Change...It Started Long Ago

I recently finished reading the travelogue Out of Africa. A paragraph from that book lingers with me after closing its pages and sliding it into the recesses of the library return desk. Baroness Karen von Blixen-Finecke describes the changing landscape of Africa as she prepares herself to depart from that beloved continent:   

Now the country disengaged itself from me, and stood back a little, in order that I should see it clearly and as a whole. I have before seen other countries, in the same manner, give themselves up to you when you are about to leave them, but I had forgotten what it meant. I only thought that I had never seen the country so lovely, as if the contemplation of it would in itself be enough to make you happy all your life.

                                              -Out of Africa, Isak Dinesen

African Sky via FreeHDWallpapers

These words are much like my travel philosophy. Within the past five years I have visited three European countries and many places within my own. A particular few have gripped me fiercely, like Africa gripped the baroness. In such cases fate is set: the traveler immediately returns its possessive embrace, discovering every nuance in each land- and cityscape and fashioning beauty even from its rugged, frightening shadows. But one never truly sees a place until faced with the realization of parting with it—by stepping away from its embrace to view its own entity, separate from oneself. The traveler departs and the land remains, its cycle of life unfazed.

The grand irony is that each new place cannot be totally separated from the traveler. Each vista strikes a new chord in the human heart, provoking deeper thought and fresh ambition. I am tied with threads to the places I have been and to the people I have encountered there. Some ties are better called ropes; but even threads, when pulled, tug at the soul. I am changed by each new face, word, even sip of coffee. For better or for worse, journeys change us all.

Ireland (taken by me)

The purpose of this blog is to document my journeys and pass on their lessons. Not all journeys require buses, trains or airplanes—in fact, most require little more than an open mind and obsession with creating. Books, conversations, film, festivals, food, self-reflection, large windows…All can be portals to a journey that enlivens the soul. If I can be challenged and changed within the confines of a dorm room or restaurant kitchen, anyone can.

This blog got its name from my favorite portal: Grandma’s closet. I lived with my grandparents as a commuter during one semester of college, and the closets in the house soon became iconic of my mission to recover the value of tradition, heritage and home for my wandering generation. From vintage red-hot boots to unwritten family recipes, grandma’s closet has showered me with treasures that symbolize this, my newest journey. The simplest things often have the greatest power. Come along for the taste of freshly baked pie, unconventional projects and hopefully an entertaining rant or two.  I have only one disclaimer: neither of us will ever be the same.

Monarch (taken by me)