A small but powerful message from the Moon.

Moments of magic aren’t always big powerful rituals, a coven in a darkened room/ wood, all pageantry and pomp.

Sometimes, moment of magic and following the Path include letting the Universe know you’re terrified about leaving the job you’ve had for nearly five years, the people you’ve grown to love, the communities you helped build. That yes, you’ll still be part of those communities and those people you love say they’ll love you back in Life After The Change, but you don’t know what that will look like until it happens. Or doesn’t.

Before this year, I hadn’t practiced in…years. I’m embarrassed to say that I let other people shame me out of my faith at one point, and after that…well, life got in the way. I let life get in the way. But gradually, I’ve been finding my way back to the Path. I’ve also been learning to trust my instincts again more as I catch up to where I am and what I’ve learned when I thought I wasn’t practicing but actually, kinda was. But that’s another story.

Finding my way back today meant throwing fear and insecurity and anxiety out to the Universe on a mundane drive home from the grocery store and suddenly…the clouds cleared, revealing a luscious, one-night-shy-of-full Moon. And as I stared in awe, grateful for the red light that afforded me the opportunity, a feeling of calm washed over me and a voice, maybe your my subconscious, maybe the Universe, maybe the Moon herself, quietly quelled me.

It will be okay. I don’t know how, but it will be okay. You will be okay. 

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Just start.

My best friend sent this to me today after I sent him an email jam-packed with pain that I’ve been having a hard time articulating.

Start now.
Start where you are.
Start with fear.
Start with pain.
Start with doubt.
Start with hands shaking.
Start with voice trembling but start.
Start and don’t stop.
Start where you are, with what you have.
Just . . . start.

-Ijeoma Umebinyuo

When I first read it, paralysis side-swiped me. But I’ve surrendered to it, and marinated in it, and as I was cruising a website, I remembered something about someone I recently met. That they’re a photographer. And the description of how they shoot and how they regard their models was enough to make me at least reach out and inquire about what it would take to do a shoot. Because I made a promise to myself earlier this year to work for: 

Radical personal body acceptance including:

  • more photo shoots
  • more acceptance of the three parts of my body I have the most trouble loving
  • actively hone body self confidence and increase time spent with people who bolster that in me and themselves and others

Also, it made me look up Ijeoma Umebinyuo and holy fuck, she amazing and now I need to read her book.

And even though I updated the list that promise was part of in March, to include a resurgence of interest I had then in sex, that part didn’t change.

I realized, I’m also starting in other ways, recently, too. I’m pursuing some play opportunities with old and new friends, writing ISOs for events again, and I made arrangements to go a new(ish) kink event with a friend next weekend.

It might be time for a 3/4 year check in post for that bucket list, now that I think about it, because I’ve also discovered two things that weren’t on my radar when this year began that I now want to try. Also, I’m behind in reading and want to kick my own ass into gear for that.

Now I just also have to figure out how to take better care of my body. Been trying to take better care of my mind. Got a therapist, who’s awesome. Started writing more, including writing about my pronouns and struggle with gender. I want to write more even more frequently, and I’m trying to write more songs. Went to a song writers meet up a few months ago. Have to go back soon. Also sang in public on the boardwalk. Want to do that again soon. Have been trying to find different ways to communicate with people to get needs met. Trying to make my life better. It just hurts a lot and is really difficult right now. But.

I’m starting.

Breathing through change

There’s a website I used to go to every single day. In Chrome, when you frequent certain sites, it will keep eight of them on your home screen when you open the web browser. This particular website used to battle out the first position with my work email inbox and Facebook. Sometimes, a little commentator voice would go off in my head, keeping track of the ranking. “Well, it looks like Facebook has pulled ahead of Work and The Other Website. Perhaps you should be doing more work, or visiting The Other Website more! Nope! Facebook has stayed in the lead for two days now! Way to waste time!”

But generally, The Other Website would win. And seeing it there everyday was a reminder. A glorious cluster of colorful pixels that reminded me of something good that touched my core. That I had wanted for so long. That safe space was created, and it was a click away, cutting through hundreds of miles.

However. Due to life, this website had been slipping in the ranking for the past few months as I less and less frequently went to it. One day last week…for the first time ever, I opened the browser and it just…wasn’t there. I burst into tears like a proper adult who’s heart had cracked.

My phone has forgotten some words I used on a regular basis, too. When I first realized that, there were more tears. There’s been a lot of crying lately. Also a lot of change. And more to come, likely. Well, definitely. Life is always changing. Always evolving. Even now, the situations above with the website and my phone…those are also still evolving.

But additionally, there’s been a fuckton of other shifting over the past few months, too. I can’t keep track of it all, sometimes.

It just…hurts. And it’s not just the website or the words or any one change…but moreso what they represent. Communication is good, though. Because it means that I can express some of this and there might be hope for things. I’ve had to process a lot to find my way to the words so I can communicate to those around me.

Back when I was a water fitness instructor, one of the things they drilled into us was to remind our students to breathe. People who are learning something new, or concentrating, or exercising will often hold their breath and that’s…less than optimal for a workout. Also, fainting on land is one thing. It gets way more complicated real quick if they go down in the water. So at least three or four times during my classes, I would remind people to breathe. Thankfully, no one went under on my watch.

Which is funny, because half the time I was reminding them to breathe, I was also reminding myself.

It’s even more hysterical when you factor in the fact that I’m a trained singer and while I’ve been breathing into my diaphragm for nearly 30 years, I still have issues with breath control. With lots of preparation, I can sustain long notes or a good vibrato, but it takes a lot of concentration. You’d think after so many years singing, it would be easier.

Earlier this year, I was loaned Urban Tantra, a book I’ve been wanting to read for a while now. I’m about four chapters in and frozen…it’s the chapter on breathing. Different kinds of tantric breath. My brain just…shuts down. I don’t know why.

Earlier this year, I turned 40. A kind numerology expert gave me a reading as a present and one of the key elements she saw was that I had to focus on breathing and movement.

It’s like this is a theme for me or something.

Clearly, when there are so many changes swirling around me, I should be breathing more. Deeper. Deliberately. I know it. Reminders are all around me. On my playlist, Pearl Jam, Scarlet Sails, and Hedwig tell me. I’ve got friends who remind me. And still, it’s so fucking hard. My body just keeps wanting to curl into a protective ball, not breathe too much, or say too much, and hope that the hurt, the confusion, the feeling of constantly walking in a field of landmines will just go away.

Of course, it doesn’t work that way in real life. There’s too much shit to do.

So I’ve spent nearly two decades, and especially the last five years, trying to unlearn and undo these impulses. I’ve forced myself to interact more, though a diagnosed anxiety disorder also makes this challenging. But when it comes to certain things, like music, or sex, or D/s, or writing…I still sometimes hold my breath, retreat, and just hope that the changes I feel won’t be as bad as they seem. That not yet another thing or person or dynamic that I love will be taken away from me, or leave, or fade.

Recently, my best friend took me to Santa Fe for my 40th birthday. It was an incredible experience but I found myself overwhelmed a lot, which has been happening a whole bunch lately. Visiting new places, the architecture, the art, the altitude, the aromas, the energy, the music, the people, the travel, the changes to routine, all co-mingling with the life shit that was already in my brain before I went.

But. For the first time in a long time, I was able to get through most of the overwhelming by breathing in Santa Fe. Deep, deliberate breaths – in through the nose, out through the mouth. My therapist said it might’ve been a little easier with the drier air. She said the humidity in this area can sometimes make it more difficult to breathe with intention. Not impossible, just challenging. So the best I can do is be aware of it. Try extra hard to breathe better, more frequently, more fully. It doesn’t make the changes directly easier…but it sure as hell is helping me open up to them and embrace the unknown a little.

Vulnerability: the Self-Vivisection of Music, Submission, and Love

“You know….you clearly don’t know what it takes for me to be bold.”
-from the song “I Found a Boat” by Scarlet Sails

Holy fuck, I sang on the boardwalk Sunday night. In front of people. I wasn’t sure if it was going to happen. I mean, some part of me knew it would eventually happen, but I wasn’t certain it was going to be this past Sunday.

See, I’ve been talking with a friend about performing; they invited me to join them on the boards since they have a busking license. A few months ago, I asked them if they would learn the guitar part of a song for me that I really feel the need to sing and hear every damn day. I’m trying to learn it on guitar, but it’s slow going, so I was hoping they could help me get out there. So we set up time to rehearse for this past Sunday. Spent some time singing the harmonies together on a song they wanted to sing lead on, a few times over, and I played some stuff for them, and we worked on the song I asked them to learn. It was great. It was beyond great. It was something I’d dreamed about for decades…singing and playing with another musician in this way.

And then they asked if I wanted to go out and busk. Like…right then. That day.

The “sure” that flew out of my mouth surprised both of us, apparently. It seems I just….had found a pocket of courage and decided to run with it. I’ve wanted this for so long. To sing in front of people like this.

Now, some of you who know me might be all like, “but you’re a burlesque dancer who sings!” Or, “but you’ve been in choirs and musicals!”

And you’re absolutely right. However, there’s always a kind of character involved. Always someone else. And even when I was myself, like in choirs, I was still…part of the choir. Which isn’t me, right? It’s a group. I can blend in. Even when I’ve done solos…I was a bundle of nervous…but, it’s still with the choir. I know, I know…it’s weird.

There are just so many facades; this way, I don’t have to actually, fully be vulnerable. Because obviously, the world would end. Or at least that’s what my fears and anxieties scream at me. I mean, the actual world we all live in wouldn’t end. Cause, duh. No matter how illogical my fears are, I know that the world does not revolve around me.

But my world, the world where I have people in my life that I care about, things I enjoy doing, (or people whom I enjoy doing and things that I care about…y’know six of one…)…it feels like it would all come crashing down. I battle Imposter Syndrome on a regular basis. I also have a diagnosed anxiety disorder, as well as clinical depression. On top of all that, I’m an introvert.

They’re all managed. Mostly. But management is not a cure. It doesn’t all just magically go away. I’ve worked my ass off for over two decades to learn, to grow, to manage, to adapt, to push myself outside of comfort zones and try to open up.

However, there’s still an underlying, paralyzing fear that all the people I care about would leave if they knew what I really felt. The crippling fear and panic I deal with every day that I try to bury under all the layers of socially acceptable I slather on. The smiles, the banter, the glamour, all like a duck trying to swim so smoothly on the surface, but hiding the frantic feet churning water as fast as possible to stay ahead of everything, seek out every possible threat, protect myself in all the ways I learned when I was a kid.

The thing is…I made a decision a long time ago that I didn’t want to hide from pain. Or fear. Or, basically who I am and the things I am passionate about. I wanted to face it all head on. I’ve learned that courage is not the absence of fear, but the persistence to keep going, Do The Thing, even when you’re shaking and terrified. I’ve worked for years, on therapist’s couches, in cars on long drives talking with people I trust, over the course of hours and days in solitude crying and processing, and in so many other ways, to keep opening myself up. Over and over. Some things are easier than other to talk about, act on, be. I am very comfortable being a creative, polyamorous, kinky, pansexual gray ace.

However, I’ve realized there are three basic things that strip that all comfort away from me: submission, music, and love.

Writing, art, dance, and creativity in general are ways I peel off certain layers, but submission, music, and love are the ones that cut to the quick, tap a vein, and various other metaphors that try to explain how I feel like I’m cracking open my chest and leaving all my gooey innards on display in some weird self-vivisection. Making the parts that people don’t see completely vulnerable. The parts I try to hide, because life has taught me when you let people see those things, it hurts. They laugh, they leave, or…they let you know that it doesn’t matter to them. That is probably the one that hurts the most. The indifference. It sounds stupid to admit…but I want to matter. I want to be valued. And at certain times, in certain ways, with a few people…desired.

Submission is one of the quickest ways to, appropriately, bring me to my proverbial knees. Some people have made the mistake of thinking that submission is weakness. Which is bullshit. Submission is absolutely not weakness. It’s been said before, by multiple people in many places, but I will say it again: You cannot take power away from the powerless. There is a core of strength and solidity to submission that is anything but weak. There is also tremendous vulnerability in submission.

There have been very few people in my life with whom I resonated in any way as a submissive. For various life reasons, my submission is beyond back-burnered. I’m grateful for all the experiences and the people I have resonated with, as my submission is something I guard very closely and wound up shutting down for a few years because it just hurt too much and I also battled some serious “I’m a terrible submissive so why bother?” demons. I’m especially grateful for the people who helped bring my submissive out of hiding. There was a brilliant combination of some gentle coaxing, some distinct challenges issued, some blunt truth, and a hefty dose of magic involved and all that has given me the courage to be open to the rare times I do get to be submissive and also hold out hope that one day I will have opportunities to be submissive more regularly.

When it comes to love, you’d think I’d be more…skilled and less scared in regards to it, being polyamorous for over 15 years. But no. There’s still true terror. I continually push myself past it, as best I can, but it’s always there. I’m realizing lately that there is part of me that struggles to feel worthy of the people I love. Like…I think they’re wonderful. But why would they want me? Also, it’s fucking hard to admit that I…have desires. That I want things. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out what they are, and then once I do….communicating them is terrifying. It’s one part being an adult and being prepared to hear “no” because that’s always a possibility and one should know how to hear that maturely, and one part, “omg, what if they want that, too?!” I mean, it should be awesome if they want the same thing, right? But then my brain goes, do they really want it? Why do they really want it? If they wanted it, why didn’t they say something? It all boils down to a baseline fear of do they really want me? And if signs are pointing to yes…why do they want me? Followed by, but sure and then they’re going to leave. There are some people who’ve come into my life that I constantly have to shout down the jackass parts of my brain about. I might’ve written a little about it here. Constant process, learning to love myself.

And then there’s music.

Dear *insert dieties here*, music. They say that scent is one of the most powerful memory triggers, but for me, the most powerful is music. A certain song can throw me backward 20 years. When I find myself falling in love with someone, I go on a quest for music (and sometimes the music gets delivered right to me, which is AWESOME) to help me understand what this particular type of love means to me. I also look to music to help me process most emotions or to amplify certain emotions. I’m forever grateful to people who’ve introduced me to types of music or certain groups/performers that I hadn’t experienced before. There are certain singers/bands that will always be entwined with specific people because they’re the ones that exposed me to that music. My best friend has said that I experience the world through music and I think it’s true. It’s my first filter. I often think in song lyrics. They’re flying around almost always in my head. Music is infused in all I do.

And when I write my own stuff, and sing it…it’s…it’s like stripping away everything and flashing the world with my soul. It’s immediate. Visceral. I can’t hide behind the covers, a computer screen, nor sprint for the nearest door. I mean, I guess I could run and hide. But if I’m committed staying there and singing…it means I’m actively choosing to stay and be seen. It’s one of the purest forms of sharing. It’s so raw.

Sometimes it feels obscene to be that raw. Like, surely there are propriety laws or at least common social mores to observe. Someone is going to accuse me of, like, corrupting minors or breaking a law, right?

And because the Universe works in mysterious wonderful ways and helps to keep you on the path of opening up when you decide to, I found this poem on a friend’s FB earlier this week when I started writing this post. I now need to look up the works of Nayyirah Waheed.

Aaaaaand speaking of the Universe and its mysterious wonderful ways, also as I was in the process of writing this, I was reintroduced to this quote:

“Most people believe vulnerability to be weakness, but really vulnerability is courage. We must ask ourselves, are we willing to show up and be seen?”
– Brene Brown

Sounds similar to what I had said above about not being able to take power from the powerless and how submission is not weakness, either. It’s all connected. And at least for me, in my heart…music, submission, and love are points of vulnerability. Opportunities for courage. Offering another fucking opportunity for growth.

And man, this year has been one of grieving, change, and growth. I sometimes can’t keep up with all the emotions/experiences and being an empath on top of it makes it even more challenging. I’ve also been traveling a lot lately, and it’s difficult to be traveling with people I care about and not always be sure what to do with all the conflicting things that I’m trying to process. The past and the present and the future all swirling together. There have been many tears and only a few answers so far, and I get so frustrated with myself when I can’t control the damn tears.

Vulnerability means that I can’t always close myself back up the way I used to. It means sitting with the grief and uncertainty and insecurity and figuring out how to proceed. Sometimes it fucking sucks. Sometimes, though, it means other things. Like creating music with someone you respect, trust, and care about and just…being seen. When it’s that, it’s fucking awesome.

Sunday was fucking awesome.

To be kneeling again…only kneeling again…

The subject of kneeling has been a difficult thing for me. For as long as I’ve been in the scene, which is getting close to twenty years now, I’ve wanted to learn kneeling positions but for various reasons, such as the timing or interests of partners not lining up except once, it’s not been a Thing. For that one time it did, it was like a light shone from inside of me. A light I had almost forgotten existed. I also began to find that meditating on my knees was a thing that brought me great peace and clarity. When I first started, I also began to find that I could kneel for longer as I practiced.

However, bodies are funny things. Sometimes, they can’t do the things they used to be able to do. I don’t know if I fucked it up or if it’s a product of getting older, or both, but somewhere along the lines a few months ago, my right knee began telling me that kneeling wasn’t such a good idea anymore. I tried many things. Adjusting positions. For the Gorean positions I was practicing, the ones involving being on both my hands and knees were better, but still had some issues, especially for more than five or ten minutes. I tried adjusting the positions, but that still only helped for short term. Eventually, it became something I couldn’t sustain.

This sadness this has caused hurt so badly that took my breath away. I’ve literally found it hard to center myself via breathing and meditating because my body wants so badly to be on my knees. Wants…so many things that that means.

And yet…we can’t always have what we want.

But.

A few weekends ago at TES Fest, I was in a scene. At various parts, down on my knees. It was like the sun had finally come out. (The impact and endorphins helped a lot, too) I tried so hard not to get overwhelmed with the fear of how fleeting it was. Tried not to hold on to it too tightly and just embrace where I was in the moment, because there were other things going on, too. But I was so grateful. After the scene was over, I tried not to get lost in the fact that it was over. That I wasn’t sure when I wound be on my knees again. Not sure how possible it was going to be for many reasons. Since life has been relatively busy, I managed to put it aside for awhile.

Then my best friend took me to Santa Fe this past weekend for my 40th birthday. On our last day there, we were treated to a 90 minute session at 10,000 Waves, a spa that is known for it’s soaking tubs, both private and public. Our treat was a private suite with two teacup soaking tubs.

Do you know what’s incredibly possible and a helluva lot less painful in a warm, 2′ deep teacup soaking tub?

Kneeling.

Do you know what I did for the majority of the time I was in that tub, as soon as I realized this?

Knelt.

At first, I cried. I tried not to make it all sobbing, because y’know, there with my best friend and we’re supposed to be having a relaxing experience. But once I got some of the tears quietly out, I threw all the gratitude I had out into the universe and felt everything in me relax. I meditated, I asked the universe for guidance with a lot of the difficulties I’m currently having with D/s, relationships, life. I opened myself up and felt the pain of not knowing how often I’d be able to kneel but also being so grateful that I could do it at all.

Once that all flowed through me, as I concentrated on just breathing and letting whatever I felt happen, I got…giddy. And started to draft a filk of “Human Again” from Beauty and the Beast. I don’t know if I’m the first, but seriously, after a while, all I could think was “To be kneeling again, only kneeling again, when my body once more feels at ease. I’ll be where I belong, dear god, it’s been so long since I’ve felt so much like me…”

There’s more, but it’s not quite finished. Gotta work on that.

Right now, though, I’m just so glad I got that out, that I had these two experiences to show me that things can change, and they might end, but there are still possibilities I never expected. The core is still there in me, regardless of if I’m on my knees are not. Now I just have to figure out how to tap into it more.

On guideposts, intentions, and manifesting the life I want.

My mission, should I choose to accept it, is to find peace with exactly who and what I am. To take pride in my thoughts, my appearance, my talents, my flaws and to stop this incessant worrying that I can’t be loved as I am.
-Anais Nin

Working on my List of Intentions for 2017. This quote is going to be a guidepost for me. It doesn’t, to me, mean there isn’t room for growth and change. But it reminds me to focus my energy on positive things, like growth and change, instead of “this incessant worrying that I can’t be loved as I am”, where ever I am on that journey.

I also want to try to worry less about fitting everything and everyone into specific boxes.

Specific list coming later, but currently the List of Intentions looks a lot like cultivating more love, kink, joy, growth, spirituality, creativity, understanding, learning, reaching out to help others, purging that which no longer serves me, figuring out what does serve me, how to better serve others, exploring my ever-evolving sexuality, deepening my switchiness while honoring and exercising my submissive core, and following the positive energy.

If you’d like to join me for any part of this in 2017, message me. Let’s see what we can discover together.

A year of evolving love and kink

So. 2016 was fucking rough. If you’re one of the few people for whom it wasn’t rough, mazel tov and I’m incredibly happy for you. I hope for more good things for you in 2017. But for me? And many of the people I love and are close to? 2016 was massive What The Fucking Fuck year. It tore through with a staggering number of celebrity deaths, unprecedented change, massive amounts of life shifts, and some of the worst pain, confusion, and turmoil I’ve had to go through in years. I would like there to be less of those things, please, in the coming year. While I do understand the learning experience value of these things, and that the cycle of life also includes death, it would be nice to balance things out a little.

I will honor the bad things that happened as part of the journey. However, I want to focus on the good to direct my future journey. In that regard, most of the good things that happened in my life centered around poly and kink, so I’m going to celebrate those.

In my resolution post from last year, I set forth to rejoin the kink scene/community among other things. My overarching goal was to get back in the swing of things, so to speak. And I did almost everything on that list under the kink section, and then some.

  • Joined the (then local) scene in Memphis, became a member of the local dungeon, went to events, played, and learned. I also slowly started to rejoin the New Jersey scene.
  • Rediscovered my love for rose flogging and then proceeded to rose flog a bunch of people that I care about over the course of a few months, culminating, for me, in my first ever duel rose flogging scene at the close of the dungeon to “Bohemian Rhapsody” at GKE Classic. Which was a BLAST.
  • Even though it was scary as fuck, and some parts of the journey were bumpy as fuck, in February, I reached out to someone who would eventually become my Sir. We’ve spent almost a year building a relationship that works for us which is evolving, flexible, and a constant surprise to me. I look forward to seeing what the new year will bring for us.
  • I had some great (and some really shocking – in the good way) make out sessions and my ideas of what my sexuality is continue to morph. Demisexual doesn’t fit anymore and I’m not so sure about gray ace, either. What I do know is that I’m far more interested in sex than I used to be, but still with a fairly limited pool of people.
  • My husband and I embarked on shifting to becoming anarchical poly instead of hierarchical. There have been some challenges, but overall, it seems to be best for both of us. For me personally, it’s the only thing that makes sense anymore.
  • With help, I got over two fears regarding submission. One, and the scariest one in general, was the fear that I wouldn’t be able to submit anymore. And/or that I was no good and/or too old. And/or out of practice. That I wouldn’t be able to get to the head space I had been waiting to get to for years. Two, being afraid to submit in public at an event where I had a managerial role. With Sir’s help in both regards, I was able to, in the same scene, drop further than I have in nearly five years and find a pocket of off duty time to submit in public. Transcendent doesn’t even begin to cover that experience.
  • Experienced fire play for the first time.
  • Experienced sadistic fire play for the first time. Holy hell, I need more of both of those in my life.
  • Did needle play for the first time and then went on to set up a needle play play date, both of which were awesome.
  • Hit K&P on Fetlife for the first time ever for one of my poly writings. That was an amazing feeling.
  • Dealt with difficulties I had re: poly by talking and writing them out. Or I could say: Jealousy…now with a whole lot more helpful words and only minimal bottling and fear!
  • Rekindled a connection with a dear partner.
  • Rediscovered my complete and utter adoration of being punched in the back.
  • Rediscovered my complete and utter adoration of bruises from being punched in the back. One weekend, after a really good punching, every time someone hugged me at the event I was at, it was the most painfully delicious reminder.
  • Saw anarchical poly evolving amongst my partners and metamours and had moments of such compersion and sheer astonishment and gratitude that things were…working. Like, there was more than once where I found myself going, “holy shit…this can all work. People are getting time together, and having fun, and I’m getting time and having fun, and the compersion is building and we’re all handling our shit and talking things out. Hot DAMN.”
  • Tried to pull back from over-labeling everything and let each relationship I’m in seek it’s own level. Including meeting new people or getting to know people I already knew and discovering new feelings for, and eventually, gradually learning that they don’t have to fit into the boxes I’m used to people fitting into.
  • Made a concerted effort to get to know my metamours better. Haven’t gotten to know all of them yet, but in the process, I’ve made at least one great friend and discovered some really cool people who are fun to talk to and spend time with, and who have the potential to become friends. At least I hope so.
  • Started going to Leather events more. I really, really like Leather events from what I’ve seen and witnessed so far.
  • Asked for what I wanted more.

To me, this seems like a damn impressive list of good stuff and I’m hella grateful for these experiences and the people involved in them. My hope is to continue to learn, grow, and have more adventures in 2017. I’m working on a poly/kink bucket list for the new year but for right now, it felt important to get out some of these positive things and lead into the new year cultivating the good, carrying it forward, and building from it.