Who am I?

“Who am I?”

This question echoes around many of our heads as we try and navigate through the adventures of life. Some days the answer is clear, illuminated and glowing oh so proudly in front of us. Other days it is a whisper of an answer on a foggy day, obscured from view, only able to catch glimpses of the words through the oozing mist. Then one day, those words change as quickly as tide goes out and leaving behind a clean slate in the sand for you to write a new answer to the question.

I know if presented with a fine stick and clean beach full of flat, glistening, wet, sand what I would write.

I would scratch out in a rougher version of penmanship than belief that my name is Keagan in large letters and below that a line, running from K to N with a downward hook on the right end. From there, the task of describing what it is that is behind that name.

Photographer, story teller, writer, traveler, student, teacher, friend, adventurer, thrill seeker, wonderer, observer.

All roughly inscribed into the shore, madly scratched and clawed into a more than likely crooked excuse of a line. An homage to the inner workings of a brain that often has bigger ideas than body can produce. I would then sit above those words, waiting for the tide to come swallow up the words I had wrote and day dream about all the places, all the moments and all the memories that has built the life that merits such a long winded answer to what could be a simple question.

A life filled with animals, with people, with times and places galore. A life filled with laughs, with tears, with grins and breath taking amazement. A life filled with as many things as one could imagine, yet still longing for the next adventure.

The life of a gypsy wondering, “Who am I?”