[July 30th, 2015]

I made dinner as soon as I got home yesterday — it was all simple and delicious: fish pan-fried in coconut oil, roasted veggies, and sweet potatoes. My friends and I, and my sister (who made a surprise visit after work) sat and ate as I told them all about leaving our apartment and becoming modern nomads. They too, were thrilled by the idea. I guess it's easy for women in a city full of "juicers" to accept any sort of act that involves cleansing.

And then my sister made comment that got us thinking last night: What makes something truly "yours"?

I am thinking more and more about this each day, and realizing that the only thing that matters around these pieces are the memories + the life we've built around them.

This table, I love it for the dinners and all the meals and friendships that sat around it. With or without the table itself, those memories are ours. Suddenly I realize that it's the life created around these objects that are most meaningful, and can't be sold.