Slow Travel: A way to leave smaller footprints while wandering the world.

Slow Travel: A way to leave smaller footprints while wandering the world.

The idea of meandering my way around the planet at a leisurely pace, allowing enough time to soak up the minutia of each locale, is a veritable wet dream of mine. Though, a close examination of my travel history would make me sound like a liar. Ok, maybe you would not have to look that closely.

Life has become a series of races to the finish line. Deadline after deadline, project after project, goal after goal have etched a groove into my subconscious routine, resulting in a mad rush to produce as much as super humanly possible within the shortest amount of time conceivable. Slowing down my pace sounds lovely, and feels like a failure.

Organic Grocery Stores: More than just veggies.

Organic Grocery Stores: More than just veggies.

I love, love, love, love shopping at organic grocery stores. They make finding ways to live cleaner almost effortless.

It is not just about local, organic produce. It is not even about the gluten free baking, the organic, raw chocolates (but holy crap does it come close!), the fairtrade coffee, organic cat food, the refill station for cleaning liquids, nor the relaxed and friendly staff.

It is about the innovation.

Don’t Fuss Over Lines: Where art and love of the environment run parallel.

Don’t Fuss Over Lines: Where art and love of the environment run parallel.

For an incredibly long time, the duration of my life actually, I have loved to create. This love has lived in juxtaposition with a tenacious aspiration to perfection.

Even as I reread that last sentence I find myself paralysed, agonizing over the placement of each word. Does is run smoothly? Could I find a better word for aspiration? And my recording of what started out as a clear train of thought comes to a crashing halt, cabooses colliding forward in a jumbled accordion zigzag as the engine stutters and runs out of steam.

Dear Plastic, It’s not you, it’s me.

Dear Plastic, It’s not you, it’s me.

Dear Plastic,

I am writing to inform you that I am leaving you.

I know this may seem callous, and even cowardly, ending our relationship through a letter after a lifetime together, but I fear a loss of resolve if I try to do this face to face. I imagine you saw this coming for a while now, perhaps you already knew when I brought that metal water bottle home.

You have many good qualities. I kept telling myself that things weren’t all that bad. You’re light weight, discreet, compactable, versatile, incredibly flexible to the point that you can be moulded into just about any form. What else could a woman ask for?

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