Full Circle.

I'm pumped. I'm ready. I'm jettin'. I'm.... where am I?

Ah, the dolphin tee. Got this baby at the Vancouver aquarium and lived out of it for days on end. Here I'm pictured giving a special report on the Inuit people in the fourth grade. At this time, my goal in life was to be a marine biologist. My school pee-chees bore gorgeous Christian Riese Lassen illustrations. My bedroom was bursting with marine life until I was fully 14 and went on a stuff purge. Also, I got to swim with dolphins at Discovery Cove with my grandparents when I was 12 or so, and later ventured to Hawaii with them. Hard life, I know.

I must say there is nothing quite like rediscovering past mementos. I need a paper bag. (I feel validated. I am a person of worth. I feel validated. I am loved. I am a person of worth... ) 

I love this shirt again. I kinda wanna make it a crop top and slice the crew neck off...

Occasion: family camping trip. Packed? Check.

The beat up yellow Volcom pack is one I nabbed last-minute to pack my stuff in. And, it fits. Perfectly. Not quite real hiking material, but it's a pretty cush tent-camping experience. Essentials: Under Armour, a few toiletries, shorts, jeans, sweatshirt, Speedo, black beanie, light gloves, hand towel. Other small clothing items (and they are few) categorized and vacuum-packed in gallon freezer bags. Last and most important: Blue Columbia shell rolled into a fist-sized twist. Buckled to the top of the pack for easy access.

The black North Face pack is close to unnecessary. The need to bring it everywhere with me is pathological. So, he comes. With a notebook, sketch pad, pens, wallet, glasses, two books I'll forget about (modern Zorro retelling and WWII epic), tech stuff, trail mix (personally combined for the perfect ratios) and who-knows-what.

Ahhh. Clif Bar. I am in love with this company. Small bar has 10 grams of protein and, with an apple, is a great summit treat. The big bar has 20 grams of protein and is great for being outside and feeling alive. They won't make you want to puke after a hard-core work out.

Once more: the pack. I owe my father for this absurd organizational, left-brained gene.

Kudos.