Hello! It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve been busy! Busy with school work, horses, responsibilities and working to better myself in God’s eyes. I hope that you enjoy today’s podcast and remember that you are loved and sought after.
Podcast Session #7: Denver
Hey everyone! I just got back from Denver for a conference with the Young Farmers and Ranchers Club via Farm Bureau. I hope you enjoy this podcast! It’s longer than usual, sitting at an hour.
Podcast Session #6
I finally fixed my audio!!!
LOVE YOU GUYS! Thanks so much for supporting me and listening to me YAP!
You know I loveee yappin’ B)
XO,
RayRay
Pima Canyon by Rachel K. Young-Porter
Podcast #5
Hey guys!
Today, I talk about youthful desire for ambition, where ambition takes us, what fantasy does for me, what selfishness means, about explaining faith to those who ask, extreme accountability, mourning for the sake of comfort, andddddd the trail ride that I went on.
So, yeah, I kept things pretty light this time!
Podcast #4 is missing, mostly because I’m trying to figure out how to publish the video that goes along with it. Anyway, enjoy!
EDIT: The audio on this SUCKS. Sorry. I fix it in Podcast #6, so if you hate this one as much as I do, I promise it improves next pod. <3
xoxoxoxo,
Raychie Babe
Podcast Session #3
Good evening everyone! It’s the American Dream again, talking about what’s been draining me lately!
Then I do a creative writing read out of an eight-page piece I made for my English 210 class.
Don’t worry, I only read about a page and a half. It’s non-fiction, though!
The moral of my story today is this: Try Harder To Do Nothing.
Interpret that how you want!
I initially told Charlotte that’s how she should be posing, because the photo actually has nothing to do with her—it’s everything around her that makes the image beautiful.
Charlotte is obviously a beautiful woman, but what makes any photograph is very little to do with the model, and everything to do with the photographer’s ability to construct and see a scene.
and that’s the pro-tip for photography. I can’t quite teach you how to be capable of constructing and seeing a scene, but it’s learned. You can do it, eventually. Trial and error. Try not to trial-error with film.
It’s expensive, especially if you’re cheap.
Yosemite Falls by Rachel K. Young-Porter (2019)
Podcast Session #2 (ft. G-Dawg)
Hey again everyone! What a busy day. Gabby and I rode horses in the backyard arena, where she had a monumental time with Sequoia, and I did with Rebel. I hope you enjoy our rambling! I convinced Gabby to sit with me for just ten minutes to record, and forty-five minutes later, I only had to cut out two words!
Podcast Session #1
Hey everyone, Raychel here! I hope you like Podcast Session #1, it’s about 45 minutes long and I talk sporadically about school, a little bit of my military history, what the VR&E bill is, my relationship with God, who I want to become and a little bit about my personal life!
The Law of the Yukon Reading
Hey everyone! I’m excited over this new microphone, so please enjoy this reading of my all-time favorite poem. It was written in 1917.
Long Awaited
It’s been almost three years since I began my Journey to Self, a project that is still in continuation. There have been many requests for a blog-style documentation of my journey, and although I would like to be committed enough to deliver on something of that nature consistently, there is a lot of inner-work happening these days.
Most of what’s taking personal time is processing—once I joined the military, there were rarely moments that I was allowed rest. Sure enough, the military was predominantly (at least 30-40% of the time) an 8 a.m. - 4:30 p.m. gig, but on my resting hours, I was preparing for the next step of my career, working out, or zoning out.
Plenty was happening at home while I was gone. My parents were working on their marriage, both sets of grandparents were struggling with health conditions, my brother was wrestling a drug addiction, my sister was keeping a start-up afloat, and my husband was doing his everything to ensure his career would be on track to support us once I exited the military. If that weren’t enough, I was balancing being a good wife with being a good Marine, which was enough on it’s own to keep me distracted from anything else happening in the world.
My interests in popular culture or media dwindled, my fascination in politics was now abysmal, and I began to focus on things that I could create and criticize. Even now, as I write, I groan to myself and say “why are you wasting your time saying that? There are better things to say, things that won’t waste other’s time to read.”
The important things: I suffered a lot of head trauma in the military, most of which is not documented (there was no time to document it), and enjoy the wonderful benefits of C-PTSD that I undermine the significance of (I fought in no wars). There was sexual trauma that I experienced (most of which is not documented), emotional and verbal abuse that I endured from co-workers and bosses (that I, for whatever reason, do not blame them for perpetuating) and wounds that have been described as “abandonment trauma.”
I have little to no interest in photographing the world around me, anymore. An unfortunate fact, as the passion I had for journalism is what put me in a community of people who thoroughly appreciate me for the artist that I’ve become over the years. I’ve attempted to pinpoint the exact moment that I began to fear documentation, but it was over the period of years that removed any motivation that I have to become a real-world documentarian. It isn’t the fault of anyone’s actions but my own, I’ve come to realize. I decided what unit I wanted to go to, I decided who I would spend my time with, who I would invest in building relationships with (despite some glaringly-red flags), and lastly, who I trusted the opinion of enough to impact the opinion of myself.
“No matter where you go, there you are”
This is a quote that took me quite a bit of time to understand the depth of. Of course, where ever I go, obviously I’ll be there, right? In my own life, when I exited the Marine Corps, it was the first time ever that I was an adult with money and an understanding of freedom to truly go on the run. Yet, where ever I went, there were my same-old habits, my disdain for a hobby I invested in for the last six years, and my thoughts. No matter where I went, I could not escape the broken thoughts, the weight of physical injury, and reactions to normal life that I could not ignore. It was true that no matter where I travelled, I would not fit in anywhere.
There was no patience in me, my dreams at night were so violently-vivid and emotional that it would ruin entire days with rumination. I would remain awake until one or two in the morning, until I couldn’t stand keeping my eyes open, only to fall back into another session of dreaming in what appeared to be a fractured version of my waking life.
Meanwhile, the world continued to turn anyway. I didn’t do my taxes for an entire year, my dogs went without vaccinations for quite some time, I still haven’t been to a dentist, I didn’t register with the VA for about a year-and-a-half. I took a job in Montana that was incredibly niche, totally different from anything I’ve ever done before. Though I met wonderful people and developed maturity through it, I returned from the seasonal gig with even less of an understanding of myself or what I wanted for my future.
So then, I stayed awake only at night. True and complete isolation, given to me as a kind of gift by my father who allowed me to exist in the in-law unit while I figured my life out. I would fall asleep at 6 in the morning, wake up at 6 pm (twelve hours of dreaming through the daylight). I’d make coffee, take care of the dogs, hide from what little remained of the daylight, and ride out the night.
Plenty of tears and crying, pleading, reasoning with God, borderline insane conversations with myself, and burning almost every bridge around me took place during that six-month period of time. By the end of it, I emerged radically Christian, acceptant of my situation, forgiving toward those who hurt me, and accountable to the outcome of my life.
Still, I feel very far from a finish-line of happiness. I dream things that disturb me deeply, but I make my bed anyway. I ruminate on my past, but I grocery shop despite it. I unearth more memories that make me want to click an “off” button, but I take my vitamins so I’ll feel better tomorrow.
Thank you to all my friends and family who have remained friends and family in spite of the unconventional approach I’ve taken with my life. It is a wonder that anyone picks up the phone for me considering the odd hours I’ve rang, or the odd things I say at gatherings. One day, I hope I’m normal and blend in well.
A special thank you to Alex for regularly bullying me into writing a blog. Though many have requested it, I think you’re the only one who has requested it at least ten - fifteen times on separate occasions. One day I will visit you and Elizabeth and we will develop some beautiful film together.
I’m not sure if this will be a regular thing, or what I’ll write about the next time. I suppose what’s important is that I can say that I did something today, and I’ve been doing things most days.