27 June 2006


Maybe I got the context wrong?

My friend Steven says,
"I do not exactly recognize my experience in this, because seeing the same tree over and over while hiking equals getting lost for me. The same undercurrent gives me quiet and peace, and the reassurance that there is actually only one way we have to follow without having to worry what it should look like."
I associated recognizing familiar undercurrents with getting lost.

The first recognition gives a feeling of quiet and peace while the second gives a feeling of uneasiness and uncertainty.

Maybe I incorrectly make the connection because I like the concept of introducing uncertainty.

I like Aristotle's concept of Aporia, that a good argument will give you confusion because confusion leads to reflection.

I like paths that lead to reflection.

I like the idea of getting a bit lost while curiously and genuinely setting out to explore unknown territory.

For these reasons, the moment of seeing the same tree again brings a twinge of delight.

When I'm a bit lost, I get curious and think, "OK. I wonder what happens next?"

My interpretation of the re-occurring house dream is that it parallels my 'explorer' approach to life. I feel sheltered.

So long as I'm carrying the things I really want with me, I'm prepared.

I'm still wondering about the difference between the cycles of the seasons and the circles of the lost hikers.

On the one hand, because I think I can experience both peace and uncertainty at the same time, I like certain aspects of the lost hikers in terms of a logo:
  • No matter how disoriented I feel, it's OK. Getting lost is not the same experience as falling off a cliff or getting eaten by a bear.

  • I am only temporarily lost. I have a good chance of figuring out how to leave the circle.

  • Circling the same path is like a meditation. I get a chance to reflect on things and when I'm done, I leave the circle.
On the other hand, I don't always like the seasons as a metaphor:
  • There's only one path we have to follow because there is no other path.

  • The earth will always be round. The day will always follow night. We'll always have the seasons.

  • The greatest minds could reflect on the most intriguing issues, but no one's ever leaving that circle. It's terribly claustrophobic.
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26 June 2006

Viewpoint: Circles or Cycles

I heard that lost hikers automatically start to walk in circles.

I once saw a blindfolded person put one foot in front of the other as she tried to walk a straight yellow line on the pavement.

After a few steps, she veered off and started walking a circle.

I recently had dinner with my friend, Nienke, who discussed the success of a mutual friend.

Our friend reported that she expected things in her life to turn around nicely because she trusted in the cycles of life.

Years ago, I drew a dancer. Along the hem of her skirt I wrote, "Dance with life. Trust its lead. Spin a lot."

Right now, I have a lot of questions about the circles.

Circles, as symbols, have positive connotations: unity, wholeness, eternity.

We have some natural tendency to walk a circle.

But, when you're lost, why would you want to end up right back where you started?

Like in the movie Groundhog Day, do we just keep setting out again until we eventually find our way?

Is it even possible to get stuck in a circle? Or do we actually find ourselves in upward and downward spirals?

Is the circle the only form of transport in life? How do notions of linear paths fit into a seasonal system?

Is there a clear line between spinning out of control and dancing with life?

A friend of mine is a DJ, neurologist and mountain climber.

When he said he started to notice familiar undercurrents in the new areas he set out to explore (computers, languages, art, travel, humor), I thought of the hiker who notices the same tree again and says, "I think I've been here before."

Sometimes I'm not sure how to view my life. Are these the cycles of the seasons? Or are these the circles of the lost hiker?

Sometimes I wonder if there is much of a difference.

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22 June 2006

Viewpoint: Oasis

I have experienced oasis. It is not always a place.

Sometimes a conversation takes on a life of its own and stays aloft for hours. I have found oasis in those hours.

Sometimes I think I see a kindred spirit. And if that person recognizes me back, I find oasis in that moment.

I have so often found oasis in laughter that sometimes I think I laugh at the wrong times just because I expect to encounter oasis again.

I am grateful for my friends, who provide great depths of oasis. Carol is one of those friends.

Besides being full of encouragement, she has generously invited me to stay at her house about 87 times this year. I finally ended up paying rent because I couldn’t find enough to barter.

I cooked, I cleaned, I doctored the plants, but it didn’t seem to balance out. I was losing my grip on a feeling of equilibrium.

When she protested against the amount I wanted to pay, I insisted that my dignity was at stake.

She smiled and said it was pretty difficult to find an argument against that. I said, “Yep, dignity is the trump card.”

At the moment I am watching all of my friend Maggie’s DVDs. This morning I watched Dogville for the first time.

Granted, I am focused on the concept at the moment, but I swear this film is about oasis: The town simply gave this lady shelter.

But then, she slowly starts losing her dignity. Either the town takes it from her. Or she gives it away. The audience has to decide.

In any case, by the end of the movie, she’s pretty much the town slave.

When her gangster father shows up, they sit in the back of his car debating the nature of arrogance and judgment.

They talk about who has the power to decide how to make the world a better place.

Finally, her patience runs out. She claims her source of power and has the town removed from the map.

Great film. Kind of exhausting though.

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21 June 2006

Out of Place

I really love urban camping.

The first 11-month trip happened by accident and it was not always easy, but when it was over, I appreciated the experience so much that I hoped I could do it again sometime.

Last summer when I told my Mom that I was going to rent out my house for the school year and urban camp again, she said, “Oh no. I remember how stressed out you were the first time you did it!”

To be honest, being constantly out of place is not always good for your concentration or memory.

This year I lost my telephone, my bankcard, my thermos, and 50 euros.

I am grateful to the good people who returned my telephone and bankcard.

The thermos I left on the train and the 50 euros I left sticking out of the cash machine.

My GPA is quite good but it would have been better if I had focused only on my schoolwork.

And sometimes I was tired and thought, “Am I running my life or is it running me?”

But I showed up everyday and I can tell you that the life fatigue I felt last year at this time is gone.

I received closure in a few areas of my life and I’ve been reminded of how much I thrive in a community of kindred spirits.

I think I see a common denominator in my work: “point of view.”

The mosaic realism of my artwork can be about holding onto incomplete viewpoints.

Getting out of my box with urban camping creates shifting viewing points.

My masters degree addresses how to use reason to verbally resolve difference of opinion between parties holding different viewpoints.

I think this theme will continue to be important to me. The joy of discovery is only possible because there are different viewing points.

My surroundings … hmmm … I love my house and can’t wait to settle back in for a while!

I think of my house as an art project where I can hold dinner parties. I have a 3-meter long table where 10 people can sit and share their stories over a meal.

It’s a place where I can create an oasis for me and other travelers.

And I still deeply love living in Europe!

But, although I enjoy living in the harbor, I’m a big city girl and think I should try to migrate to Amsterdam when I can.

Or maybe I will just plan my next nomadic year to be only house-sitting in Amsterdam?

Or maybe there is someone living in Amsterdam that just got a job in Rotterdam and is interested in a house swap?

Or maybe I can share my apartment half the week with a friend in Rotterdam while sharing an apartment with friends in Amsterdam half the week?

There are options. There are always options.

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20 June 2006

Living vs. Surviving

In Rachel Naomi Remen’s book there was another story called Attached or Committed Part 2 in which she describes an older woman with a cancerous lump on the side of her face.

When the doctors met her at the hospital, they were sure they could help her. In the process of removing the cancer, they would take her lower jaw. She would make a full recovery.

Even though her chances of survival were very high, she chose not to have medical treatment.

The doctors were surprised and angry that she would not let them save her life.

But she signed a release form in the presence of her supportive family and left the hospital.

This story is supposed to be different from the first story of attachment where the young man was “married to his leg.”

This story is one of an older woman who was perhaps committed to living her later years with dignity.

Maybe I am looking too deeply for a parallel here, but it seems to me that both in this story, and in the story of the Masai, there are people who are not willing to compromise what it means to live life on their own terms.

These are stories of people who do not want to survive. They want to live. They know the difference.

But these are stories of people reacting to big life happenings. What about making the same decision every day with smaller life happenings?

In this year of nomadic wandering I am searching to know for myself, on the day-to-day level, what is the difference between living and surviving?

Answers can deal with level of comfort. But I want answers that deal with level of engagement.

What do I really want from my work, my relationships, my environment? What is useful and meaningful in my life? What stuff only just gets me by?

I simplified my life. I traded in a predictable routine, for one year, because I wanted to see if I could stay in the moment with every new thought and experience I encountered.

I was curious to see where I would end up if I tried to confront each thought and experience in a genuine way.

Sometimes it’s shaky. I’ve sighed on the phone asking my parents, “But what if my decisions were wrong?”

Sometimes it’s reassuring. My friend Hikmet has told me several times, “I like the way you ask questions in class. You are not trying to show off or disagree. You can tell that you just really want to know.”

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19 June 2006

Live Now

Last week, I was chatting with my friend, Marjolijn, who is back visiting from South Africa. She discussed her love for the Out of Africa film.

This week, I am house-sitting for my friend, Maggie, who is in Croatia. She has the Out of Africa DVD.

The first time I saw the film, years ago, I was impressed by Karen’s story-telling craft.

I wanted to live where real people would sit across the dinner table and entertain each other with their stories.

Watching the film again this week, I am struck by the conversation where, because he once had an assistant who was half Masai, Denys starts describing the Masai people:

Denys: “They’re like nobody else. We think we’ll tame them but we won’t. If you put them in prison, they die.”

Karen: “Why?”

Denys: “Because they live now. They don’t think about the future. They can’t grasp the idea that they’ll be let out one day. They think it’s permanent. So, they die. They’re the only ones out here that don’t care about us and that will finish them.”

Karen: “What did the two of you ever find to talk about?”

Denys: “Nothing.”

Karen: (pause) “So you knew I would come.”

Denys: (pause) “It’s an early day tomorrow, why don’t you get some sleep?”

Karen: “What happens tomorrow?”

Denys: “I have no idea.”

I’m trying to figure out if Denys’s description of the Masai way of living now is different than my understanding of staying in the moment.

Are the Masai impatient? Or are they authentic? Are they foolish? Or are they very real?

If I live more in the present and think less about the future, how could I possibly build something that might last a long time? Does it then happen by accident, rather than by planning?

If I live more in the future and think less about the present, how do I not compromise my reactions to all the moments that happen in between? How do I not lose myself on the journey?

Is there a perfect balance to be struck? Or is it another oil and water construct?

I can imagine the future in my mind, but I will never experience it.

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16 June 2006

Staying in the Moment

Discussing cognitive and experiential knowledge has little to do with reason vs. emotion.

The cognitive and experiential elements of life have more to do with how actors learn to stay in the moment.

Actors know all the lines. They know what happens next. They know the conclusion from the beginning. They memorize it all.

The challenge of their craft is to create a believable experience based on all the cognitive information they store in their heads for a performance.

They do this by learning to stay in the moment.

After a few acting lessons in Chicago, I figured out that we would not be learning how to act.

The little school used the Sanford Meisner approach to teach us how to be very real in a scene, how to not pretend.

At the time, all that vulnerability scared me and I eventually stopped taking lessons.

However, today I still value what I learned about the practice of staying in the moment because it seems to be a good way to live a life.

My teacher told me, "The other person in the scene is your life preserver, your flotation device. Observe him. React honestly to what happens, not to what you think should happen."

We once watched two advanced students practice an exercise where they stood facing each other until one could make an honest observation of the other.

The students then had to use that observation as a line four or more times before they could move on to another honest observation.

It might go like this:

First student: "You look scared."

Second student (maybe surprised to hear this): "I look scared???"

First student (maybe nods to confirm): "You look scared."

Second student (maybe furrows brow, contemplating why this appears so): "I look scared."

In this way, the lines got really tied to honest experience. It was not possible to give priority to the cognitive.

Our teacher explained that this practice had come in handy when one of her classes had recently performed Tennessee William's Streetcar Named Desire.

In one scene (Was it with Blanche and Stan?), the woman is supposed to remove a lampshade in an effort to become more visible, illuminated by the light.

The man is supposed to be a bit bored with the game at that point, and half-heartedly replies, "Why did you do that?"

However, during one of the performances, when she removed the lampshade, the light bulb unexpectedly EXPLODED.

Trained to stay in the moment, his eyes grew large and he gasped incredulously, "Why did you do that?!?!"

Our teacher was pleased to see the scene go in a direction it never had gone before.

It sort of took on a life of its own because both actors reacted honestly to what was happening, not what was supposed to be happening, or what they had expected to happen.

The experience was very genuine and believable.

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15 June 2006

Different Ways of Knowing

Art museums started me thinking about two different ways of knowing the world: cognitive vs. experiential.

I was fed up with reading about art, so, I decided I would take museums and galleries in two rounds.

Because I wanted to experience the work, I would first walk through and see which pieces moved me, which pieces spoke to me, touched me, made me reflect or consider something.

Then, I would walk through a second time and read the artist's statements or curator's comments on the background, history, context, etc.

Sometimes the info was enlightening. Sometimes it added nothing to the experience.

It seems there is the stuff inside our heads, what we know, the theories we think, the stories we discuss, the labels we use.

Then there is the practice of what we do, what we observe when we try things out, what we sense when we encounter the world around us.

I don't see how they can possibly be disconnected, but sometimes I think the cognitive and experiential mix like oil and water.

Sometimes I think we try to smash the two together, subjugating the experiential under the cognitive by forcing labels on what happens.

Or, maybe we just don't know how to pay equal attention to both channels as they feed us information.

I've had a couple of experiences that will never enter my thoughts.

When I went tandem sky-diving, my teacher explained sensory overload, common for first-time jumpers.

To jump out of a plane at 50,000 feet is so overwhelming that often you cannot process it.

Not only was it not cognitive, I even slipped temporarily out of the experiential.

Even though I was there the whole time, I remember very little of the 40-second free-fall before the shoot opened.

Later, when I went with 40 artists to Porto, a friend wanted visitors to take turns wearing her dresses through the club / exhibition space.

The floor-length, bright, canary-yellow period pieces had high necks, long sleeves, 40 buttons down the back and huge derrieres.

I volunteered to get the trend going even though I hate to be conspicuous.

The fluorescent yellow material seemed to be glowing.

Walking to the bar to order a beer took forever as I could feel every drawn-out second.

My movements began to feel forced and mechanical under the weight of every eye in the room.

When my friend later asked me how it went, I told her that I was most surprised by my post-Porto experience.

Whenever I had an awkward moment in the few weeks after the event, a strong feeling came over me that I was wearing the dress.

But the memory wasn't in my head. It was more like a body memory.

More than once, when I felt out-of-place, I felt enveloped by the damn yellow dress.

Thinking outside of the box is cognitive. Getting outside of the box is experiential.

I'm really curious about how urban camping will resonate with me next year after I land back at home base.

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14 June 2006

Loose Ends

A few thoughts on recent posts:
  • Thinking more about the "buildings are temporary" reminded me of Andrew Postman's article on why we accumulate things.

    His conclusion: We are not our stuff. (So, can I say, "We are not the buildings? We are the way we build.")

  • I went back to check Rachel Naomi Remen's conclusion on "attachment vs. commitment."

    She says that they may both feel constricting, but the way you tell the difference between the two in your life is that attachment leads to entrapment while commitment leads to freedom.

  • My friend, Frank, wrote me after my "no movement" post:
    While you've been 'running through the world with your arms wide open', nice sentence, I have hardly looked over the fence of our little village on the riverside.

    Suddenly I feel poor inside my mind for not having traveled and 'pressure-cooked developed' as you must have....

    But on my rooted feet, no movement, there is this body with arms wide open and round my rooted feet some nice things are starting to blossom.

    I'd like to show you some time soon.

  • And my Mom gave her viewpoint: "The expression 'Hang in There' just means be patient."
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13 June 2006

Process Over Product

I said artists are more committed to the process of how to build than they are attached to the product of any particular building.

I learned this from one of my art teachers in Chicago when he asked if he could have two or three of my pieces to put on display during the summer.

I was very happy about this since our teachers hung the best work in the big glass cases lining the hallways.

When I returned in the fall, I went to my teacher to collect my drawings and paintings.

My teacher looked everywhere but could not find my work.

He explained that when he removed the work from the cases, he had put the whole stack on top of the cupboard.

He guessed the cleaning lady must have thrown them out a few weeks earlier.

I was so disappointed. These had been favorite pieces that I was proud of.

They showed what I was capable of and how I had progressed over the year.

As I listened and looked at him blurrily through small tears, he took a stoic face.

He raised his eyebrows and said, "You'll just have to make some more."

I remember the strange experience of being hurt at his lack of carefulness and compassion, while simultaneously realizing that he was absolutely right.

This was what it was really all about. There are no guarantees in life.

It's not wise to try to hold on tightly to the things we have to let go of.

The buildings are temporary. But it's always possible to build.

Even when the things we build get knocked down, we can start to build again or build in a new way.

I would like to build something that could last a long time, but there is no way for me to know if that is what will happen.

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12 June 2006

Viewpoint: Patience

Thoughts from the weekend:

I often say I am not a patient person because ...

Sometimes patience is judgmental: bigger people putting up with shortcomings of smaller people. But I want to be curious: discovering where others are coming from.

Sometimes patience is fear: avoiding confrontation. But I want to be brave: taking risks to reach out and connect.

Sometimes patience is dishonest: pretending not to mind. But I want to be genuine: knowing myself well enough to say how I feel and where my boundaries lie.

Sometimes patience is lazy: waiting for something to happen. But I want to be energetic: passionate about living life fully.

Sometimes patience is unbalanced: better to give than to receive. But I want to be equal: trying to cultivate equilibrium between people.

Sometimes patience is fickle: kindness runs out. But I want to be consistent: no surprises.

Maybe I am patient. But maybe I am something else.

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09 June 2006

What Fits in My Pocket

People find ways to survive. They do so by the use of creativity.

Artists take the innately human practice of creativity and cultivate it. They don't hide from life. They seek out ideas and experiences. They fill up on them and let them simmer.

This process lets art emerge in its own time through the artist's chosen craft of expression. Sometimes the product satisfies many people besides the artist.

I've heard musicians and poets talk about 'the one' that just came to them. I've heard Sarah McLachlan say this was the case with Hold On. I've heard that this was Allen Ginsberg's experience with Howl.

This is not magic. Their product is still a result of process and practice.

Artists build, but the building does not always match the blueprint.

Sometimes first ideas meet with catalytic events while 'simmering', causing the building to become better than the blueprint. The building may seem to appear from nowhere.

But if the building is not satisfying, no matter how perfect the blueprint seemed to be, artists let it go because they are more committed to the process of how to build than attached to the product of any particular building.

Artists build by showing up and making contributions at the building site. They are present. They stay in the moment. They are waiting. They are listening. They are watching. Like little kids, their contributions are honest and curious.

I think building a life must be a similar practice. We create expressions through a practice of living the qualities for which our hearts beat loudly.

My heart beats loudly for:


I'm still watching the product emerge and hoping it will be satisfying for many people besides me.

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08 June 2006

Attachment or Commitment

I bought Healing and the Mind because I am a big fan of Bill Moyers's interviews.

The book ends with Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen discussing the importance of community in the power of healing vs. curing.

It was so insightful and holistic and almost poetic that when I heard she had a whole book of essays coming out, I immediately went to find it.

I found myself standing next to Robert Downey Jr. in the health section of the Borders bookstore on Michigan Avenue in Chicago.

We stood side-by-side, silently scanning titles until I found Kitchen Table Wisdom and left.

As I've read it for the third time, my nomadic mood dwells on her story of attachment vs. commitment where a young man refused to have his foot amputated after frostbite had led to gangrene.

It was threatening his life but he couldn't let it go until his desperate fiancee placed her engagement ring on his blackened toe. Terribly distraught, she asked him what he really wanted.

Because attachment seems to come so naturally, I believe that leads to two consequences:
  • First, it means that it's so difficult to let go of things.

  • Second, it also means that it's so easy to get used to things.
I think attachment will naturally happen. We always start to adapt to our environment.

I was struck by this when reading Anya Peters's blog.

She'd been very unhappily living in her car for nine months on a laneway by the woods outside of London. She had not chosen her lifestyle.

Even though she told the BBC, "I don't ever want it to happen again," she also said in her 23 feb. 06 entry "I imagine ties to place can be as strong as family ones sometimes. I feel that about the laneway a bit already, will miss it when I go."

A friend asked me about my blog, "By the way, what are you attached to? I read a lot about what you can do without, but wonder what you have discovered to be essential?"

While I think that attachment will always naturally occur - we will always adapt to our environment - commitment will never just happen.

Maybe commitment is always deliberate choice?

Maybe commitments are values, the things that we have decided to always deliberately choose no matter what circumstances we find ourselves in?

No matter how difficult it is to make that choice?

My answers included qualities of curiosity and genuineness.

I am curious because I want to understand as much as possible about how the world works and I am genuine because to not be genuine would be a waste of a life.

I will always shake off everything that gets in the way of my being able to practice those two characteristics.

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07 June 2006

No Movement

The school year has come to an end and I feel a huge void as I no longer see my classmates in our natural habitat.

Our schedule is finished. No more routine on that front.

Although my current house-sitting gig is also coming to an end, I've been stationed there for several weeks, so movement in that area of my life has, for the moment, stopped as well.

There is suddenly a lot of silence.

There is no pace. There is no travel.

Soon, the urban camping adventure will be over and I will settle into a new routine.

I feel like I've been around the world without going very far from home.

I've traveled through new ideas in my studies.

I've found myself in unexpected conversations with people I didn't know at this time last year.

By seeing new angles, I've been reminded of what is important to me.

I feel refreshed and tired at the same time.

There is peace and rest. There is also restlessness.

Half of me wants to keep exploring new things, running through the world with my arms wide open.

Half of me wants to 'go home' and focus on familiar people and places, tuning out any distractions.

Now I need to find the balance.

At the core of it all is the desire to build something.

I know that creativity is impossible without taking time and risks to get out and explore the new, but I am starting to crave a focus on the familiar so that I can find back the old places, places where I want the building to occur.

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06 June 2006

More Freegans

On the CouchSurfing.com site, I am a member of the "Alternative ways of living, consuming ..." community. Someone just sent through a link to ...


"A Site Dedicated to Revealing Human Over-Consumption and Waste"

The site contains a lot of content on freeganism.

(Their huge list of resources even includes a site dedicated to "Dumpster Diving for eBay Profits.")

I have also recently found BBC articles on Freegans:

25 May 2006

Freegans 4 May 2006 (presenter Miriam O'Reilly)

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02 June 2006

Wandering Scribe

At the beginning of April, my friend Karen wrote me an email that said,
"In your last couple of blogs you sound really down and getting fed up with urban camping - I nearly cried when I read that you were sleeping in a 'storage room' (think of the semiotics of your use of the word).

Remember, you are trying to urban camp and hold down an increasingly challenging educational programme; others just urban camp for the fun of it without having to do anything else."
I wrote back to her that it was really not so bad at all!

The storage room was quite cozy after I straightened it up and turned on the little electric heater.

There had been a few times when I had problems going to sleep in my studio or the storage room because I was too cold, but I just put on more clothes or bought another sleeping bag.

There were also times when I was doing homework in my studio while my toes were cold or I could see my breath or my face became a bit chapped.

I was not loving those moments, but I was OK!

I already know from experience that without these moments, I won't get the feeling of "delicious luxury" when settling back into my house.

Those who enjoy camping often also enjoy the contrast of getting back to the comforts of home.

Yesterday, I discovered a very different experience of nomadically coping with the winter.

I discovered Anya Peters's Wandering Scribe blog.

Until last weekend, she has been urban camping in her car in the woods on the edge of London.

She had been doing this for nine months.

Four months ago, she started writing a blog from the library as some way to re-connect with the world.

She has a law degree but no family.

As some things started to fall apart in her life, she was too embarrassed to go to friends.

So she started cutting herself off from them, just until she could pull things back together.

She tried to keep up appearances but kept slipping further and further into homelessness.

There are two BBC articles written about her:

24 April 2006 Park and Write

31 May 2006 Parked up

Just last weekend she was able to move back into rented accommodation as she was recently offered a book deal.

One person commented that she had written her own escape story.

I have just finished reading the February chapter on her blog ...

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01 June 2006

Do Nomads Have Books?

During my first nomadic venture, one of the most difficult life-style issues, that I never did resolve was, what do I do with my books?

I seemed to be able to streamline all of my possessions except my books.

I considered dividing them up by category and sheltering them with friends.

Should my cooking books stay with Kate, who loves to cook, and never makes the same meal twice?

Would Nienke, an art school friend, take my art books?

Could I house my biographies with Mary, a storyteller?

I thought this might work as a symbiotic relationship.

My friends could enjoy my books while I could have visitation rights.

I experimented with audible.com, but I didn't know how to highlight special audio passages for future reference.

I'm still considering this.

Google has been working on scanning in all of the world's books to create a universal library.

'All the world's books at my fingertips' would mean that I could easily find back all of my favorite passages on an iPod.

But what about the experience of reading a book for the first time? Do I want to read a book on my laptop?

If these screens (version one & version two) provide a better reading experience, could I write notes in the margins?

I can't yet work out all of the details on how to be a nomad with books, but I still think there might be a way.

Perhaps this is why MUSIC is the Nomad's seed. It's much easier to move around with music.

--> UPDATE: Just saw the the Sony Reader advertised.

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