, nerd shirts/racing shirt, shorts, and a back pack geeking out. 🤓

Pretentious men and women walking around in all black, like its NOT 80 degrees outside. The women wearing a black hat with their hair down, aviator sunglasses, black car brand shirt and black leggings. 🧐 #WhatAreWeDoingHere #Posing

Then there is everyone else, the people dressed to work for all the racing brands. These people definitely look cool and stand out. 🤩

Then...there is every everyone else. I am here for the nerds as long as they have all their teeth. I have never seen so many pair of jean shorts as I have seen in the last day or so. I will say I do not know where I fit in, but its definitely the be nice to everyone and smile crowd 😊.

Also, last thing, last year it was a cold 60 degrees 🥶 out and as I was leaving I saw a young woman, 30ish wearing a cropped Champagne of Beers shirt 🍾with a fringed denim skirt with cowboy boots 👢 and cowboy hat 🤠. Wear what makes you happy, but for the Love Of Racing 🏁🏎, don't dress tacky. *eye roll 🙄 #ThatIsAll #BeClassyRaceFans

[thisunfoldinglife]

How I Came To Live in the Woods

Two years ago, my husband and I bought our dream house. This lovely seventies fixer-upper has robbed us of every last pound, consumed months of our time, and has signed us up for another decade of sweaty evenings and weekends spent painting, repairing, and renovating. We sometimes stop, paintbrush in hand, and ask each other, “any regrets?” Well…no—but we both pine for simpler times.  

I look around and marvel at this big house and everything we’ve accumulated since our move to England. We arrived eight years ago with only a few suitcases and a handful of hopes. Unlike normal people, we didn’t ship our furniture and household goods from America. Instead, we had a massive yard sale and sold the rest on Craig’s List. I said goodbye to my sewing machine, guitar, bike, and camping equipment. We had to rebuy everything from brooms to blankets, dishes to clocks, silverware to shoes. It’s amazing how long it takes to rebuild your collection of stuff, especially when money is scarce.

Yet all this didn’t faze me. I was already well versed in the art of minimalism. When I was twenty-eight, all my worldly possessions resided inside the boot of my car. They would remain there for two years, while I tried out life as a vagabond.  When you’re young, the promise of adventure can outweigh all fear. When it’s just you—no partner, no kids—just you and the great big sky, there are more chances you can take.

It all started after reading Brazilian writer Paulo Coelho’s book, “The Pilgrimage”, which sparked my desire to embark on a solo journey to Northern Spain to walk a 500-mile pilgrimage route that’s existed since the Middle Ages. Looking back, my decision to walk this ancient path set into motion a new trajectory for my life that wouldn’t be altered for several years. Walking the path for forty days, with nothing in my backpack but my journal, clothes, food, and water, certainly perfected my predilection for a minimal existence, but it was truly the time before and after the pilgrimage, that tested my resolve to embrace the unconventional life.  

I was desperate to get to Spain. I had travelled the length and breadth of The States, but outside of a quick hop to London, I hadn’t properly travelled overseas. I didn’t have any form of savings to purchase a plane ticket or even feed myself for the two months I’d be gone, yet still, I couldn’t ignore the pull to go. I had a sharp distaste for fear and regret, and a stronger desire to be the bold protagonist in my own life story, so I needed to find a way.

I was living at the time in Flagstaff, Arizona. This high-desert mountain town boasts turquoise blue skies and perpetual sunshine to beckon everyone outdoors. At 7,000 feet above sea level, it’s cooler than its neighbouring desert towns, and yields deep winter snows that will never meet the cacti of the south. Flagstaff’s natural beauty draws an alternative collection of hikers, skiers, hippies, and transients. The cost of living is high, but the desire to be there great, and so many people find whatever means they can to stay. I had heard about a few odd souls who camped in the surrounding national forest for weeks at a time. I would be one of them. It was the most feasible means of funding my travels. I was renting an apartment then, with a kindred friend, Marike. Partial to avoiding conformity, she too, knew the value in travel and adventure, and so she wasn’t hard to convince. Together, we gave up our apartment to head for the woods. I quickly sold my furniture, giving away everything that wouldn’t fit inside my small Toyota. All I had left were my books, photos, clothing and gear.

Marike and I set up our first camp in a clearing of aspens and pines a mile down a long dirt lane. It was close enough to make the morning trek to work, yet far enough from the main road to ease our minds about cops or potential serial killers. My tent was narrow and thin, but sufficient. We’d forage for firewood, heat cans of soup on the stove at night and pour water for each other to wash up in the morning. Every other day, we’d pay to shower at the local hostel. Being April, the snow still fell, and so the coldest nights would find us curled up in the car beneath heaps of blankets, where sleep was fickle and fragmented. It was challenging, uncomfortable, and at times scary, but also exhilarating. The difficulties were dotted with starry skies, deep conversations, and the perpetual fresh mountain air that magically invigorated us despite it all. I felt raw and alive, my eyes open and senses heightened. My inner strength was blossoming, and my fears grew smaller, giving way to a confidence that began to permeate all aspects of my life.

Soon after, I left for Spain. Walking the pilgrimage was an epic alter reality that inspired and stimulated me daily. The path had brought many wonders and gifts—among them, a thirst for freedom, both internal and external. I felt tethered to nothing and life’s possibilities seemed boundless. The journey had liberated me from nearly all my money and material possessions, so when I returned to Flagstaff, I wasn’t ready to buy furniture, pay rent, and adopt a normal life. So, I returned to the woods. Marike had left for other adventures, and I was on my own, uncertain of how long I’d be there.

I was a vulnerable single woman alone in the forest, but through either ignorance or grace, I felt protected. I enjoyed the town and the trails by day and spent time with friends in the evening. I’d often find my way to the local bookstore before bed. Their late hours gave me a pseudo living room to read and write before driving back to the forest. On my way to the woods, I’d roll down the window to inhale the sweet smell of wood smoke escaping from well-lit houses, where people sprawled happily on couches, glasses of wine in hand. The line between liberating and lonely began to blur as winter closed in, but still, I was in a pleasant state of surrender. I believed life would shepherd me to extraordinary things, and magically it did.

At a random party, in a place I had never been, I met a married couple, Vickie and Bruce, who were soon to sail around the coast of Mexico for three months. I foolishly disregarded them as a wealthy privileged pair whom I’d have nothing in common with. Yet as our conversation grew, I quickly realised that they were making sacrifices to pursue their dreams, the same as I. And, when they asked me to look after their pets and home while they were away, I was humbled with euphoric gratitude. It was a blessed encounter that, not only granted me a home during the cold winter months but brought me a lasting friendship. For this couple, who were once two strangers, became dear friends. And their home became a haven of warmth and stability, to write, relax, and even grieve when my father unexpectedly died months after. And, two years later, when I met my husband, Vickie presided over our wedding.

Vickie and Bruce went on several long jaunts to Mexico, in which I was always happy to look after their home and pets. And in between, I found several other house-sitting jobs. I stayed in homes with hot tubs and hammocks, along rivers and among mountains. The most remote dwellings were quiet and wild, and I’d spy elk, coyote, and bear. Some were affluent, and afforded me weeks of luxury, soaking in big baths, lounging on plush furniture and dining in stylish kitchens. Others were more rustic. One January, I looked after a cat in a converted camper van on the edge of town. Without any electricity or water, the camper had only a small built-in wood burner to shield me from the worst of the winter cold. In three feet of snow, I’d chop logs into kindling and fall asleep to a roaring fire that demanded to be rebuilt several hours later, yanking me from sleep to action.

When one job finished, another would harmoniously begin. I only occasionally camped in the woods in the interims. Everything seemed to fall into place to facilitate this unconventional existence. It gave me courage, trust, confidence, and the precious gift of time. In escaping from the rat race, I bought myself time—to simply be—a luxury I have so little of now. It’s hard to believe I lived like that for two years. But in my wandering spell, I’d somehow cultivated true peace within myself. And even now, in life’s most constricting moments, my soul still wanders free because of it.  

My vagabond days eventually proved their limitations, and I began to crave a place of my own. With great resistance, I exchanged my car—which brought me such freedom—for an apartment, where I acquired a rescue cat, a collection of mismatched furniture, and soon after, my husband.

I look around now at all this stuff—sofas and beds, tables and toys. I never thought I’d accumulate so much. Yet instead of weighing me down, it pleasantly anchors me. I think children need rooms and toys to call their own. As do I. And from the comfort of my couch, I now enjoy the smell of wine and wood-smoke from my own chimney. Someday I might don my backpack again and set off on another pilgrimage. Maybe I’ll even find a quiet spot in the forest to dwell for a while. But first, this house needs work and love, and as it’s filled to the brim, there is no more room for regret.

[hortushorrei]

If green plants bore the hell out of you, you can now find them dipped in glue and glitter or drenched in glossy bright paints. Same price as the plain ones that everybody has already seen! 😢😭 #bioparco #allnatural #organicbeauty #thanksbutnothanks #ourpoorworld #whatarewedoinghere #seeninrome #wheninromedoastheamericansdo https://www.instagram.com/p/CF9lmu-FBZ3/?igshid=xx79djgx28mm

[trini2015]

from @though_the_window - PROJECT BLUE BEAM - #StayWoke #wakeup #awakening #awoken #Amerikkka #StayReady #whattheworldisreallygoingon #Whatdaworldisreallygoingon #whatarewedoinghere #ProjectBlueBeam

[lindamitchellart]

“What are we doing here?” This one from a couple years ago about global warming and climate change. 18x24” Available. #whatarewedoinghere #climatechange #globalwarming #lionart #meltingice #scarytimes #conservation https://www.instagram.com/p/B7ymvsppYFn/?igshid=litjcbhzq6nd

[auroraeliseborialis]

I just get so interested in people sometimes. Like interested in their stories, the way they view life, their childhoods and all that jazz. I get so interested that I forget about me, I forget I'm part of this conversation and that I have to reply and tell my own stories. It suuucks bro i wanna be engaged I wanna be real instead of feeling like I'm watching the world as an unseen observer. Anyway I'm gunna stop smoking weed and sleep.

[diecastnorbz]

Off to see Annabelle! 👻💀👻💀👻💀😱😱😱Gods...Help!! #artist #needhelp #demons #whatarewedoinghere #halp

[purlbella]

New #hardcover #fiction and #nonfiction #books @solidstatedc #UntoldStoryofSmoketown #Pittsburgh #MarkWhitaker #Sunburn #novel #LauraLippmam #AllthePiecesMatter #TheWire #JonathanAbrams #WhatAreWeDoingHere #essays #MarilynneRobinson #book #bookaddict #bookstagram #bookstore #bookshop #ReadingGreetings #read #Reading (at Solid State Books)

[arminiokrot]

[vegeterryn]

Are you getting your #YOLO on or nah? 👻🎃👻🖤👻🎃👻 . . . #justcurious #weirdflexbutok #thesixthsense #iseedeadpeople #thisishalloween #nightmarebeforechristmas #jackskellington #existentialism #existentialist #existential #xxxtentaction #igphilosophers #philosophersofinstagram #existenceisweird #everythingisweird #whatareyoudoing #whatarewedoinghere #whatisthemeaningoflife #askmorequestions #beinquisitive #thinkcritically #thinkitsnotillegal #notmorbidatall #realistic #truthful #thetruthhurts #youcanthidefromthetruth #thetruthisallthereis #truthaddict https://www.instagram.com/p/Bpa4doQgQI4/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=jfd3u4n8yx9l

[thisunfoldinglife]

To Love The Sun

When I was twenty-seven, my religion was the sun. I suppose it was a natural leaning given my home was Arizona, where the high desert sky seldom saw a cloud. But I was more devout than the typical sun-seeker. I wanted to hug the sun every morning and kiss it to sleep at night. So began my love affair with the sunrise. I’d wake up when the world was dark and drive to the top of a nearby look out, a lover’s lane of sorts. I could imagine the bodies who kissed hours ago beneath this moon were now sound asleep, giving no mind to the unveiling of dawn. On a blanket in the dirt, I’d watch, with nearly every blink, the darkness steadily give way to light. I felt small and alive, like a mouse with a stolen treat. I was akin to ancient culture— the Greeks, Aztecs, Egyptians. I could understand unequivocally how they’d found a god in this luminous orb. This golden glowing circle was everything. Giving us vital warmth, light and energy; it’s gravitational centre literally kept the planets in orbit. What a marvel that we’re able to inhabit the earth at all. I returned to that spot nearly every day for a year.

And then I didn’t. Time went on and my intensity for the sun waned, as most attractions do.  Yet every so often, I would stop for a minute, struck by its magnitude, and my heart would silently bow before it. When I moved from Arizona to England, I sobbed. How dare my husband bring me to this dark cloud-infested land! I feared I’d never see my friend the sun again. I learned quite quickly, though, that the sun does still shine on Britain. And in fact, its whimsical and spontaneous appearances endear it to me that much more. So I relaxed into England, started a family, and altogether forgot about the sunrise. After all, how could I escape the house to greet the sun, when I could barely move without little one’s permission?

But my babies became children and the passing of time often brings unexpected gifts. And so it was the other morning, that the sun beckoned me out of bed while my family was still asleep. I snuck outside, a warm flask of tea in hand, and walked uphill along the road behind our house. The moon was still high and bright in an unusually spotless sky, and the birds were beginning to chatter happily. The sheep grazed on the fresh grass and I breathed in the mountains around me. The land was still a marvellous mystery having only recently moved to the village. While my husband learns all the names of the mountains he can see, I take the shapes in whole, the curvaceous composition of the hills and fells as they gently roll up and down across my eyes.

I saw a bench up ahead and I stopped, resting my gaze on that faint orange glow begging to erupt into vibrancy. I took a long sip of tea and placed my flask beside me. My eye caught a metal inscription on the bench. I hadn’t noticed it before. “In Memory of Cam Ross. 1936-2013.” Cam Ross. We bought our house from the Rosses, from Cam’s widowed wife, Mary. She’d told us that she lost Cam to a heart attack four years before we moved in. The walls that now hold my sleeping family once held this man. Did he sit and enjoy this view when he had eyes to see it, and listen for the birds when he had ears to hear. Had he ever escaped to the sunrise while his children were tucked up in bed, like mine are now. Who will rest where I now sit and feast their eyes upon this scene when I am gone. Which souls will fill our house when our lifeless bodies no longer need it?

I closed my eyes for a while, and when they opened, the glowing light seemed brighter than ever, and my body never more alive. I bid thank you to the Rosses, bowed towards the sun, and vowed that I would return. Then I ran down the road towards my family, feeling my breath and body bursting with life.

[booksforyears]

Day 3 of #allthebooksjan is - “Most Anticipated 2018 Releases”. The book deities smileth down upon us because in 2018 we will be graced with new Marilynne Robinson, Zadie Smith, a reissue of a Samantha Hunt novel, and an essay collection edited by Roxane Gay 📚❤️🙏🏽 #book #books #read #reading #bookish #booklover #booklife #bibliophile #newreleases #upcomingreleases #notthatbad #roxanegay #essaycollection #essay #feelfree #zadiesmith #whatarewedoinghere #marilynnerobinson #theseas #samanthahunt #bookstagram #booksofinstagram

[trini2015]

#TheseMFHere #wearethepeople #wtf is really going on. #whitetterrorist #whitenationalist #WhiteLiesMatter #whiteamerikkka #whattheworldisreallygoingon #Whatdaworldisreallygoingon #whatarewedoinghere#smdh @Regranned from @staygood_91 - I GUESS THE NEIGHBORS THINK IM SELLING DOPE!!! A retired #white aerospace #engineer was on #judge #CristinaPerez admitting to striking a 17 year old in the back with a shovel after seeing the kid in the neighborhood; during his #neighborhoodwatch patrol!! The man admits that his suspicion was raised when he realized this kid was #black in the neighborhood. He was quoted saying things such as, “ no black people lived in this neighborhood “ x he didn’t belong. The kid was a #highschool #football player who also had on his #letterman #jacket that night which clearly represents that this kid is not only an #athlete but is in high school!! That didn’t stop this older white man from thinking that he was up to no good; bc he was black. Not only did he admit to following and stalking the kid until the point where the kid started to run home; he admitted to chasing the kid to his doorway. Where this 17 year lived with his mother. And striking him in the back with a shovel; hitting him hard enough to not only knock him out but to end his high school football career; creating damage to his nerves and his spine. The kid will never be the same all bc he was walking home “BLACK” in a “WHITE” neighborhood!! 🤦🏽‍♂️ The man got away with the charges; btw!!!!! #justice #injustice #jcole #HipHop #thestruggle #racism #bias #america #usa #amerikkka #trump #fucktrump https://youtu.be/I8YqYyszQJU - #regrann

[loverockresidue]

I met Rob Bell tonight!! #gavehimaheartrock #gotahug #ithinkisteppedonhisfeet #sogood! #whatarewedoinghere #tobehereisglorious #thankyou #robbell #robcast #lovehislaugh (at Magers & Quinn Booksellers)

[operatorgator-blog]

I survived the drive.⁣ ⁣ First picture is posing at FOB Martello after driving all night. I was the tail gunner with the M240B on the back of my GMV.⁣ ⁣ Second picture is of our support by fire position, on day two, with the 81mm mortar and GMVs. We setup on the opposing ridge from the day prior, where we had gotten into a massive firefight clearing the valley.⁣ ⁣ Third picture is me posing again, with the M240B, after clearing the valley & setting up the patrol base before the second night.⁣ ⁣ A/2/3 SFG(A); Circa October of 2007.⁣ ⁣ #fng #18d #specialforcesmedic #specialforces #greenberets #3rdsfg #usasfc #usasoc #ussocom #3daypatrol #dcu #eagleindustries #m4 #m240b #gmv #81mm #trijiconacog #m145 #mk19 #maduece #tarinkowt #oruzgan #kandahar #afghanistan #oefxi #whatarewedoinghere⁣ (at Kandahar Province) https://www.instagram.com/p/BxOBpq4h_FU/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=mnq56e9xko4s

[bug-sadchihuahua]

The constant realization that we (Americans) live a world where there’s a president who not only considers calling someone a “dog” one of the worst insults he can come up with, but also uses that insult to refer to a former female employee. Hey America, wyd? #whatAreWeDoingHere #dogsAreLoyal #dogsAreFriends #dogsAreLoving https://www.instagram.com/p/BmeOnQGH8Ep/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=9c7u3h7m8qyf