In LA, I am a vanilla latte (extra foam, please — oohhh and a chocolate chip muffin! 😘)

I am strawberry margaritas with a light ring of salt, and a side order of fries, (please and thanks.) I am Champagne brunches with my BFF, henna tattoos, and dinners with family.

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I am in bed by 11.

I am paperback books and framed photos from my childhood — the drawings my mother saved tucked away, and the diary I hid in a ziplock bag beneath the orange tree in our backyard.

I am reruns.

I am rhinestone flip flops.

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I am peaceful. (Sometimes bored.)

In LA, I am home.

And in Israel, I am espresso and bitter chocolate. I am whiskey neat and messy hair. I am catching rides and flying past fields on a purple bicycle.

I am climbing fig trees with my kids.

I am zeros and I am ones, phone calls at 2 am, I am notes typed in the middle of the night — up too late to make it to brunch in the morning– but there’s always time for coffee or a drink, and chocolate croissants with the kids.

I am 18 browser tabs open at one time. I am a teal moleskin journal and a pen given to me at a train station.

I am the woman behind the camera, not in a frame.

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I am working, digging, building, and tearing down to start all over, to make it better, to repair and piece together — building a home worth staying in that may never exist.

I am exhilarated. (I am exhausted.)

In Israel, I am am the journey, not the destination.

 

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