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IT’S NOT THE END. 

BUT THE FIELD TRIP
 YOU KNOW IS OVER. 


 

5 years later, what was a seed has sprouted and
become an organism in an ecosystem.

 

We were in the winter of our lives. "Conferences" connoted stuffy ballrooms, HELLOMYNAMEIS, recycled air, and florescent lights. Together we decided we had more than that inside us. Like the Topo Chico we had been pounding between sleepy marketing panels, there was something inside of us that needed to get out.

So we came together, and spring blossomed. We had a community, a shared center. It grew and evolved as summer thrived.
 

And yet,
as the prophet says,

Flames to dust / Lovers to friends / Why do all good things come to an end?

 
 
 
YFT_headstone.png
 

IT’S NOT THE END. 

BUT THE FIELD TRIP YOU KNOW IS OVER. 


 

5 years later, what was a seed has sprouted and become an organism in an ecosystem.

 

We were in the winter of our lives. "Conferences" connoted stuffy ballrooms, HELLOMYNAMEIS, recycled air, and florescent lights. Together we decided we had more than that inside us. Like the Topo Chico we had been pounding between sleepy marketing panels, there was something inside of us that needed to get out.

So we came together, and spring blossomed. We had a community, a shared center. It grew and evolved as summer thrived.
 

And yet, as the prophet says,

Flames to dust / Lovers to friends
Why do all good things come to an end?

 
 
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Seasons are profoundly beautiful because of more than just pretty leaves changing colors. It is because of the underlying principle of life coming from death. Of rebirth.

Especially here in California, we do everything we can to run from it. We grow our roots where the ground never freezes. Silicon keeps our proverbial leaves from falling ("boobs," ICYMI). We kill people and hide pieces of our souls in horcruxes, all to escape the impending winter.

But winter has a way of finding us, and there's something oddly comforting in that melancholy. Something natural, like a rhythm we're swaying to in the crisp fall breeze.

And we close our eyes, and we let go, and the leaves fall down.

And it feels strangely good, that cool wet feeling of wind on the bare nubs of our branches. It feels like the way has been cleared for something new.

It's time to let the leaves of our collective organism fall. It's time to let the ground lie fallow.

A collective awakening has become a movement, and the movement won't stop. You're still awake. The community is still alive, but it will be reborn as something new and will continue to evolve.

 
 
 
death.gif
 

Seasons are profoundly beautiful because of more than just pretty leaves changing colors. It is because of the underlying principle of life coming from death. Of rebirth.

Especially here in California, we do everything we can to run from it. We grow our roots where the ground never freezes. Silicon keeps our proverbial leaves from falling ("boobs," ICYMI). We kill people and hide pieces of our souls in horcruxes, all to escape the impending winter.

But winter has a way of finding us, and there's something oddly comforting in that melancholy. Something natural, like a rhythm we're swaying to in the crisp fall breeze.

And we close our eyes, and we let go, and the leaves fall down.

And it feels strangely good, that cool wet feeling of wind on the bare nubs of our branches. It feels like the way has been cleared for something new.

It's time to let the leaves of our collective organism fall. It's time to let the ground lie fallow.

A collective awakening has become a movement, and the movement won't stop. You're still awake. The community is still alive, but it will be reborn as something new and will continue to evolve.

 
 
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Field Trip as we know it
will rest in peace.

Shed your tears, shed your skin. Use it to fertilize what's next.

 
 
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Field Trip as we know it
will rest in peace.

Shed your tears, shed your skin.
Use it to fertilize what's next.

 
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A SPECIAL THANKS

TO OUR DESIGNER
HILARY ANN MASON

 
 
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