It’s past midnight, and I’m still up, trying to learn how to re-size photographs on my camera and digging up American dollars in old wallets. I haven’t slept in my own bed in over a month, and won’t be back in my apartment until February. So why am I insisting on rattling my own cage and turning everything in my life upsidedown?

I guess there are several reasons, but maybe these two photographs can provide some insight into my (temporary) insanity. The first photo was a self-portrait after spending six days in an aluminum boat, chasing after whales and getting a spectacular sunburn on my face (the rest of my body was covered in a heavy nylon survival suit). Despite the painful scars on my nose and forehead that peeled for weeks, I was really, really happy when I snapped that shot.

The second photo is of a tiny hummingbird that died when it got trapped in the general store next to the Whale Lab (we’re not sure what happened, but we think it panicked when it couldn’t find a way outside). It was the most fragile thing, just a ball of iridescent fluff our friend carried home on a sheet of paper. It sounds a bit trite, but I can’t help being reminded when I think about that hummingbird that we are all delicate creatures, vulnerable and living on borrowed time.

So, when folks ask me why I am living out of a backpack with two pairs of underwear, I usually explain that I am hoping to chase as much happiness out of the next five months as possible. And if I get a bit sunburnt in the process, that’ll be okay. (Hopefully I’ll prove to be a bit more robust than our friend the hummingbird, and come back to share all my stories!)