The Speckled Record

Two years ago I was drifting in the neighbors’ pool. Texas was crisping under 60+ days of 100+ sun. I was still feeling the shock of leaving Armenia, and I was nurturing my emotional whiplash with early morning gym time and all-afternoon floats. I had just been interviewed for an exciting job opportunity in Minneapolis, but that dream seemed as fuzzy as the one where I lived for two years in a tiny Armenian town.I haven’t written for two years. Partly I haven’t written because my departure from Armenia overwhelmed me. Partly I haven’t written because now, after taking that Minneapolis job and moving to Minnesota, I feel as crazy as ever.Before I left Armenia, I was telling my dear Armenian friend, Liana, about the conflict of joy and pain you feel when you love people in different parts of the world. You are so full of gratitude and happiness that you know them and grew to love them in India or Armenia or Texas or Panama. Still, it hurts to think about how far away you are from them.Liana said to me, “It must feel like there are pieces of you all over.”It’s just a lot of yin and yang. Megatons of yin and yang. So, I haven’t written. Until now, of course.I've changed the name of this blog to The Speckled Record. My life has changed so much in two years. Instead of showing you in one blog post, you’ll see those changes as I write and we talk here on the blog. It may feel like a smattering of work at American Refugee Committee, new photography projects, reflections, responses, and photos of my cats. Hopefully it will be a beautiful mess, a speckled record. (See what I did there? ;)I’m so glad to be writing again. And now working a lot in photography. And tweeting and instagramming my heart out. You’ll see more of all of that soon. Thank you, blog friends, for being here.