Category: 30s

Peru

Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Dating, Love, self-discovery, self-help, solo travel, teaching, TravelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

I met Peruvian Aladdin the first day I arrived in Arequipa.

As I was trying to enjoy my rather strange alfresco lunch, a young Arequipaño with Disney character charm stopped to tell me that I…“looked like a person who knew a lot of things.”

Now, normally I would politely smile and say, “no, gracias.” But on that particular day I was feeling quite calm. And, curious. And, I had a plate of soggy papas fritas I wasn’t going to eat.

So, to Aladdin’s great surprise, I invited him to sit and share my lunch with me.

From there we went straight into life chat, took a superb walking tour of the city and ended the day singing on the streets for a few soles from passing strangers. I suggested he learn a song called A Whole New World.

Aladdin knew everyone. Fist bumps and smiles abounded as we strolled the streets of Arequipa and he shared his love for the city. His energy was magnetic, his English was impressive, and he was always available to hang.

As such, Aladdin quickly became my new best friend.

And then, of course, there were the established motorcycle gentlemen, the American-Danish trekking couple, my bachata dance partners and the curly-haired cutie from my favorite restaurant. They all made up a motley crew of new friends that turned my solo session in Arequipa into an unexpected adventure.

They also made this plane ride home a lot harder.

Going to Peru was the easiest decision I had made in months.

When my teaching contract unexpectedly ended in July, I found myself in Florida agonizing over life decisions I wasn’t ready to make. Where do I move to next? What’s my 10-year career plan? When am I ever going to start a family? Who wants to host homeless Holly as she figures all this shit out?

So, when my dear friend Patrick suggested I come with him to Machu Picchu, it was an easy and immediate YES! I had the privilege of time and money, and the overwhelming need to find clarity.

Two days later I was on a plane to Peru.

Patrick and I played tourist for the first few weeks, exploring Lima and Cusco, trekking to magnificent Machu Picchu, hiking up Rainbow Mountain and avoiding the desire to take photos with the overly exploited alpacas (“But Patty, that one has sunglasses on!”).

Along the way, we discussed life in general, and the meaning of travel in particular.

After almost 20 years of traveling the world, there are a few things I know for sure:

  1. Travelling is reenergizing. It reconnects me with my essence and gives me a renewed sense of purpose and zest for life.
  2. There is an invisible weight that is lifted when you are no longer in the proximity of your regular external stressors (ahem…society, family, friends, media…), giving you this lightness and freedom to just explore and live on your own terms. To just exist. To just be.
  3. For those two reasons, traveling makes me feel magnetic. I am open to and excited for new experiences. I am curious. I am kind (usually). I am peaceful and calm (mostly). I’m grateful and joyful and in my element. I am the best version of myself.

When Patrick returned home, I was left pondering these things as I continued my journey solo, trying to delay my own return home (which, at this moment, is a relative term).  

So, why did I wake up this morning in a cold sweat?

Because now I’m flying to Florida and I don’t want to lose the feelings of 1, 2 and 3 upon my arrival.

Like, how do you bottle that up, so when you’re back home feeling your old friend anxiety creep in, you can just give yourself a little spritz of travel zest to feel that lightness and freedom and joy again?

(I think if travel were a perfume it would be called Explorer’s Essence…but without the actual scent of an explorer because, well, yeah, that would be a hard sell).

Anyway, this all sounds a little despondent, but you’re catching me at a crossroads. My job, home and future have yet to be sorted, and for the last 6 weeks, Peru provided a haven to hide as I sought clarity on these matters.

Now, as my plane flies further away from my Peruvian refuge, I am left wondering how I can maintain this state of serenity when I’m back stateside.  

Cue the collective head shake from all my favorite spiritual sages. I know, I know. Happiness is within me. I don’t have to go far to find peace. But, sometimes, it sure does help.

So, what clarity did I find in Peru?

Well, I’m clear that I want to build something of my own. A business? A basecamp? A book? A boyfriend? A better life? We’ll see. Vamos a ver. But what I know now more than ever is that travel will continue to be an important part of whatever I do. As I eloquently put it…travel is my shit.

I’m also clear that I cannot have more than 3 pisco sours in one sitting. Let’s just leave it at that.

Peru, you gorgeous mujer. You provided peace I didn’t think was possible. You were a trip I didn’t know I needed. And now that I have a little posse of Peruvian compadres, I will see you again very soon. Hasta luego, mi amor. Until next time...

The Bubble

Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, Love, mexico, self-discovery, solo travel, teaching, TravelTagged , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

As I laid in bed in my Mexican condo, beside my Mexican lover, watching Narcos Mexico on my Mexican TV, it finally dawned on me...

Oh yeah. I live in Mexico.

You see, I’d been stuck inside a bubble for the past five months. Granted, this bubble was a multi-million dollar mansion on the Sea of Cortez, equipped with a private chef, butler and anything my little corazón desired.

Everything except…privacy.

That would come after a vaccination and some negotiation.

OK, let me back this bubble story up a bit.

Last September I signed on to be a traveling teacher for a jet-set family. It was a wild and wonderful opportunity that came at an amenable time. The world was still recovering from the pesky pandemic, so why not wait it out in the lap of luxury and pile some pesos while I was at it? It was a no-brainer. I packed my bags and headed to the West Coast.

The caveat was that I’d be living with my employers. Not the worst thing if your employers provide all the aforementioned living amenities. But, for a 35-year-old single woman, this was going to be quite an adjustment.

Nevertheless, I committed.

And for the next five months, I found myself holed up in what I lovingly called the Cabo COVID Convent. I took full advantage of the all-inclusive set-up as I spent every non-working hour plugging away at my 200-page research paper.

If I wasn’t going to have a social life, I would at least finish my dissertation.

And, I was actually starting to get used to this swanky, solitary lifestyle. In fact, I took a solo Christmas sojourn around Baja that turned out to be one of the most blissful trips I’ve ever encountered.

But a social creature like me doesn’t last long alone. And, although I was enjoying my time with the “gente de la casa,” I needed a life outside the gilded gates within which I resided.

So, when the first vaccine shot presented itself to my arm, I gladly took it.

This was my freedom card.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

Oh, Holly. You jumped the gun, girl.

You know that Mexican lover I mentioned? Well, five days after my first shot, he invited me to dinner. The truth is, I sometimes snuck out of my bubble to feel like a pre-COVID person who has drinks with friends.

Now, before you lecture me on how my antibodies wouldn’t have kicked in yet, trust me, I was aware. But, alas. An innocent dinner with an infected friend turned into a 2-week quarantine as I recovered from the virus that has pestered us all for the past year.

F*cking COVID.

I had lived in an airtight bubble for many months, and it finally got me. Perfect timing, too. I had the biggest presentation of my Ph.D. life, and I couldn’t get out of bed. No smell, no taste, no hope. But, with all the time in the world, I powered through and defended my dissertation in the confines of a small, sullied Mexican hotel room.

I celebrated by taking a nap.

You can’t make this shit up.

So, what’s the silver lining?

Well, after my quarantine, I moved into my own condo. I had also started spending more time with the person that put me in quarantine in the first place. We started exploring Cabo in a way that made me feel like I actually lived there. And, I eventually got to spend a glorious week celebrating my graduation with family, friends and so much love.

So, yeah. Another example of life’s little rollercoaster shenanigans that always end in lessons learned and life lived.

And, as I prepare to leave the community I just started to feel comfortable in (we’re only in Cabo for the season, daaaling), I am reflecting hard on what commitment means and relishing my brief time with beautiful new friends.

Stay tuned for notes on my summer in San Diego…

Thoughts on 35

Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, Love, self-discovery, solo travel, teaching, TravelTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment

This time last year I was looking at flights to Africa. 

I had a vision for my 35th birthday. I was going to do something epic. Something magnificent. Like, climb a mountain. Maybe, Kilimanjaro? Yes! To celebrate crossing my mid-thirties threshold, I would climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. 

But, if you were a human born after February, your birthday this year was probably a bummer. Or, it was meh. Or, fine. Or, weird. Or, whatever. But I’m sure it was a far cry from what you might have envisioned.

So, instead of sipping a celebratory beer in Tanzania and blogging about conquering Kili, I’m in my bed, quarantining at the Homewood Suites in La Quinta, California, and jotting down sleepless thoughts about turning 35. 

I’ll be here another 3 nights before taking my 7th COVID test and rejoining the family who now employs me as their private teacher. They’re staying at their Palm Desert home down the street. We all head back to the Cabo house on Friday (pending a negative COVID test, post- my thanksgiving blitz back home with lots of human contact and 3 commercial flights. Pray for me). 

It’s all very luxurious…

…and very, very strange. 

Indeed, COVID has forced us all to scale our lives and our plans and our birthday visions way back. But it’s also created unimaginable opportunities. 

Like, living with a fancy family and becoming a traveling teacher. 

Honestly, I’m not sure what I thought my life would be like at 35. And, although my current microcosm is unusual and unexpected, I can’t help but feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. 

And it’s because I’ve never felt so comfortable with being by myself before. 

Now, I’ll try not to sound like a self-help book, but 35 has got me thinking. Thinking about all the relationships I’ve leaned on in the past in order to feel fulfilled. Finding validation in friendships and family. Stumbling through fleeting and often unfavorable romantic relationships to fill a void. Or, a social quota. I don’t know. 

What I do know is that the most important relationship I’ll ever have is with myself. Aaaand there’s the self-help shite that I was talking about. But it’s true! Relationships change and grow and bend and break. BUT! If you can sit with yourself, reflect, stay calm, stay graceful and trust yourself – and the universe – enough to know that everything is going to be okay…then everything is going to be okay.

And, all your other relationships will benefit and bask in your self-love glow 🙂

After a deep, dark COVID dip, I’m feeling determined. Reformed. Empowered. Dare I say that 2020 has been a year of unprecedented self-transformation?

And, 35 feels good. Like, really good. Like, didn’t have to climb a mountain to feel good, good.

OK, I get it. My posts are emo as of late. So, I’ll leave you with something saucy about my rather curious circumstances.

I met “A” the first week I moved to the San Diego house. I was quarantining in the guest house, and I needed a distraction. Plus, I wanted to check out the SD dating scene. After all, it was my new, temporary home. So, we made a plan. I would meet him for sunset at Lifeguard Tower 19 after he finished surfing. So California. I was in. We met up, had beers and banter and bonded over Schitt’s Creek. I’d say, it went well. But, the next morning I woke up to a text along the lines of, “you’re great, but…I’m looking for something serious and long term and it doesn’t sound like you’ll be sticking around.” Dang. He was right. I was transient. And, I knew the universe was telling me to keep my head down and my self-development up.

So, I told myself to keep off the apps.

But, 2 months later, and another 4-day quarantine in Palm Desert had my fingers swiping left and right. Just out of curiosity, really. I mean, who even lives out there? Turns out, “S” did. Thanks to COVID, he was hiding out in the desert living a snowbird life and going through a similar self-transformation. So, we met up. And, it was great. He was great. It was all bloody great! But, alas! I was on my way out…again. In 48 hours, I would return to my Cabo COVID convent. Say that three times.

And, here I am. Back in my Mexican bubble, reflecting on the power of patience and the importance of timing. And, considering deleting Bumble. Because…what a tease!

Message received, Universe. Stay focused. Stay cool. And, write your dissertation.

All in good time.

The Lost Year. Here’s What I’ve Found.

Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, Love, self-discovery, self-help, Travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

You will love San Diego. Trust me. You will see. You will love it here.

It’s late and I’m trying to be cordial to my enthusiastic Uber driver. He’s originally from Iraq, and he regales me with reasons why he moved to San Diego. Fleeing from war and religious persecution in his motherland, yes, but…

the weather, mostly.

It’s been a weird year for the world – a lost year, if you will. And, in this moment, with this Uber driver, on my way to quarantine in the pool house of a very wealthy family before I start a 4-day working interview for the role of private teacher, fits perfectly in the nutty narrative of 2020.

But as much as we’ve lost this year – jobs, lives, our minds – COVID, for many of us, has been the catalyst for self-discovery. From unearthing buried burdens, to unpacking past relationships, to unscrewing the cork off of many a wine bottle, I’ve actually found a lot of useful things in this bizaar year.

Here’s some of the most important.

I am the sum of all my romantic experiences

Now, I’m not great at math, but I’m pretty sure that if you count up all of my heartbreaks, plus my disappointments, divide by all of my fabulous flings, subtract by the number of almost lovers, solve the slope of my first love, approximate the linear relationships of all the difficult dudes, and multiply by the power of 2 beautiful Brazilians and, well, that pretty much sums me up.

Indeed, I have found that all of my romantic relationships are a reflection of me and my flaws and my patterns that need adjusting. They’ve played a huge part in discovering who I am and what I want from a partner. So, I truly thank them. No resentment, only gratitude.

Speaking of…

Writing in a daily gratitude journal is totally transformative

Seriously. I know it’s kind of a life coach cliché, but that shit works. I bought one back in July when I started to feel a complete nervous breakdown coming on. As someone who has been actively trying to avoid such a personal catastrophe, I decided to give the gratitude journal a shot. Besides, I had the new privilege of leisurely mornings where I could make an elaborate breakfast and write down what I was grateful for.

And, so I did.

I’ve found that this simple ritual has transformed my mindset (and green smoothies have transformed my skin!). Starting each day with a focus, an affirmation, and a gratitude list has started shifting my anxious attitude to a more positive and productive perspective. It’s given me space to reflect on all the good things in my life and focus on staying calm, cool and collected, even if the rest of the world is falling apart.

In other words, I’ve started to…

Stop worrying and start living

Dale Carnegie’s 1948 practical guide to living a more joyful life has never been more apropos than right now. This guy knew that worrying will always be a disease of the human condition. So, he wrote a book to help cure us of the sickness that is stress, worry, anxiety, panick, etc. I’m halfway through, and, let me tell ya’, I’m starting to turn into a zen buddhist.

Yas, Kalidasa!

Most of our worry is made up of scenarios that haven’t even happened yet. We agonize over uncertainty until we literally make ourselves ill. For me, stress lives in my gut and, earlier this year, I couldn’t eat most foods, including my favorite COVID companion, wine. Travesty! I had to sort my stress out fast. Yet another catalyst of my self-care kick, and my discovery of Carnegie’s wisdom on combating worry.

Continuous self-improvement is a life-long game, people. I’m just glad I’m finally starting to learn the rules (and, shout out to some badass chicks that have been doing the work for years and are now dedicated to spreading the love and throwing some free life advice my way! – Marina and Poppy 🙂 )

These are only 3 of many eye-opening discoveries I’ve made during this lost year. It took a global pandemic to stop us all in our tracks and force us to sit with our demons and reassess our lives. For me, it meant working through past traumas, letting go, taking responsibility, staying gracious and embracing uncertainty. Because, shit. You just never know what life is gonna throw at you, do you?

I certainly didn’t think I’d ride the Covid wave to San Diego to start a new gig. But, here I am, polishing off this post with a glass of chardonnay in the rose garden, and processing just how wild 2020 has been.

As I start this new chapter (which will probably fill the pages of a book), I’m grateful for how far I’ve come, and excited for the work ahead. I will miss my Miami life and all who made it memorable. But, it was time for a change.

And a new adventure awaits.

OK, admittedly, this was an emo post. But, don’t worry. I will soon have tales of private jets and pool boy affairs. I just need to review my NDA to see what I can get away with…

Stay tuned.

–

My 3 Phases of Quarantine

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If you’re reading this, there is a 50% chance I haven’t brushed my teeth today. 

Brushing my teeth used to be the last thing I did before I walked out the door. It was the signal to my brain that I had places to go and people to see.

Now, of course, that doesn’t happen often.

Consequently, my teeth are neglected. Amongst other things.

But that’s the new normal, right? The global transition from human interaction to self-isolation is now 5 months strong, and our daily lives have been seismically shifted forever. Or, at least, as far as the eye can currently see.

Regardless of our life circumstances – single, living alone with you demons, locked down with a new love, or married with 3, screaming kids – this corona coaster has forced everyone to face their own brand of sacrifice, sorrow and insanity.

And, redemption.

Here’s mine.

In 3 Phases.

Phase 1 – The Novelty

This is when the novel coronavirus had…well…novelty. Kind of like whenever there’s a Cat 5 hurricane barreling towards Florida. I can’t help but get excited. I’m all like, batten down the hatches! Shut the schools! This is gonna be a wild ride! Yeehaw!

So, I geared up. Got some masks. Bought some books. Prayed my two rolls of tp would see me through (they did not).

Activities such as one-person dance parties, zoom happy hours, and working in my “house dress” were still fun!

Heck, I even started running. I HATE running!

Grocery stores close at 5? No problem! Fat chance of going to a bar for the foreseeable future? All good! An indefinite delay with the already dismal dance that is dating in Miami? Perfect!

None of it mattered. I felt like I was doing my part for humanity and it felt great!

And boy, was I gonna take this quarantine by the balls and take time to self-improve!

I was practicing yoga in my living room, writing haiku poems about all the lovely little things I noticed, and actually reading the books I bought.

But then I started watching Handmaid’s Tale. Eerie parallels from the show’s dystopian world started to take shape and I was starting to feel stifled.

Also, I was running out of tp.

And so started my (lock)downfall.

Phase 2- The Mental Game

When the novelty of being trapped in my house for over a month wore off, and I started to find it harder to get out of bed, I moved into Phase 2 of the quarantine.

The mental game.

My daily mantra was… “this real life?” followed by “yeerp” and “not today, Satan!”

Sluggishly, I put on whatever house dress I hated the least that day, shuffled out of my pain cave, and greeted my roommate with some sort of grumble about it being the apocalypse.

I had lost my steam. My spirit was low. But, mostly, my motivation was missing.

I did my work at the bare minimum. And when I was done with my menial tasks for the day, I stared at the mountain of data waiting to be analyzed for my research.

And then I started drinking.

The truth is, I’ve never been a big boozer. But, it was the only consistent thing that seemed to lift my spirits. At the very least, it gave me an activity to do as I attempted to erase the long, uneventful corona days.

And then there was the shame.

In order to visit my best friend and her family, I was the only one enforced to wear a mask like the South Beach leper I’ve come to be treated as. (Yes, please guard your children from my COVID germs I’ve caught dancing by myself at Club Casa). I couldn’t even give my 4-year-old Godchild a real high-five to thank her for getting me a beer from the fridge and then carefully placing it 6-feet away from me.

Thanks, S! Auntie Holly loves you, even if you can’t see the smile on her face!

And then there was my soapbox.

I dragged that thing around and started mumbling incoherent things about violations to individual rights and how this collective effort was, for many, causing much greater suffering than would have otherwise occurred. I even exploited the distressing situations some of my students are living in to make my misguided point which was something along the lines of….

How long does this go on until we’re ALL f*cked?

And then I started badgering my abundantly cautious friends about a timeline.

“When will you feel safe enough to shake a hand? Eat at a restaurant? Take your mask off in public? When the government says so? CDC? When there’s a vaccination?! What’re metrics, man! ”

Most of my prudent friends (who also happen to be my smartest friends) didn’t have a clear answer. What they did have, that I was severely lacking, was a level head about their effort to help stop the spread of this vicious virus. They still held that it was their responsibility to do their part so other people didn’t die.

This is when I started to feel like an entitled fool.

(I also started watching Game of Thrones and realized, holy shit, nothing is worse – not even a global pandemic – than the fight for the Iron Throne!).

Thus, the shift to my current, more compliant, quarantine phase.

Phase 3 – The Acceptance

And now here we are.

Calmer. More accepting. And, definitely less angry.

Because, it is what it is.

And, making the small sacrifices, like wearing a mask (even though it reminds me, constantly, that I forgot to brush my teeth), is really no skin off my back.

I have a job, a beautiful apartment, my health (so far) and supportive friends and family. I’m privileged AF.

Do I still have dark corona days? Of course. These are what I like to call my TR days. It’s when I need the burly man voice of Tony Robbins to tell me to get the f*ck out of bed  and stop crying! Life is hard! But, you have a choice. Where your focus goes, your energy flows. Grow through what you go through. Responsibility is our ability to respond to the stress in our life. We have the power to give that stress its meaning. I can go on and on.

The point is this. I’m choosing a more positive perspective.

I’m getting my self-improvement game back on point. I bought a gratitude journal. I’m reading. I’m bossing out my dissertation. I’m stretching. I no longer have FOMO. I’m breathing. I took a road trip. I corona cruise in R’s coverable. I’m dancing. I go to the beach at sunset. I’m writing. I tutor amazing students on Saturdays. I occasionally cry. I drink less. I connect with friends and family more.

And, slowly but surely, my joy is resurfacing.

And, it’s all going to be OK.

These are wild times. So, stay well, my friends.

I gotta go brush my teeth…

 

 

(Self) Love in the Time of Coronavirus

Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, Love, self-helpTagged , , , Leave a comment

In the days leading up to the WHO declaring COVID-19 a global pandemic, I experienced two unexpected traumas.

The first happened after some revelations from a recent relationship came to light; the other, a family matter. Both occurring consecutively and without warning. Both sending past traumas spiraling to the surface. And both giving a whole new meaning to self-quarantine. 

In terms of personal crises, coronavirus didn’t even break the top ten. 

Now, trauma is a strong word.

And, these occurrences didn’t exactly directly happen to me. Instead, they were the byproduct of the dysfunctional behavior of others.

Nevertheless, I’ve been caught in the crossfire and, with nowhere to run, I’ve been forced to face them head on with nothing more than a stack of self-help books and a weekly call to my therapist to shield me. 

From atoning my own mistakes in order to forgive others, to digging deeper and uncovering root causes, to confronting pain I didn’t even know existed within me – this worldwide lockdown has been a heavy trip down self-discovery lane.

But, before I continue to regurgitate all the fun, new psychological theories I’ve been learning about, I want to shift gears to something lighter. Something that we’ve all been strongly encouraged to do during this crisis. Something that is easier said than done, but is the key to our survival. 

It’s a little something called self-love. 

If you asked my friends to describe me, they would probably use words like gregarious, upbeat, self-confident, annoyingly positive. 

And, that would be mostly true. 

But, those characteristics are also great distractors from the not-so-sprightly sides of my psyche like anxiety, guilt, self-doubt, so on and so forth.

These sides, I’d say, are persistent in many of us. Especially during these strange times as we dance with our demons. See? Even my writing is getting weird.

The challenge, then, is to get up, get dressed, and get out of your head long enough to show yourself some love. 

And, for us single folks who currently have limited, intimate prospects, self-love is one of our only salvations. 

For me, it’s dancing on my balcony, potentially in my underwear, to earn a smile from a passerby.

Or, cooking a new, delicious meal to share with my quarantine partner, Rebecca (thank you, Lord Jesus, for a friend to fight this “invisible enemy” with).

Or, indulging in a little retail therapy (whilst dreaming of the day the clothes actually arrive and I can parade them in an open, public space with lots of handsome men who will appreciate them as much as I do, thus leading to many and mighty intimate prospects to make up for lost time! Oh dear, I digress…).

Or, it can be the simple act of forgiveness. 

Like, forgiving yourself for having 3 glasses of wine at lunch. Or, forgiving yourself for exchanging evening reading for Handmaid’s Tale binging (I am NOT sorry for that!). Or, simply forgiving yourself for feeling angry and shitty and anxious and hopeless and depressive and miserable, because…

We don’t have to be so fucking happy all the time! 

And, we’re all going through an unprecedented global fucking crisis!

So, we’re all allowed to feel fucking upset!

Dear Dr. S, I think we’re making progress!

I know I’m writing this from a place of privilege, where I still have my job and a roof over my head and food on the table and a gratitude list that still exceeds my bill of grievances. 

So, before I go off on a controversial tangent about how I feel a prolonged lockdown will no longer be for the greater good and, instead, will cause a devastating breakdown in many aspects of individual human life that will ultimately far outweigh the perceived loss we may be preventing by completely avoiding each other and losing the essence of what makes us human in the first place… 

I will now stop. 

And, take a deeeeep breath, inhaling positive thoughts and intentions. And, exhaling out anxiety, self-doubt and guilt…so I can continue to persevere through this pesky pandemic. 

Good luck out there. 

And, be kind to yourself. 

…But, if you do get to love on someone else (like me, last night, with the boy I started seeing pre-quarantine who reemerged long enough for me to hug and kiss him longer and harder than usual…I know that’s what she said, but don’t kill the moment!)…do that, too. 

Because, as it turns out, loving others is just as essential to our human nature as loving ourselves.

So, I hope the world opens up to more of that soon. 

With a little less abundance of caution.

 

 

 

Cuba and Other Curiosities

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Sitting on my balcony, savoring the cool, Cuban breeze and the ¡Oye, coños! of the people in the plaza below, I’m curiously reflecting on how I ended up in Havana. 

And, I’m drinking lots of rum. 

Actually, there’s been a few curiosities that have presented themselves in 2020. And, as this blog goes, I feel compelled to contemplate these curiosities here so I can continue decoding life and all its puzzling glory. 

And, it’s cheaper than therapy.

So, here we go. Vamanos. 

Curiosity #1 – Cuba

I flew to Havana to see about a boy. 

This in itself is a curiosity worth explaining. But, I’ll save it for another day. Let’s just say, this last minute Cuban rendezvous was 8 years in the making. And, although my trip might have caused a bit of a commotion, exploring Old Havana with an old friend was a new adventure worth taking.

Fresh off the plane, I found myself being driven to meet with the Cuban mafia. OK, that’s an exaggeration. But, shady business was immediately being conducted as my USD was being exchanged for CUC. And, me? Well, I was sipping my mojito and laughing with my new Cuban-American companion whom I had met on the short, 1-hour flight. He was treating me to lunch and rum and taxi rides. And, as it turns out, great exchange rates. 

When I finally arrived in Havana Vieja, I was almost 2 hours late to meet my handsome companion, M. He was waiting outside with a concerned look on his face. But as I jumped out of the taxi and greeted him with an enthusiastic hug (thank you, multiple mojitos), he seemed to lighten up. 

And, for the next three days we walked and talked and reveled in the vitality of Havana. The abuela on the balcony hanging her clothes and greeting her neighbors. The niños on the street playing a game of baseball with a wooden stick. The vibrant colors of the crumbling, colonial architecture. And, of course, the glorious old cars echoing Cuba’s glory days.

All of it felt alive in a way I’ve never experienced in other countries. But, at what cost?

I left Cuba curious about Communism and the sentiment of the Cuban people. But, I was grateful to have been let in to briefly experience our small, spicy neighbor to the South (before a pesky virus or a new government restriction shut that dream down!).

Curiosity #2 – The Secluded Life of a PhD Student 

Dear God, where do I start?

This is my 5th year of my PhD program. And, although I knew it would be challenging to leave the comfort of my classroom to work for my university in order to fast track this degree to fruition, I could have never imagined the physical and emotional toll it would take. 

Let’s start with sitting. 

Most days, I sit for hours. After nearly 8 years of standing and dancing and doing backflips to keep my students engaged and entertained, this new, sedentary lifestyle has been a shock to my system. Is it a blessing to have the time and silence to read and write and work on my pending 200-page research paper? Absolutely! But, does my body now feel like that of an arthritic 80-year-old lady? Yes. Yes, it does. Honestly, how do you desk job people do it?!

And then there’s the unexpected emotional reaction I had to leaving the classroom. 

I now wake up every day (NOT at 5:30 am, glory be to God!) feeling this void that was once filled by the dependency of my students. Before, I was needed. I had a deep sense of purpose. I could give my time, energy and effort to the betterment of my kids. I got my maternal rocks off. 

I didn’t realize how much I needed to nurture, until no one needed my nurturing. 

(Which left me open to start a curious codependent relationship. Oops. See Curiosity #3).

Finally, my research. Oh, the bureaucracy and paperwork and deadlines! All of this – a mild form of torture. But, wait! I have been buried in books that have boosted my brain, I’ve already written half of my dissertation, and I’ve helped develop the first international student teaching program at my university. All of this – a dream come true. 

So, fine. I’ll take the lower back pain and lack of dependency if it means I can soon make my career great again. #PhD2020.

Curiosity #3 – Friends with Benefits

Once upon a time, I would lecture my guy friends on the unfairness of carrying on a relationship that they knew had an expiration date, but was a good “filler” until the next thing came along. I could not wrap my head around knowingly investing time and energy into someone that wasn’t going to stick around. No sir. I’d never be someone’s filler!

And then I met L. 

Actually, it was my mom who first broke the ice. Turns out, Charlotte is the best wing woman one can have. As my biggest fan, she has no fear sauntering right up to the cutest boy at the bar to roll out my resume and all my dateable assets in a smooth, 30 second pitch. I stand behind her, acting embarrassed while the unsuspecting victim nice gentleman looks over my mom’s shoulder to check out the daughter in question.

It’s endearing. It’s unexpected. It works like a charm. 

One such encounter last May turned into the last 5 months of me navigating new relationship territory commonly known as friends with benefits (or, more accurately known as codependency).

Now, this is a land that I’m not familiar with. Nor did I start hanging out with L with the expectation that this road would have a dead end. Instead, I didn’t really think about it too much. He was available. I was vulnerable. And, my mom approved. 

So, we hung out. Like, a lot. And, we became friends. Like, for real. And then there were, you know, the benefits. 

But L took up a lot of space. He was disruptive. Together, we were fiery. And, what sparked my interest at first turned into constant heated debates that often left me utterly deflated. 

Soon, I found myself on an emotional roller coaster that I wasn’t sure was worth the ride.

So, when that all important 3-month mark came along, and I wasn’t feeling much push in a more long-term, romantic direction, it dawned on me. We cared for each other. We appreciated the convenience of each other. But, in the end, we were just friends. 

Not ready to give up the benefits just yet, I signed up for a few more months with L.

But as my feelings grew sensitive and my self-worth grew impatient, I realized that a friends with benefits set-up just wasn’t for me. 

Spoiler alert! I’ve never been the cool girl that can do the casual dating thing without getting her feelings hurt. And for my ladies who can? Congratulations! You’re robots.

For now, we can put that curiosity to bed. Alone. No friends or codependents allowed.   

So, what has come from my curious contemplations? 

Well, understanding the power of being present. 

L was not destined to be the father of my children, but when I stopped thinking so much about our fate, I started understanding the meaning of his presence in my life. He taught me a lot. Mostly, about the critical need to protect my heart. And, to not sell myself short. 

This secluded PhD life ain’t easy for a socially needy extrovert. But, as I connect with my colleagues and banter with my professors, I’m learning to enjoy the everyday interactions that make this isolating experience tolerable.

Finally, my reservations about my Cuban affair with M were quickly replaced by his calm, shielding presence and my gratitude for the many moments that made my trip so memorable. 

So, yeah. Be present, connect with and learn from the people in front of you and read Mark Nepo…he will change your life.

Stay tuned for more curious contemplations…

The Seattle Experience

Posted in 30s, Backpacking, camping, Dating, Love, seattle, solo travel, TravelTagged , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Gnawing on some beef jerky, within grabbing distance of my bear spray, I wondered if choosing Campsite 13 would prove to be unlucky. 

Forest Ranger Jen, with all her tree-hugging enthusiasm, assured me that I was actually very lucky to have even nabbed a campsite, and that 13 was particularly lovely given its proximity to the creek. She also told me to be “bear safe.”

I hoped that just meant spray. 

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This camping trip to North Cascades National Park would be a solo one. I couldn’t convince any of the other interns to join me, even after commandeering a car and gear, so, I set out on my own.

After all, it was summer in Washington State, and I was determined to soak in all the Pacific Northwest glory I could get my Floridian hands on. 

I had moved to Seattle for a dream internship at the Bill and Holly Melinda Gates Foundation.

After kicking a few doors down to get there, I had finally reached the mecca of all work places.

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State-of-the-art facilities, free snacks and catered lunches (the “Foundation 15” is a delightful souvenir I got to take home), flexible work hours (“We trust you’ll do good work, Holly, so do it on your own terms”) and anything else you could possibly need to facilitate an optimal work-life balance. 

Oh yeah, and then there was Lumber James, the gorgeous giant on the strategy team whom I stalked every day during lunch in the atrium (and whom I had to ultimately avoid after he ghosted me on Bumble. I guess he didn’t want to get caught fraternizing with an intern. Or, maybe it was my strong opener about stalking him in the atrium. Nevermind.).

Speaking of Bumble… 

After a string of good fortune back in Miami, I was ready to hit the Seattle dating scene hard. 

I envisioned a suitor who would enjoy all the splendors of a Seattle summer with me. And, bonus! I would only be there for 3 months. No strings attached. Every dude’s dream. 

So, I started swiping right. 

The flannel! The height! The educational backgrounds! These Washington boys had me in burley lumberjack/nerdy tech guy heaven! 

And, that’s how I met Matt.

As we sipped our beers on my spectacular roof deck (thank you, Bill and Melinda), I learned that Matt, a boyishly handsome Seattleite, had been the lead singer of a band for many years and was making the excruciating transition into the corporate world as an Amazon intern.

A smart, sensitive, local boy who made me laugh and was nice to look at? Jackpot. 

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But, as our hangouts became harder to orchestrate, and our time together seemed vaguely disconnected, it was clear there were differences in time and emotional availability. 

In true Holly fashion, I said YES! I showed up. I was keen and made concessions. (It also didn’t help that I was becoming a fangirl of Matt’s band, and, therefore, let a lot of things slide). Matt, on the other hand, was navigating a major identity crisis and didn’t have much bandwidth for a summer fling. 

 

Although there were some bright spots (Live music! Log cabins! Laughs over libations!) my hope for an available affair did not exactly come to fruition. 

At least, not until the end of my Seattle stint…

Meanwhile, back at the Foundation headquarters, I was navigating a whole new world of, well, everything.

After 7 years in my sheltered classroom, I was shell-shocked. 

Those first few weeks were perplexing. Listening to my fellow interns drop their MBA jargon bombs – Upstream? Deep dives? Low-hanging fruit? – I struggled to keep up with the conversation. And, not to mention learning the Foundation lexicon and all the acronyms that come with it…PBD, SPO, BMGF (took me an embarrassing amount of time to get that one).

As a result, I kept my mouth shut. I absorbed. I processed. I did a lot of positive self-talk to shake the daily feeling of being a complete and utter imposter. 

Like, seriously. What was I doing here? 

I was surrounded by some of the world’s smartest people, commissioned to strategize on how to solve some of the world’s biggest problems.

…The biggest problem I’ve solved in recent history has been resetting the code on a lockbox. And, obviously, YouTube did most of the heavy lifting.

The ivy-league titles of the interns didn’t help either. Masters in global health at Harvard. PhD in biochemical engineering at Princeton. MBAs at Yale, Booth and Wharton. Aaaah! 

Now, don’t get me wrong. I love my university. And, in Miami, I’m basically Einstein. But, this was next level stuff. Although I managed to get a seat at the same privileged table, I still felt like I had something to prove. 

Luckily, my exceptional intern friends not only inspired me to think harder and be better, but they reminded me just how worthy I was to be there. 

It turns out, being an educator for a decade has its place in high-level strategy meetings where high-stakes investments are being made to help serve the communities you’ve been working in your whole career.  Aha! My value-add. 

Speaking of feeling valuable…..

Enter New Rob. 

I met New Rob (named such because Old Rob was my work husband whom I’d met New Rob through) a month before I left Seattle. He was an engineer between jobs, and had taken the summer off to explore the glories of Seattle and beyond. He hiked almost every day. He went out at night. He said YES! He was available. He included me in everything. 

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In one breath, New Rob said things to me that I’ve hardly heard in my decade of dating.

So, just as I was feeling defeated by my recent dating deficits, New Rob showed up and made me feel like a million bucks. 

I looped in one last solo camping trip before I left Seattle.

Armed with my gear, I walked the .7 miles through enchanting Douglas-fir trees to get to the sacred Second Beach on the Olympic Peninsula. 

For the next 24 hours, however, I was consumed by deep, melancholy thought. I blame it on the intense beauty of the rugged coast I was experiencing by myself.

(Just FYI…when I post wistful photos on Instagram, accompanied by folk songs that have the words “seaside” or “coastline” in the lyrics…know that I’m in emotional turmoil).

When I finally managed to break my contemplative spell, I brushed the sand off my feet and expressed my gratitude with a reflective prayer: 

“Dear Universe, thank you for the following blessings…”

-Having the privilege and able body to experience the world’s most spectacular beauty

-Meeting inspiring people that make me better and show me my worth

-The view of Seattle from my roof deck 

-Guys named Rob

-The Pacific Northwest

-My mom’s cross-country visit and our subsequent mother-daughter adventures 

-Free lunch at the Foundation

-Not being eaten by a bear at Campsite 13

So, yeah. That’s it. My summer in Seattle.

A privileged job, amazing new friends, nature for days, and a few more life lessons learned.

And, as I ease my way back into Miami life, I am still dreaming of mountainous national parks, tall boys in plaid shirts, and coastlines that make you cry. 

Seattle, you gorgeous Space Needle lady, I’ll see you again soon.

 

 

 

 

 

Falling for a Fantasy (And Other Bad Habits to Break)

Posted in 30s, Dating, Love, TravelTagged , , , , , 5 Comments

When it comes to romantic relationships, you wouldn’t exactly call me a pragmatist.

You see, my track record with the opposite sex consists of dates with arms dealers, flings with foreigners and agonizing, forever, over ancient affairs.

I even moved to the other side of the world once after a single Skype call.

These bad romantic habits (along with some recent run-ins with some former flames) have got me all reflective on my tendency to avoid picking practical partners for the thrill of falling for a fantasy.

This proclivity, as you can guess, has not been productive. In fact, it’s been downright self-sabotaging.

So, as I cool off after my latest flame, my thoughts are once again turned to the trials and tribulations of dating in my 30s.

The first reminder of my impractical dating patterns came last fall when I ran into my Mystery Man.

After a couple of quiet years, the snake-charming, figment of my imagination popped out of nowhere and serenaded me just long enough to remember how much of an emotional sorcerer he actually is. And how easily I can fall back into my feeble fantasy where we live happily ever after in the motherland with our beautiful Lebanese-American babies, eating baba ghanoush under dancing cedar trees.

Trust me, if you met Mystery Man, your fantasies would be cut from a similar cloth.

And then came the winter. And with it, a very brief affair with a boy who happens to have the same personality type as my ex. In case you were wondering, that’s not exactly a good thing…at least not for me. Still, I entertained it long enough to stir up my PTSD and kick my ass into better dating decisions gear.

Which led me to my recent spring fling.

I reached out and reconnected with a former flame whom, for 3 years, I had lauded as “the good guy I wish I had pursued.” He had shown up for me in the past but I had been under another’s spell (damn you, snake charmer!). But, alas! The stars seemed to finally align, and, after a month’s worth of frequent Facetime, sweet texts and provocative pics, the fantasy of a prospective West Coast relationship started to take shape. After all, I would be moving to Seattle for the summer, so this actually seemed like a realistic pursuit.

And, this guy was actually worth pursuing.

But after all the hopeful, exciting, anticipatory build-up of our next encounter, the fantasy didn’t quite match the reality, and our reconnection turned into something of a misconnection.

As it turns out, distance, timing and high expectations can ruin romance before it even starts.

And, just like that, my bubble burst, my ego was checked, and I was back on the hard ground of reality yet again.

So, what exactly is that reality? 

Well, it’s the reality that, at 33, my romantic life has been somewhat disappointing. That love has often let me down and dating apps have created a cold world of casual connections. That the pressure to settle down has now started to come from me and not my fretful family. And that broody feeling thing? Yeah, that’s happening.

As someone who airs on the side of open and optimistic, I’ve got to admit, momma is starting to get skeptical.

Luckily, I’m on a feverish path to self-improvement and, as I reflect on my recent romantic faux pas, I’m asking myself a few probing questions:

#1 –  Do I hang up my fantasy hat for Craig the accountant?

#2 – Do I say no to professional prospects in order to keep myself more domestically attractive?

#3 – Do I slow my travel roll in order to cultivate more locally-grown lovers?

#4 – Do I trade in my independence and sass to play the part of the damsel in distress?

The answer to all these questions, is, of course, a resounding hell no.

All my world travels and lofty pursuits and fantastical romantic reveries may not have quite led me to my life partner yet, but they sure have made life fun.

And, my stories much more interesting.

So, as I unpack after my most recent trip to fantasy land, I know this to be true:

The best love will come as I’m living my best life. It’ll be easy, right, and, dare I say…realistic!

But with a pinch of magic, of course. Because, what’s life without a bit of magic?

Onward and upward and all that.

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Plus, I hear Seattle guys are cute, so…

 

 

 

 

Asia

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The key to conquering China is to wake up very early. 

Like most touristy places in the world, beating the crowds with an early morning arrival usually helps with travel troubles.

Except in China, you’re trying to beat a crowd of a billion.

For example, if you rock up after 10 am, you and ten thousand other tourists will be vying for the same Great Wall selfie. Or, you will get stuck elbowing your way through a sea of sweaty, aggressive gawkers for a glimpse at some old soldier statues that are mostly in pieces anyway (OK, to be fair, the Terracotta army is pretty cool).

Luckily, my 2-week China tour kicked off with a bright and early Great Wall wander that got us there before any other tour group. We’re talkin’ sunshine and silence. It was glorious. No one to photobomb my solo selfies.

But the best part of the Great Wall was actually getting down from it. In this case, it was via a toboggan ride that was both thrilling and terrifying, and had me feeling like yaaaas, Great Wall! Let’s go!

And the brochure features Michelle Obama having an equally exhilarating experience. So, you know this thing is legit.

Another fun activity is clocking the hilariously mistranslated graphic tees that seem to be a very popular trend in China.

Some of my favorites include (misspellings intended):

  • On fire!
  • What if I can do it?
  • Techno teenager
  • Believe in smile
  • Humor sense
  • In our life, we’re doomed to no end
  • There is no summer no
  • Very girls is
  • God I’m loner
  • Oklahoma summer accumulation
  • Baguette is not a crine

The only unfortunate part is that I don’t have photographic evidence of these hilarious shirts. However, the internet does, because this is a thing, so here you go.

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My final piece of Chinese advice, for my Western, fair-skinned friends, is expect to be treated like a celebrity.

And by that I mean in only one regard: photos. Lots and lots of photos. From polite requests from teenage girls to creeper shots from old men, to sneaky selfies that catch you in the frame…the Chinese LOVE to take your picture.

And, you know what? I didn’t hate it.

“Of course, I’ll pose with you and your family by the tree!” “Sure, I’ll hold your selfie stick while we take a snap together!” “It would be my pleasure to stop eating my meal so you and your mom can pose with me!”

I mean, cmon’, I felt special. I was a star! Was it kind of weird, maybe, but I realized just how novel my fair features are for curious Chinese on-lookers. And I was happy to roll with it.

The minute I left the mainland for Hong Kong, however, my stardom instantly faded.

You see, if London and New York had a hip, little Asian baby, Hong Kong would be it. As a result, there are A LOT of white people that reside on the island. So, yeah, no more special treatment for me.

Of course, that didn’t stop me from enjoying this expat playground to the fullest! My teacher friend there, with her sweet, no-rent deal and double my paycheck salary, had me convinced this was the little foreign land of opportunities and I should join the party.

But, after a week of reveling in the endless party that is Hong Kong, I remembered why my expat days were fun but far behind me.

And, Miami is my girl. Unless, she scorns me. Then, it looks like I have a solid back-up plan.

And then there was the Great Tokyo Fail.

If I had to give this chapter of my trip a title, it would be called WTF, Tokyo?!

Now, I could give you a detailed run-down of all my daily disasters, but I thought, hey, that’s in the past now. Why relive it?

Instead, I thought I would give a more useful ‘Tokyo Dos and Don’ts List’ based on my 6 days of misadventures in this hectic and strange city.

Here we go…

  1. Do plan ahead. Tokyo is the worst city to wing it.
  2. Don’t arrive at Narita Airport after the last train to Tokyo leaves. Otherwise, you’ll be paying almost $300 for a taxi. Or, kicking it like your old skool backpacking days and sleeping in the airport with the other poor travelers until the first train arrives the next morning. (Holly had to do what Holly had to do…)
  3. Don’t sit in direct sunlight on an open-air bus tour. You will get heatstroke. And, after taking refuge in an air-conditioned shoe store, your melted brain will be vulnerable and you will leave with very expensive Japanese sneakers.
  4. Do take full advantage of the Japanese toilets. They are delightful!
  5. Don’t start crying in the middle of Shinjuku Station (even if it’s the busiest train station in the world and the train system is the most complicated you’ve ever seen and you bought the wrong ticket and you can’t get a refund and you suffer from anxiety). Japanese people will get very, very uncomfortable.
  6. Don’t eat sushi where there are Westerners. It will likely be smothered in mayo (and not the delicious spicy kind) and your high Japanese sushi expectations will forever be destroyed.
  7. Don’t ask to take a Harajuku girl’s photo. She will likely decline.
  8. Do ask a Harajuku boy, however. He is very happy to shine. (Hey, I made a rhyme!)
  9. Don’t book a trip to climb Mt. Fuji during typhoon season. You will put on the gear. You will get excited. It will get cancelled.
  10. Don’t, then, book a very expensive hotel in the countryside thinking you’ll make one last ditch effort to get out of Tokyo and pamper yourself at a zen retreat. The town will be flooded, trains will be delayed, and you won’t get your money back.
  11. Do go bar-hopping after you bump into a former Japanese student that you taught 4 years ago in Australia and he recognizes you in a crowd full of people and wants to treat you to dinner and drinks in exchange for some English lessons (That happened! Small world! Silver lining!)
  12. Do sleep in a capsule. Unless you’re claustrophobic. Then, definitely don’t do that.
  13. Finally, don’t beat yourself up about your bad luck in Tokyo. It comes with the travel territory and it just means you need to come back during a different season, with a friend, and a much better plan.

To be honest, Tokyo turned out to be alright. Once I stopped trying so hard to enjoy myself…I started to enjoy myself. Oh, and, the sake helped, too.

By the time I got to Korea, I was tired of being a tourist.

No longer was I waking up early to rush to a temple or hike up some sacred mountain.

Instead, I spent my mornings watching Ellen’s funniest moments on YouTube, and getting up only to do bits and bobs, here and there.

My Korean friends, whom I’d spent 33 days with last summer in Africa and were now generously hosting me in their country, encouraged my vegetative state.

I did, however, make it to a famed Korean spa.

And it was here, in a bath full of naked Korean women, that I had a wonderful revelation.

The female form is absolutely fabulous!

Sneaking subtle glances, I observed women of all ages and sizes, picking and probing, examining and exfoliating. Women whose wrinkled faces belied their gravity-defying bodies. Scars from mastectomies and C-sections. Birth marks. Stretch marks. Pock marks. Coarse hair. Thin hair. No hair. It was all magnificent!

But, it was the meticulous care the women took not only in their own bodies, but in each other’s, that had me fascinated.

So, I decided to get stuck into this traditional grooming ritual by purchasing a full body scrub.

Now, let’s be clear, this procedure is extremely unpleasant.

Here’s the deal: You lay on a massage table, in all your naked glory, while a very sweet-looking Korean lady, in lingerie, aggressively exfoliates every vulnerable inch of you…missing NOTHING.

And, no, it’s not as sexy as it may sound. It hurts. You’re scared. And, you wonder when the torture will end.

But, at the end of my scrub, laying bare, buffed, and baby-soft, surrounded by mounds of my dead skin (told you it wasn’t sexy), it was as if I had been reborn. A cleanliness that put all my old bathing habits to shame.

I was utterly rejuvenated and I felt like I could finally go out and explore the world again!

Which is exactly what I did.

I walked around the bustling streets of Seoul, ate that bomb street food whilst jamming to K-Pop, picked peaches at my friend’s family’s farm, had real Korean BBQ, sang karaoke, obviously, and woke up early to take in some temples and hike some sacred mountains.

It was the end of my trip, and I wanted to catch the last rays of the glorious foreign sun.

I managed to sneak in one last Korean spa session before heading to the airport.

Since leaving Japan, I couldn’t seem to shake my lingering stress, and I thought a dip in the warm baths again would help.

As I examined my post-30 “wisdom lines”, my premature hair “sparkle”, and the summer weight I’ve come to expect after feasting my way through a country’s cuisine, I started to stress about the simultaneous freedom and frustration I feel when traveling alone, the sadness of the trip ending, the looming responsibilities back home…

But, just as the panic started to rise from my core, I noticed an old lady smiling at me. And, I snapped out of it.

Instantly, I replaced the panic with a feeling of gratitude for the privilege to be surrounded by those naked Korean queens as I continue to get the chance to explore this weird and wonderful world.

As it turns out, there’s a lot to be learned at a Korean spa.

So, my verdict? The Far East is far out, in every sense of the word. And, I’ll be back, I’m sure. If only to get some decent sushi this time.

Oh, and, take more emo pics of lotuses, because, I mean…

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