Category: New Zealand

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Tree Hugger

I don’t belong in the concrete world. It’s too hot for my feet too electric for my soul. When they ask me what I do     I say I count the leaves     on any given tree         and try not to cry too loudly  as I contemplate the complexity.

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Rushing to Wait

When I grow up, I will settle down near the last train station on the line. It’s where I live now, a five-minute bike ride from the last station on the Western Line. My e-bike whirls as I ride up a long concrete pathway lined with rails. Sometimes the train whooshes right past me, hurtling towards the station faster than I. Inviting me for … Read More Rushing to Wait

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Transmitting a Different Reality

I am building my self-esteem around a sentence: I can learn anything. I’m not great with kids? Not a great runner? Not all that social? Not a published writer? Doesn’t matter, I remind myself (over and over again) being “great” is not my self-worth. I’m not great with kids yet. I’m not a great runner yet. I am learning the balance between Just Josie … Read More Transmitting a Different Reality

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A Christchurch Couchsurf

When spending a day in aimless enjoyment of the surrounding scenery, of the sounds a soul makes when it hears all those birds, of the capital position of being, I get this remarkable lightness in my heels and begin to bound more than walk. Sometimes, in between long conversations with myself, I opt for a spot of heel clicked and random dancing. Christchurch was … Read More A Christchurch Couchsurf

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Here I Be

  All around me are circles flowers bird whistles the breeze is slow and yielding my skin is soft the air warm. In my sweater I am whole unsearching existence The fire that warms me is my own and long has gone unnoticed.

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Singing my Soul: a Week of No Headphones

Two birthdays ago my father gave me a glorious pair of bluetooth running headphones, and they have served me faithfully; up and down mountains, on bike rides into the city, on trams and trains and leaning my head against plane window panes. I love writing to jazz. I love running to podcasts. I love a long bus ride with a good audiobook. I lost … Read More Singing my Soul: a Week of No Headphones

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A Week With No Alarm

Tom Bilyeu, host of the Impact Theory Podcast, never sets an alarm to wake up in the morning. He lets his body tell him when he’s had enough, and attributes much of his creative energy to this connection. I am a regular listener of his podcast, and have admired this about him for a while. I wanted to do it, too, give it a … Read More A Week With No Alarm

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Conversations with my Subconscious

It was 5:15 a.m. and my hands felt like doorknobs stapled to my wrists. My fingers had been absorbing the bulk of rain-wind-early-morning-wintery-chill combo, and I had to garner support from at least three of them to shift the gears on my bike. I’d long since forgotten I possessed toes. I was biking to Il Forno, the Italian bakery at which I play brunch … Read More Conversations with my Subconscious

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Squiddy Library

The library is, for me, punctuality’s greatest weakness. Especially Auckland’s public library, a carefully laid, intertwined system of so many books in so many libraries dotting so many corners. I can’t seem to sweep my gaze from east to west without spotting a library. They call to you.

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Master Puppeteer

I’m not going to tell you what happened. Not about the woman I met, nor the shades of green on the hillsides against the coal black sand dunes. That’s not what you want to read about. I know this–I think I know this–because that’s not what I want to write about, either. “No man really knows about other human beings. The best he can do is … Read More Master Puppeteer

Not Your Run-of-the-Mill Pee

It happened while I was emptying the tank in the city center train station bathroom my pink backpack clinging to life on the silver handle kicking up legs so as not to touch lava.

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What are you doing over there?

Last Friday I, laden with my backpack and some food poisoning, took to the skies from Jakarta and landed 19 hours later in Auckland, New Zealand. The little flight from Jakarta to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia was relatively painless, as sleepy Josie conked out folded like a taco against the seat-back tray table. But from Malaysia to Gold Coast, Australia was a 7-hour feverish vomit-y … Read More What are you doing over there?