February 4th, 2011. // A lot changed after this photo. And if I’m honest, its taken 12 years to gratefully embrace the radical shifts. On one hand, the climb and avalanche launched a long and meaningful career with @natgeo I did 12 feature assignments for the magazine that affected policy and conservation. The the world opened up. I also took a lot of it for granted, often missing the moment, blinded by an onslaught of opportunity and arrogance. Just now am I really feeling the gravity of what I was offered. But the avalanche also led me into a long and often dark journey with complex post traumatic stress and acute PTSD, unraveling much of my inner world, influencing my actions, leading me to behave out of alignment with my values and virtue. All of that led me into my advocacy around mental health. I discovered that feigned vulnerability was a way to mask the inner turmoil. I had all the words, but none of the feelings. Speaking to it drove disconnection because I was was using vulnerability to hijack connection which drove isolation. By being “honest” and “authentic”, I could escape real accountability. I needed to go through it to understand. I was disconnected not only with the world around me, but with myself. In time, I learned what real authenticity looks and feels like. I learned that I can know it all, but knowledge isn’t healing. In fact, the knowing is often a trap, leading us into stories that hold us captive. Healing happens when we drop the story, stop hiding behind it to justify all the bullshit, and transcend the narrative. I see this a lot these days. One of the issues with the broader and much needed conversation around mental health is it gets used not to understand but excuse poor behavior. Choices are still ours. Stories are chosen. And even if actions feel out of our control, addressing the root issues is not. The work of mental health is not leveraging brokenness to sidestep responsibility. Brokenness itself is a story. Yes, things happen. Yes, they can change our brains. Our job is to care for and heal those wounds, understand our stories but not be defined by them, and bring us into alignment with ourselves.
February 4th, 2011. // A lot changed after this photo. And if I’m honest, its taken 12 years to gratefully embrace the radical shifts. On one hand, the climb and avalanche launched a long and meaningful career with @natgeo I did 12 feature assignments for the magazine that affected policy and conservation. The the world opened up. I also took a lot of it for granted, often missing the moment, blinded by an onslaught of opportunity and arrogance. Just now am I really feeling the gravity of what I was offered. But the avalanche also led me into a long and often dark journey with complex post traumatic stress and acute PTSD, unraveling much of my inner world, influencing my actions, leading me to behave out of alignment with my values and virtue. All of that led me into my advocacy around mental health. I discovered that feigned vulnerability was a way to mask the inner turmoil. I had all the words, but none of the feelings. Speaking to it drove disconnection because I was was using vulnerability to hijack connection which drove isolation. By being “honest” and “authentic”, I could escape real accountability. I needed to go through it to understand. I was disconnected not only with the world around me, but with myself. In time, I learned what real authenticity looks and feels like. I learned that I can know it all, but knowledge isn’t healing. In fact, the knowing is often a trap, leading us into stories that hold us captive. Healing happens when we drop the story, stop hiding behind it to justify all the bullshit, and transcend the narrative. I see this a lot these days. One of the issues with the broader and much needed conversation around mental health is it gets used not to understand but excuse poor behavior. Choices are still ours. Stories are chosen. And even if actions feel out of our control, addressing the root issues is not. The work of mental health is not leveraging brokenness to sidestep responsibility. Brokenness itself is a story. Yes, things happen. Yes, they can change our brains. Our job is to care for and heal those wounds, understand our stories but not be defined by them, and bring us into alignment with ourselves.
A few people have asked me to give a thought or something to this photo. I think that it’s one of those pictures that’s meant to let the viewer decide what it “means” or if it means anything at all. It was a beautiful evening out in Texas. The water was low and calm, and it was very quiet. @kayotejoseph and I were talking about stories and how they shape us and debating whether or not aging was just a story and I said, “As far as I know, Buddha still got old and died. I like the poetry of a beginning and end. If there wasn’t an end, the middle wouldn’t mean anything. Living forever as atoms is enough.” I like getting older because I know so much less. I’m less certain of anything. Maybe it is all some cosmic simulation. I don’t really care because we experience it as we do and all the ideas of manifestation and trying to live forever seems a bit arrogant. Don’t get me wrong. I believe in the power of manifestation and the mind. I just don’t need it to be an identity. For me, it’s quiet, personal work. I don’t need to wear beads and tell everyone how spiritual I am. I don’t need to do ayahuasca 60 times and make sure you know. The most spiritual, in touch people I’ve ever met were wearing overalls and had dirty hands. If they wore beads, they were hidden under a frayed flannel. I have a limited amount of time. I’m shooting for 92-94 years. Right now I’m just choosing to be grateful for what I have, accepting it, and making changes from self acceptance vs. self rejection. As far as I’ve experienced, lasting change doesn’t come from a pill or a plant or a book which all search outside of ourselves to unlock whats already in us. By all means, go on a journey. Get a glimpse of god. Feel connected. Just don’t mistake an experience for change. Just because you made fire in a dream doesnt mean you know how when you’ re awake. You gotta go rub some sticks togehter. It’s just information. It’s just like a book. You can read a thousand books about being a better version of yourself and still be wildly unhappy and never change a damn thing. In my experience, lasting change doesn’t come from what we aren’t, but what we are. I guess I did have something to say.
12 years ago today. First winter ascent of Gasherbrum II 8,034 meters. Brothers for life @iamsimonemoro @urubkodenis I don’t know what the temperature was on the summit because our altimeters were frozen. We do know that it was -51 c inside the tent, out of the wind, with three grown men emitting heat. Winds were gusting to about 60-75 kph on the summit, so windchill was likely significant, potentially dropping the temps to around -70. By the time we left the summit, the forecasted storm had hit. Winds increased and visibility dropped until it was so white, it gave us a sense of vertigo. The only way I could keep balance was by staring at whoever was leading. When it was my turn, we dropped below the glacial plateau onto exposed rock, but by then it was getting dark and we were concerned that the tent had blown away. Summits are an interesting place. They mark the physical half way point, but you’ve usually used about 80% of the gas in the tank. This climb never would have happened without the vast experience of both Simone and Denis. I was so incredibly lucky to be part of the team. Three guys, in winter, alone on the 13th highest mountain in the world. It was, to say the least, improbable. 16 expeditions over 26 years had tried and failed to make a winter ascent of one the five Pakistani 8000 meter summits. At the time, I had no idea I’d be the first American. I had no idea how much the climb would change me for better and for worse. I had no idea of the gravity of the undertaking. Had I, I probably wouldn’t have come. Ignorance can be bliss. Simone and Denis and I don’t talk often, but when we do it is a deep bond and resonance. It’s not that we don’t share profound love and respect, but that life simply moves on. I rarely think about the climb, but I always think of them. I have been so fucking lucky to have men like them in my life. I’ve always sought out brothers and mentors. Sometimes because I needed their shine to light my own way. I love them so much. All of them. I am so grateful. Stay tuned for post two on February 4th.
12 years ago today. First winter ascent of Gasherbrum II 8,034 meters. Brothers for life @iamsimonemoro @urubkodenis I don’t know what the temperature was on the summit because our altimeters were frozen. We do know that it was -51 c inside the tent, out of the wind, with three grown men emitting heat. Winds were gusting to about 60-75 kph on the summit, so windchill was likely significant, potentially dropping the temps to around -70. By the time we left the summit, the forecasted storm had hit. Winds increased and visibility dropped until it was so white, it gave us a sense of vertigo. The only way I could keep balance was by staring at whoever was leading. When it was my turn, we dropped below the glacial plateau onto exposed rock, but by then it was getting dark and we were concerned that the tent had blown away. Summits are an interesting place. They mark the physical half way point, but you’ve usually used about 80% of the gas in the tank. This climb never would have happened without the vast experience of both Simone and Denis. I was so incredibly lucky to be part of the team. Three guys, in winter, alone on the 13th highest mountain in the world. It was, to say the least, improbable. 16 expeditions over 26 years had tried and failed to make a winter ascent of one the five Pakistani 8000 meter summits. At the time, I had no idea I’d be the first American. I had no idea how much the climb would change me for better and for worse. I had no idea of the gravity of the undertaking. Had I, I probably wouldn’t have come. Ignorance can be bliss. Simone and Denis and I don’t talk often, but when we do it is a deep bond and resonance. It’s not that we don’t share profound love and respect, but that life simply moves on. I rarely think about the climb, but I always think of them. I have been so fucking lucky to have men like them in my life. I’ve always sought out brothers and mentors. Sometimes because I needed their shine to light my own way. I love them so much. All of them. I am so grateful. Stay tuned for post two on February 4th.
12 years ago today. First winter ascent of Gasherbrum II 8,034 meters. Brothers for life @iamsimonemoro @urubkodenis I don’t know what the temperature was on the summit because our altimeters were frozen. We do know that it was -51 c inside the tent, out of the wind, with three grown men emitting heat. Winds were gusting to about 60-75 kph on the summit, so windchill was likely significant, potentially dropping the temps to around -70. By the time we left the summit, the forecasted storm had hit. Winds increased and visibility dropped until it was so white, it gave us a sense of vertigo. The only way I could keep balance was by staring at whoever was leading. When it was my turn, we dropped below the glacial plateau onto exposed rock, but by then it was getting dark and we were concerned that the tent had blown away. Summits are an interesting place. They mark the physical half way point, but you’ve usually used about 80% of the gas in the tank. This climb never would have happened without the vast experience of both Simone and Denis. I was so incredibly lucky to be part of the team. Three guys, in winter, alone on the 13th highest mountain in the world. It was, to say the least, improbable. 16 expeditions over 26 years had tried and failed to make a winter ascent of one the five Pakistani 8000 meter summits. At the time, I had no idea I’d be the first American. I had no idea how much the climb would change me for better and for worse. I had no idea of the gravity of the undertaking. Had I, I probably wouldn’t have come. Ignorance can be bliss. Simone and Denis and I don’t talk often, but when we do it is a deep bond and resonance. It’s not that we don’t share profound love and respect, but that life simply moves on. I rarely think about the climb, but I always think of them. I have been so fucking lucky to have men like them in my life. I’ve always sought out brothers and mentors. Sometimes because I needed their shine to light my own way. I love them so much. All of them. I am so grateful. Stay tuned for post two on February 4th.
12 years ago today. First winter ascent of Gasherbrum II 8,034 meters. Brothers for life @iamsimonemoro @urubkodenis I don’t know what the temperature was on the summit because our altimeters were frozen. We do know that it was -51 c inside the tent, out of the wind, with three grown men emitting heat. Winds were gusting to about 60-75 kph on the summit, so windchill was likely significant, potentially dropping the temps to around -70. By the time we left the summit, the forecasted storm had hit. Winds increased and visibility dropped until it was so white, it gave us a sense of vertigo. The only way I could keep balance was by staring at whoever was leading. When it was my turn, we dropped below the glacial plateau onto exposed rock, but by then it was getting dark and we were concerned that the tent had blown away. Summits are an interesting place. They mark the physical half way point, but you’ve usually used about 80% of the gas in the tank. This climb never would have happened without the vast experience of both Simone and Denis. I was so incredibly lucky to be part of the team. Three guys, in winter, alone on the 13th highest mountain in the world. It was, to say the least, improbable. 16 expeditions over 26 years had tried and failed to make a winter ascent of one the five Pakistani 8000 meter summits. At the time, I had no idea I’d be the first American. I had no idea how much the climb would change me for better and for worse. I had no idea of the gravity of the undertaking. Had I, I probably wouldn’t have come. Ignorance can be bliss. Simone and Denis and I don’t talk often, but when we do it is a deep bond and resonance. It’s not that we don’t share profound love and respect, but that life simply moves on. I rarely think about the climb, but I always think of them. I have been so fucking lucky to have men like them in my life. I’ve always sought out brothers and mentors. Sometimes because I needed their shine to light my own way. I love them so much. All of them. I am so grateful. Stay tuned for post two on February 4th.
12 years ago today. First winter ascent of Gasherbrum II 8,034 meters. Brothers for life @iamsimonemoro @urubkodenis I don’t know what the temperature was on the summit because our altimeters were frozen. We do know that it was -51 c inside the tent, out of the wind, with three grown men emitting heat. Winds were gusting to about 60-75 kph on the summit, so windchill was likely significant, potentially dropping the temps to around -70. By the time we left the summit, the forecasted storm had hit. Winds increased and visibility dropped until it was so white, it gave us a sense of vertigo. The only way I could keep balance was by staring at whoever was leading. When it was my turn, we dropped below the glacial plateau onto exposed rock, but by then it was getting dark and we were concerned that the tent had blown away. Summits are an interesting place. They mark the physical half way point, but you’ve usually used about 80% of the gas in the tank. This climb never would have happened without the vast experience of both Simone and Denis. I was so incredibly lucky to be part of the team. Three guys, in winter, alone on the 13th highest mountain in the world. It was, to say the least, improbable. 16 expeditions over 26 years had tried and failed to make a winter ascent of one the five Pakistani 8000 meter summits. At the time, I had no idea I’d be the first American. I had no idea how much the climb would change me for better and for worse. I had no idea of the gravity of the undertaking. Had I, I probably wouldn’t have come. Ignorance can be bliss. Simone and Denis and I don’t talk often, but when we do it is a deep bond and resonance. It’s not that we don’t share profound love and respect, but that life simply moves on. I rarely think about the climb, but I always think of them. I have been so fucking lucky to have men like them in my life. I’ve always sought out brothers and mentors. Sometimes because I needed their shine to light my own way. I love them so much. All of them. I am so grateful. Stay tuned for post two on February 4th.
12 years ago today. First winter ascent of Gasherbrum II 8,034 meters. Brothers for life @iamsimonemoro @urubkodenis I don’t know what the temperature was on the summit because our altimeters were frozen. We do know that it was -51 c inside the tent, out of the wind, with three grown men emitting heat. Winds were gusting to about 60-75 kph on the summit, so windchill was likely significant, potentially dropping the temps to around -70. By the time we left the summit, the forecasted storm had hit. Winds increased and visibility dropped until it was so white, it gave us a sense of vertigo. The only way I could keep balance was by staring at whoever was leading. When it was my turn, we dropped below the glacial plateau onto exposed rock, but by then it was getting dark and we were concerned that the tent had blown away. Summits are an interesting place. They mark the physical half way point, but you’ve usually used about 80% of the gas in the tank. This climb never would have happened without the vast experience of both Simone and Denis. I was so incredibly lucky to be part of the team. Three guys, in winter, alone on the 13th highest mountain in the world. It was, to say the least, improbable. 16 expeditions over 26 years had tried and failed to make a winter ascent of one the five Pakistani 8000 meter summits. At the time, I had no idea I’d be the first American. I had no idea how much the climb would change me for better and for worse. I had no idea of the gravity of the undertaking. Had I, I probably wouldn’t have come. Ignorance can be bliss. Simone and Denis and I don’t talk often, but when we do it is a deep bond and resonance. It’s not that we don’t share profound love and respect, but that life simply moves on. I rarely think about the climb, but I always think of them. I have been so fucking lucky to have men like them in my life. I’ve always sought out brothers and mentors. Sometimes because I needed their shine to light my own way. I love them so much. All of them. I am so grateful. Stay tuned for post two on February 4th.
12 years ago today. First winter ascent of Gasherbrum II 8,034 meters. Brothers for life @iamsimonemoro @urubkodenis I don’t know what the temperature was on the summit because our altimeters were frozen. We do know that it was -51 c inside the tent, out of the wind, with three grown men emitting heat. Winds were gusting to about 60-75 kph on the summit, so windchill was likely significant, potentially dropping the temps to around -70. By the time we left the summit, the forecasted storm had hit. Winds increased and visibility dropped until it was so white, it gave us a sense of vertigo. The only way I could keep balance was by staring at whoever was leading. When it was my turn, we dropped below the glacial plateau onto exposed rock, but by then it was getting dark and we were concerned that the tent had blown away. Summits are an interesting place. They mark the physical half way point, but you’ve usually used about 80% of the gas in the tank. This climb never would have happened without the vast experience of both Simone and Denis. I was so incredibly lucky to be part of the team. Three guys, in winter, alone on the 13th highest mountain in the world. It was, to say the least, improbable. 16 expeditions over 26 years had tried and failed to make a winter ascent of one the five Pakistani 8000 meter summits. At the time, I had no idea I’d be the first American. I had no idea how much the climb would change me for better and for worse. I had no idea of the gravity of the undertaking. Had I, I probably wouldn’t have come. Ignorance can be bliss. Simone and Denis and I don’t talk often, but when we do it is a deep bond and resonance. It’s not that we don’t share profound love and respect, but that life simply moves on. I rarely think about the climb, but I always think of them. I have been so fucking lucky to have men like them in my life. I’ve always sought out brothers and mentors. Sometimes because I needed their shine to light my own way. I love them so much. All of them. I am so grateful. Stay tuned for post two on February 4th.
12 years ago today. First winter ascent of Gasherbrum II 8,034 meters. Brothers for life @iamsimonemoro @urubkodenis I don’t know what the temperature was on the summit because our altimeters were frozen. We do know that it was -51 c inside the tent, out of the wind, with three grown men emitting heat. Winds were gusting to about 60-75 kph on the summit, so windchill was likely significant, potentially dropping the temps to around -70. By the time we left the summit, the forecasted storm had hit. Winds increased and visibility dropped until it was so white, it gave us a sense of vertigo. The only way I could keep balance was by staring at whoever was leading. When it was my turn, we dropped below the glacial plateau onto exposed rock, but by then it was getting dark and we were concerned that the tent had blown away. Summits are an interesting place. They mark the physical half way point, but you’ve usually used about 80% of the gas in the tank. This climb never would have happened without the vast experience of both Simone and Denis. I was so incredibly lucky to be part of the team. Three guys, in winter, alone on the 13th highest mountain in the world. It was, to say the least, improbable. 16 expeditions over 26 years had tried and failed to make a winter ascent of one the five Pakistani 8000 meter summits. At the time, I had no idea I’d be the first American. I had no idea how much the climb would change me for better and for worse. I had no idea of the gravity of the undertaking. Had I, I probably wouldn’t have come. Ignorance can be bliss. Simone and Denis and I don’t talk often, but when we do it is a deep bond and resonance. It’s not that we don’t share profound love and respect, but that life simply moves on. I rarely think about the climb, but I always think of them. I have been so fucking lucky to have men like them in my life. I’ve always sought out brothers and mentors. Sometimes because I needed their shine to light my own way. I love them so much. All of them. I am so grateful. Stay tuned for post two on February 4th.
12 years ago today. First winter ascent of Gasherbrum II 8,034 meters. Brothers for life @iamsimonemoro @urubkodenis I don’t know what the temperature was on the summit because our altimeters were frozen. We do know that it was -51 c inside the tent, out of the wind, with three grown men emitting heat. Winds were gusting to about 60-75 kph on the summit, so windchill was likely significant, potentially dropping the temps to around -70. By the time we left the summit, the forecasted storm had hit. Winds increased and visibility dropped until it was so white, it gave us a sense of vertigo. The only way I could keep balance was by staring at whoever was leading. When it was my turn, we dropped below the glacial plateau onto exposed rock, but by then it was getting dark and we were concerned that the tent had blown away. Summits are an interesting place. They mark the physical half way point, but you’ve usually used about 80% of the gas in the tank. This climb never would have happened without the vast experience of both Simone and Denis. I was so incredibly lucky to be part of the team. Three guys, in winter, alone on the 13th highest mountain in the world. It was, to say the least, improbable. 16 expeditions over 26 years had tried and failed to make a winter ascent of one the five Pakistani 8000 meter summits. At the time, I had no idea I’d be the first American. I had no idea how much the climb would change me for better and for worse. I had no idea of the gravity of the undertaking. Had I, I probably wouldn’t have come. Ignorance can be bliss. Simone and Denis and I don’t talk often, but when we do it is a deep bond and resonance. It’s not that we don’t share profound love and respect, but that life simply moves on. I rarely think about the climb, but I always think of them. I have been so fucking lucky to have men like them in my life. I’ve always sought out brothers and mentors. Sometimes because I needed their shine to light my own way. I love them so much. All of them. I am so grateful. Stay tuned for post two on February 4th.
Instagram vs. reality? This platform is filled with content showcasing only the best of our lives. @SollisHealth #sollishealthwarriors campaign peels it back, and I’m grateful. Curation fuels escapism and a relentless need to be different… better…than we are. We all want to improve, and that shows us one of the fundamental beauties of the human condition. But real change comes from radical acceptance of who we are now. And rarely do we expose the struggles we face alone. I opened up to Sollis about my experience with mental health. I am excited to stand next to the other Sollis Health Warriors to create a space for honest conversations about invisible and chronic illnesses. Read more about my journey in my stories and link in bio.
Instagram vs. reality? This platform is filled with content showcasing only the best of our lives. @SollisHealth #sollishealthwarriors campaign peels it back, and I’m grateful. Curation fuels escapism and a relentless need to be different… better…than we are. We all want to improve, and that shows us one of the fundamental beauties of the human condition. But real change comes from radical acceptance of who we are now. And rarely do we expose the struggles we face alone. I opened up to Sollis about my experience with mental health. I am excited to stand next to the other Sollis Health Warriors to create a space for honest conversations about invisible and chronic illnesses. Read more about my journey in my stories and link in bio.
#genericwisdom
Just a bunch of atoms that exploded 13.8 billion years ago and only exist when we are looking. Daily reminder to stop trying so hard for a moment and notice what you’re already a part of. #thecolorofeverything
Just a bunch of atoms that exploded 13.8 billion years ago and only exist when we are looking. Daily reminder to stop trying so hard for a moment and notice what you’re already a part of. #thecolorofeverything
@gregoryalanisakov at home in CO. I love Greogory’s music and as much as he has played an important musical role in my past, I find myself listening to him on repeat as I sit in cafés and write. I found these images from a day at his house during the pandemic and realized I’d never posted them. One of the themes that has dug its way into this book is music and lyrics, like a soundtrack of my history and many identities. I didn’t ever see that coming when I decided to write out my life. Most of us remember our first album or our family soundtrack. My dad had a big collection of vinyl that was mostly classic rock and classical music and I remember the sound of the needle underneath the Beatles 1962-66. My first album was @metallica And Justice For All. I bought it in 1989 when I was eight. Satanic Panic was at its peak and I’m certain mom thought I was going to end up worshipping the devil. On some level she was right. We all worship our own devils, we just call them by different names. Until I started writing, I didn’t understand the profound impact music, and especially lyrics, had on me…How I found the right poetry at the right times. I’ve never understood musical composition, but I love the words. It’s common for me to find myself crying to songs that bring me back to a moment of heartbreak or when I was the hero of my own movie. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been incredibly lucky to spend time with some of the musicians I love most. I listen to Gregory’s lyrics over and over and try to dissect and understand songwriting. It is one of the most unique and special forms of storytelling and I think everyone who writes can learn from its nuance and brevity. I owe deep thanks to all the musicians that have filled my life. That list is long and far more complete in the book. But today, I’ll just say thanks Greogory. “If it weren’t for second chances, we’d all be alone.” @ladzinski @andy_mann #thecolorofeverything
@gregoryalanisakov at home in CO. I love Greogory’s music and as much as he has played an important musical role in my past, I find myself listening to him on repeat as I sit in cafés and write. I found these images from a day at his house during the pandemic and realized I’d never posted them. One of the themes that has dug its way into this book is music and lyrics, like a soundtrack of my history and many identities. I didn’t ever see that coming when I decided to write out my life. Most of us remember our first album or our family soundtrack. My dad had a big collection of vinyl that was mostly classic rock and classical music and I remember the sound of the needle underneath the Beatles 1962-66. My first album was @metallica And Justice For All. I bought it in 1989 when I was eight. Satanic Panic was at its peak and I’m certain mom thought I was going to end up worshipping the devil. On some level she was right. We all worship our own devils, we just call them by different names. Until I started writing, I didn’t understand the profound impact music, and especially lyrics, had on me…How I found the right poetry at the right times. I’ve never understood musical composition, but I love the words. It’s common for me to find myself crying to songs that bring me back to a moment of heartbreak or when I was the hero of my own movie. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been incredibly lucky to spend time with some of the musicians I love most. I listen to Gregory’s lyrics over and over and try to dissect and understand songwriting. It is one of the most unique and special forms of storytelling and I think everyone who writes can learn from its nuance and brevity. I owe deep thanks to all the musicians that have filled my life. That list is long and far more complete in the book. But today, I’ll just say thanks Greogory. “If it weren’t for second chances, we’d all be alone.” @ladzinski @andy_mann #thecolorofeverything
@gregoryalanisakov at home in CO. I love Greogory’s music and as much as he has played an important musical role in my past, I find myself listening to him on repeat as I sit in cafés and write. I found these images from a day at his house during the pandemic and realized I’d never posted them. One of the themes that has dug its way into this book is music and lyrics, like a soundtrack of my history and many identities. I didn’t ever see that coming when I decided to write out my life. Most of us remember our first album or our family soundtrack. My dad had a big collection of vinyl that was mostly classic rock and classical music and I remember the sound of the needle underneath the Beatles 1962-66. My first album was @metallica And Justice For All. I bought it in 1989 when I was eight. Satanic Panic was at its peak and I’m certain mom thought I was going to end up worshipping the devil. On some level she was right. We all worship our own devils, we just call them by different names. Until I started writing, I didn’t understand the profound impact music, and especially lyrics, had on me…How I found the right poetry at the right times. I’ve never understood musical composition, but I love the words. It’s common for me to find myself crying to songs that bring me back to a moment of heartbreak or when I was the hero of my own movie. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been incredibly lucky to spend time with some of the musicians I love most. I listen to Gregory’s lyrics over and over and try to dissect and understand songwriting. It is one of the most unique and special forms of storytelling and I think everyone who writes can learn from its nuance and brevity. I owe deep thanks to all the musicians that have filled my life. That list is long and far more complete in the book. But today, I’ll just say thanks Greogory. “If it weren’t for second chances, we’d all be alone.” @ladzinski @andy_mann #thecolorofeverything
@gregoryalanisakov at home in CO. I love Greogory’s music and as much as he has played an important musical role in my past, I find myself listening to him on repeat as I sit in cafés and write. I found these images from a day at his house during the pandemic and realized I’d never posted them. One of the themes that has dug its way into this book is music and lyrics, like a soundtrack of my history and many identities. I didn’t ever see that coming when I decided to write out my life. Most of us remember our first album or our family soundtrack. My dad had a big collection of vinyl that was mostly classic rock and classical music and I remember the sound of the needle underneath the Beatles 1962-66. My first album was @metallica And Justice For All. I bought it in 1989 when I was eight. Satanic Panic was at its peak and I’m certain mom thought I was going to end up worshipping the devil. On some level she was right. We all worship our own devils, we just call them by different names. Until I started writing, I didn’t understand the profound impact music, and especially lyrics, had on me…How I found the right poetry at the right times. I’ve never understood musical composition, but I love the words. It’s common for me to find myself crying to songs that bring me back to a moment of heartbreak or when I was the hero of my own movie. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been incredibly lucky to spend time with some of the musicians I love most. I listen to Gregory’s lyrics over and over and try to dissect and understand songwriting. It is one of the most unique and special forms of storytelling and I think everyone who writes can learn from its nuance and brevity. I owe deep thanks to all the musicians that have filled my life. That list is long and far more complete in the book. But today, I’ll just say thanks Greogory. “If it weren’t for second chances, we’d all be alone.” @ladzinski @andy_mann #thecolorofeverything
@gregoryalanisakov at home in CO. I love Greogory’s music and as much as he has played an important musical role in my past, I find myself listening to him on repeat as I sit in cafés and write. I found these images from a day at his house during the pandemic and realized I’d never posted them. One of the themes that has dug its way into this book is music and lyrics, like a soundtrack of my history and many identities. I didn’t ever see that coming when I decided to write out my life. Most of us remember our first album or our family soundtrack. My dad had a big collection of vinyl that was mostly classic rock and classical music and I remember the sound of the needle underneath the Beatles 1962-66. My first album was @metallica And Justice For All. I bought it in 1989 when I was eight. Satanic Panic was at its peak and I’m certain mom thought I was going to end up worshipping the devil. On some level she was right. We all worship our own devils, we just call them by different names. Until I started writing, I didn’t understand the profound impact music, and especially lyrics, had on me…How I found the right poetry at the right times. I’ve never understood musical composition, but I love the words. It’s common for me to find myself crying to songs that bring me back to a moment of heartbreak or when I was the hero of my own movie. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been incredibly lucky to spend time with some of the musicians I love most. I listen to Gregory’s lyrics over and over and try to dissect and understand songwriting. It is one of the most unique and special forms of storytelling and I think everyone who writes can learn from its nuance and brevity. I owe deep thanks to all the musicians that have filled my life. That list is long and far more complete in the book. But today, I’ll just say thanks Greogory. “If it weren’t for second chances, we’d all be alone.” @ladzinski @andy_mann #thecolorofeverything
Photo by @anna.aicher // I honestly believe that every interaction shapes us. We are social creatures, and by that measure, infinitely influenced by the people we come in contact with. Most are imperceptible changes and don’t alter our course too much. But there are some who do. Andrew Phelps @andrew_phelps_buffet is one. I met him 22 years ago in Salzburg Austria as my first photography instructor. From my book: ‘I like Andrew immediately. He is “tall, dark, and handsome” and a bit lanky, and I notice his cheekbones because I always do. He is angular and has sharp features and short, messy hair that is fine, but not thinning. His eyes are framed by thin lines as if he’s been squinting his whole life, looking for things that no one else sees. Andrew is a fine art photographer, but I will always wonder if his “art” images are more honest than my journalism. They are complex and simple and mysterious because they seem to be at battle with themselves and reflect a deep understanding of photographic principle and theory which I know nothing about. For me, photography is literal and impulsive, like I am trying to catch moments falling past me. But his images are deliberate and crafted and made, not taken, and that is my first lesson. Andrew changes everything.’ If you are someone who’s enjoyed or been impacted by my photographs, thank Andrew. He was the person who inspired me and told me to walk that path. I am forever grateful. #thecolorofeverything
