Stories & Souvenirs

Objects + Time + The Life Between Them

I’ve never thought of myself as much of a collector. I don’t hunt down rare stamps or keep anything in glass cases. But over time, a few things have stayed with me.

None of them would mean much to a stranger. Some aren’t even pretty. But each one has earned its place - either for the story it carries, or the way it catches me off guard and pulls me back to a moment I want to remember.

That’s how it goes with the objects we keep. They’re not just things - they’re little anchors to people, places, and versions of ourselves we don’t want to lose. Line them up, and you start to see a kind of accidental biography.

This week, I pulled out five of mine. Just the first few pieces on a shelf I plan to keep building. Over the next year, as I move from place to place, I’ll add to it: new objects, new stories, and, maybe, a few surprises.

Happy browsing,

Vas brought the owl back from Greece last summer. I picked up the wolf in Russia during the 2018 FIFA World Cup. An odd pair, but in my history, they sit well together.

❶ If you’re familiar with mythology, you’ll know the owl of Athena as a symbol of clarity and wisdom. What you might not know is a saying that goes with it:

“She spreads her wings only with the falling of dusk” - in other words, clarity usually arrives late, in the cooled air after the frenzy.

❷ Russia was all frenzy. My family’s company hosted A Taste of Mexico in Moscow - a cultural exchange wrapped around the tournament. We’d done a few smaller versions before - Germany ’06, South Africa ’10, Brazil ’14 - but this one was far more ambitious.

Three months. ~300k guests. Millions in trans-Atlantic inventory. Too much for a small team to carry. Sponsorships were pulled. Shipments stalled. Partners turned hostile. It was a summer-long struggle and the hardest stretch I’ve ever lived through.

And yet…

Back home, after the strain faded, I noticed a new quiet in me. Since then, most problems have felt smaller. Friends call it calm; I think it’s just what happens when you’ve lived through your own storms. The perspective is a gift - and I look at the owl and the wolf rather fondly.

Let me tell this one in a timeline:

▸ 11.19.22: Leaving the office, I see a pack of pretty girls - mats in hand - walk into a small building. “What’s that about?” I look around and spot a chalkboard:

“New Member Special - 90 Days for $149”

I sign up the next day.

▸ 12.04.22: I take my first class with Morgan. I love everything about it. The flow, the sweat, the mini Hindu-Buddhist sermon, the way it was all delivered so sweetly.

▸ 01.06.23: She suggests I try Carter’s on Tuesdays/Thursdays. He queues up Dope Lemon, cracks jokes and teaches me to “relaxxxxx” while holding the most challenging poses. I love that too.

▸ 01.16.24: I practice every day now (sometimes twice):

• Monday, 7:15am: Morgan

• Tuesday, 6:00am: Carter

• Wednesday, 7:15am: Morgan

• Thursday, 6:00am: Carter

• Friday, 7:15am: Morgan

The rhythmn is so yin-yang. I’m hooked.

▸ 03.14.23: I book a spot on their retreat in California.

▸ 04.20-23.23: We become friends in Ventucopa.

⇥ Then-Now: We keep practicing together. We start to share meals. We spill out stories. We take long walks and talk about the big stuff. We meet each other’s partners and families. A happy gang builds. They open up their own studio. I’m the first name on their member list. My new - and last! - girlfriend joins their team.

Somewhere in all that, we become best friends.

This “Yoga Joe” has been on my desk for most of the ride - a tiny ambassador for something between the butterfly effect and the truth that the form you start with doesn’t define the shape you take. You just shift your weight a bit, and everything changes.

Two tokens from my trips with Vas:

• a piece of coral from our free diving vacation in Baja and

• a Bigfoot bottle opener from our through-hike in Oregon

The adventures were beautiful - and, more importantly, they became the setting for two epiphanies that set the course for the life I’m soon to lead.

❶ On the beach in Cabo Pulmo, she asked me what my dream job would be. Buzzed from a lunch of three shrimp tacos and three micheladas, I confessed: traveling the world, writing, and working alongside artists on the subject of good materialism. Having said it out loud - and not wanting to disappoint the muse - I launched this newsletter and began a creative practice.

❷ Later that year, we ended a run of rough camping at a small cabin in Rhododendron. After a long, hot shower, I set myself up at the table to write newsletter #8. She was in the rocking chair, fire glowing, Chet Baker on the record player. I remember thinking: “This. All of the time.” That scene planted a seed - and we’ve been watering it ever since.

We all keep a few stories in souvenir form. They might be tucked into a shoebox in the closet, hidden in a bag under the bed, or resting in the middle drawer in the kitchen where the corkscrews live.

If you have a moment this week, pull one out. Hold it in your hands. Listen closely. You might hear the same story it told you the day you found it… or maybe it’s learned a new one while you weren’t looking.

Either way, it’s worth a little rummaging.