Category: solo travel

In Season

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OK, Italy. I’m back. In season this time. So why do I still feel…off?

When my Italian friend suggested swapping apartments again in June, I quickly agreed and impulsively booked. After all, it was my summer break and any travel excuse would do.

But after only one week abroad, I hit a wall. Like, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being anxious, of missing important events back home, of not feeling motivated to constantly go out and explore and spend money and find places to eat and new people to meet. I had lost steam on my favorite past time!

I felt like Forrest Gump when he finally stopped running.

And so I decided to go home early.

WAIT, WHAT?

“Holly, what is happening to you? You get to be in Europe for a month, unencumbered, and you’re having a pity party by Lake Como?”

Thank you, guilty conscience, I get it. But this time I do, indeed, feel encumbered. I am currently exploring why, but it may have something to do with my soul’s deeper desire to slow down. To be more intentional. To build my home. To nest and rest. To devote myself to more things. To enjoy what’s right in front of me.

The truth is, travel is tricky. It’s this new and novel thing that can also become redundant if you do it enough. And I have done it plenty. In fact, my whole adult life has revolved around it. And, in many ways, it always will. But this most recent trip, and my early return home, was the lesson I needed to learn.

Tides are turning, and times are changing. On the precipice of 40, I’m starting to feel a new unfolding.

And she’s ready for a new season.

in season

phrase of season

  1. (of a fruit, vegetable, or other food) grown or available at the time of year in question.
  2. (of a female mammal) ready to mate.
  3. ARCHAIC at the right or proper time.

Off Season

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It took 3 weeks to take an Italian lover.

Honestly, took longer than I thought the taking would take.

I arrived in the small seaside town of Rimini the second week of the new year. It was my escape plan before the new American regime change. And, I wanted to take advantage of the remote nature of my work. So, after finding an Italian friend to swap homes with, I traded my cozy South Beach studio at the height of the Miami social season for an antique-filled Italian appartamenti on the cold, Adriatic Sea.

Very off season.

Rimini, of course, was a random choice of town. In fact, I had to reference a map to understand where I was headed. But it didn’t matter. I had been feeling off season myself, and I was ready to disappear into the land of Luigis and gelatos and “alloras”.

And delicious anonymity.

Here’s how my month in Italy got me out of a funk and back in season.

The Women of Rimini

It usually takes me 10 days to get into the groove of a new place. A new routine. A new climate. I usually throw an internal fit, complaining about the weather (“why did I trade sunny Miami for grey, wet, cold Italy?”), complaining about being lonely (“why did I trade my friends to be alone in a town I know no one?”), complaining about the language (“why did I trade talking for a country I can’t communicate with?”). So on and so forth.

But then I find my flow. And all of a sudden I’m Italian.

“Bonjourno, [insert the name of everyone I encounter]! Come stai? The salon knows my name and how I like my color. Italian blonde, grazie. My favorite restaurant greets me with a hearty, “Bentornato, Holly! Welcome back!” I order with ease and marvel at the prices. €3 wine and the freshest fish for under 20. Bravo! I shop at the Conad for my groceries, and squeeze the juiciest blood oranges for breakfast. I listen to Italian pop hits and learn all the lyrics. I then unsolicitedly sing them on the streets to impress passersby. I zip around town on an electric scooter and work remotely from quaint cafes.

This is my town now! I will live in Rimini forever!

But first…friends!

That’s where my impressive international network comes in. One text to an Italian friend in Miami who once lived in Rimini, turned into an instant group of girlfriends that made my entire trip worth taking.

There was Chiara, the ex wife of the friend I swapped houses with. Gorgeous, cheeky and smart. She lived a few blocks away which made our beach walks and cafe chats very convenient. And there was Cri, the sophisticated socialite with her secret sass. Federica, the friendliest of all, who invited me to family meals and weekend trips. And the three social sisters who took me out dancing on the weekends and made sure I got home safely.

These wonderful women gathered around the new girl in town and made her feel like family. The Italian way!

But the most impressive part was the empowered, vulnerable energy that the women of Rimini radiated. Whether it was deep chats about old loves, or hilarious stories about sex addicts, my Riminese crew felt like my long lost friends.

Now, my life-long friends.

The Men of Italy

And then, of course, there were the men. Swiping in the North, you’ll find the Giacomos, Marcos, Lucas, Andreas, Federicos; the South will serve you up the Giuseppes, Fabrizios, Simones and Tommasos. All single. All delizioso.

Indeed, Bumble comes in handy abroad. And, it doesn’t hurt that I’m a cute, confident American whose flirt game seems to only work in other countries (see, for example, all my past relationships).

But let’s focus on Florence.

Before setting off for a Tuscan weekend, I set up a few dates to keep me company in the capital.

First, there was Paolo and his faithful Vespa. After a pizza lunch at his local spot, we zipped up to the vista panoramica and snapped selfies between the throngs of tourists. Back on the streets of Florence, Paolo took me on a walking tour, giving me an insider’s scoop on this building and that sculpture. At the end of our day, I saw a glimmer in his eye, but I gave him a friendly hug and thanked him for a perfect (platonic) afternoon.

Later that night, I found myself waiting for date #2 at the trendiest bar in town. Would this be the Italian lover I imagined taking during my European adventure?

Well, let’s see…

After date #2 (we’ll call him Pietro) walked in with his cute curly hair (man I love curly hair) and his cute accent and his cute smile and our cute kiss in the piazza after a cute (albeit falimilar) walking tour, and our cute dance party at the cutestest Cuban club in Florence (Pietro was NOT ready for my Miami moves)…

I mean.

What do you think?

[insert innuendo emojis here 😏]

And all the Beautiful Things In-Between

Italy definitely delivers on its stereotypes; from its world-class food, to its laid-back lifestyle, to its ancient history that will have your head spinning. But there are so many more beautiful things to discover in-between.

I particularly enjoyed reveling in the following:

  • €1 espressos at the counter of busy cafes
  • Venetian strolls after hours (when all the tourists are off the streets)
  • Visiting the tiny country of San Marino…in the middle of Italy
  • My other Italian lover
  • Seeing my Napolitan friends after 19 years
  • Getting tipsy in Tuscany with fellow solo travelers
  • An education in Fellini
  • Shocking locals with my solitary dinners (“Buonasera, signora, only a table for 1?? It’s not possible!”)
  • The Roman neighborhood of Testaccio, with its elderly residents and their ancient dogs walking in slow wobbles
  • Throwing 2 “find love in Rome” coins in the Trevi Fountain on Valentine’s Day (fingers crossed!).
  • Touring a cathedral that happened to fall on the day of the Feast of St. Anthony the Abbot, where people brought their cows and ducks and dogs to be blessed! What a delight!
  • The pasta. And pasta. And, all the pasta! OK, that’s a stereotype, but worth the reinforcement.

What a lovely and unexpected adventure in Italy. Even on the lonely days, I felt lucky. And on the best days, I felt all my favorite travel feels. Engaged. Curious. Present. Alive.

And, in Rimini, I now have another home.

Grazie mille, Italia. I will see you again soon (but next time, in high season).

Andiamo!

Thoughts on 39

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

Well 2025…that escalated quickly.

And here I thought the exorcism I experienced in the Amazon would be the thing I had to deal with (more on that in a bit).

But wildfires, wrecking balls and oligarchs have made the start of this year particularly chaotic.

Oh, and yesterday’s termination of the educational grant I’ve been working on over the past year, i.e. the termination of my job.

Boop. Cherry on top.

Luckily, I’m writing this in Rome, and Italians love cherries. So, my Roman Valentine’s Day is not totally ruined.

Right, I’m distracted now. Where was I? Oh yes, the continuous chaos of 2025, exorcisms in the jungle and the existential quandary of turning 39.

Easy.

Here are my thoughts.

The Joys They Conceive

It had been 2 years since I talked to God in the Amazon, and I decided that for my 39th birthday I would call her up again. Same place, same time, same shaman.

Only this time it would not be the light-filled, love fest I experienced in my first ceremony. No, no. Mama Aya had another agenda for me. One that was marked by an 8-hour labor of darkness, confusion and unprocessed pain. An excruciating exorcism of the soul.

Sounds terrifying, right? Well, it would have been if I hadn’t surrendered to whatever was going to come up. And, honey, the demons came up. But instead of freaking out, I faced them head on. Kicking, screaming, crying. And finally, releasing.

My experience is beyond a blog post explanation.

However, post-ceremony, as I scoured Lima for a relic that in some way represented my experience, I came across the perfect Peruvian postcard. On the front, an illustration of a woman giving birth to some type of dark creature, entitled Las Goces que Ellas Conciben, The Joys they Conceive; on the back an excerpt from the novel Las Tres Mitades de Ino Moxo y Otras Brujos de la Amazonia, about the magic and mystery of the Amazon.

A poignant parting gift from the powers that be.

Needless to say, I had a lot to process when I crawled out of the jungle in November. I had just turned 39, and my mild existential crises had upgraded to a cat 5 metaphysical meltdown. Not so much about my age, but more about the meaning of (my) life. But, that’s nothing new for me. Since I can remember, I’ve been asking and agonizing over the bigger questions.

Alas. A seeker’s seeking is never ceasing.

But it certainly makes life more interesting.

Wildfires

And then 2025 came in real hot. So to speak.

First, of course, came the devastating LA fires. Then, the fires ignited after the inauguration. All of it scorching. All of it, wild.

My tactic was to escape to Italy to work abroad for a month. For the glory of anonymity and gelato. Italian lovers and limoncello. Venetian nights and pistachio everything. Vespa rides and Roman empires.

And, it mostly worked…

Until I was laid off on Valentine’s Day (poetic injustice). Something about educational grants to help recruit future teachers for American classrooms being a waste of federal spending. And, a radical American in Rome telling me he was glad I got fired because, quote, “teachers make children trans.”

Dear God. Was this what I was going back home to?

As I reluctantly got on the plane to Miami -defeated, demoralized and enraged – I was once again reeling over what was next.

“What do I do now? Do I go back to the classroom? In the middle of the school year? Not ideal. But your Ph.D.! You have to be a teaching professor. And publish! But, no one wants to be teachers. And, public universities are under attack. Yikes. Maybe I plan another international escape? But where? And how? Do I get an emotional support animal or a boyfriend? Both are a lot of work. Do I even want to work? Yes, Holly. You have a mortgage. Dang. And, you need purpose. And health insurance. Fine. And, didn’t you say you wanted a life partner? Yes. Well, you won’t find one at your pity party. Get up, get out, get motivated. But my home is so cozy. I’m nesting. I’m healing. I’m lonely. I have so much to accomplish. I’m overwhelmed, unmotivated. New projects. No energy. WHERE IS THE ENERGY? Trying to stay positive. Serve my community. Doom scrolling. Bumble. Bleh. Beach. Baby? Breathe. Connect. Cry. Smile. Grateful. SO GRATEFUL!

Like, am I the only one feeling all the feels right now? Is this the late-stage capitalism/extinction burst before the dawn of a higher consciousness for humanity? God, I hope so. But, for now, I’m just trying to get through the day.

39

So, here we are. The last year of my 30s. And, despite my previous internal rant, and the current state of the union (and the occasional panic that I won’t find the right partner in time to procreate with)… Life is good. And sometimes even GREAT (see photos below).

I’m on my own wild and wonderful journey, and as long as I keep the faith, give my love and enjoy the ride….I’ll be all good.

I claimed 2025 the year“to be magnetic”. So, here’s to attracting more magic and conceiving more joy.

…even it means facing fires and birthing a few demons.

India

Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Dating, India, Love, self-discovery, solo travel, Travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

High, low, high, low….it’s off to India I go.

Not even 10 days back from my nonprofit trip to Peru, and I was getting the summer travel shakes. I had 3 weeks to spare before I had to be back in Florida for a wedding, and I was frantically figuring out where to fly to next.

Let’s see…maybe Seattle? I’d been pining for another Pacific Northwest summer since I lived there in 2019. Or maybe, Stockholm? I’ve heard Scandinavian summers are a delight!

Or…

Bubbling on the backburner, like a spicy masala chai, was the Indian option. Indeed, my dear friend Rebecca was tucked away in a yoga ashram in Southern India for the summer, and that was a good enough reason to go.

Except…

I was terrified.

Now, as a well-traveled lady, I know better not to let the ill-informed stereotypes of a place deter me from experiencing it myself. But I couldn’t help but feel anxious about the chaos and poverty I’d potentially face.

India wasn’t exactly the delightful summer destination I was looking for.

But, I leaned in and panic purchased the plane ticket.

72-hours later, I landed in Delhi.

And here’s what happened…

The Highs and the Lows

A quick stopover in the UAE to visit my friend James (and to check off Dubai from my “weird, fabricated cities in the middle of the Middle East that I’ll never go back to” list) and I was back on a plane for the final stretch of my journey.

Now, if only I could find my driver…

To calm my nerves and make my solo blitz to the Taj Mahal as comfortable as possible, I decided to throw all my money at the situation and hire all the people. And along the way, I encountered some surprising highs and some unsurprising lows.

My driver safely drove me the 5 hours from Delhi to Agra (high), only to see whole families sleeping dangerously close to the road (low), as the gilded gates of my 5 star hotel opened to reveal marble and gold and white-gloved attendants as far as the eye could see (high). The 8,497 mile journey (and post-colonial guilt) had me utterly exhausted (low), and I was sound asleep by 8:00 pm (high).

The next morning, at the crack of an Indian dawn, my alarm screamed at me to wake up and look alive! I had to beat the crowds to the Taj, and my guide was waiting in the lobby.

The early morning wake-up call paid off. The Taj Mahal was a masterpiece monument that rightly deserves its place in The 7 Wonders of the World list. And bonus! My guide, Imran, was not only my spiritual Taj Mahal guru, but also an exceptional photographer (high, high, high!) And, despite the fact that I was bamboozled into buying a tiny, $120 marble elephant after the master salesman insisted it would bring me true love (low, but maybe high?), and my mad dash through th Delhi airport to catch my next flight to the ashram (low), I was left bedazzled by the day (the highest).

Alright, India. You’ve got my attention. Let’s see what else you’ve got.

The Ashram

I arrived in Varkala in the middle of the night, and, in the middle of a typhoon-level downpour. And I still had an hour drive to the ashram. This should be interesting.

Peering out the rain-soaked window, I kept seeing rather peculiar structures. Enormous Jesus statues atop gaudy, makeshift churches. They were everywhere! In a Hindu-dominant country, there wasn’t a temple in sight. Noted. I will have to investigate this Christian curiosity later.

When we pulled up to the ashram, there was at least two feet of rain to contend with. So, I pulled up my pants, grabbed my bag, and quietly forged up the stairs so as to not wake sleeping beauty. After all, Rebecca was a month into her daily yoga-training regiment that began with 6:00 am meditation. As I took inventory of the very basic accommodation, dried myself off, and slipped into bed, Rebecca rolled over and whispered, “Welcome to the ashram.”

The next morning, Rebecca (having skipped her morning classes) gleefully gave me a local’s tour of Varkala, the hippie beach town perched on top of palm-covered cliffs. As we chatted in her favorite cafe, she filled me in on all the things. The characters she had met at the ashram. The teenage boys that always asked to take pictures with her (if you saw Rebecca, you’d know why), and the unbelievably cheap prices (my breakfast of eggs, toast, fresh juice and masala tea, for example, was $3). This was a welcomed reprieve from the outlandishly high prices of Miami (same breakfast, $40. Easy).

Speaking of reasonable rates, my week-long stay at the ashram, all meals and yoga classes included, cost me $30 USD. Yes. you read that right. A spiritual room with an ocean view, for less than a Miami breakfast. My travel math was mathing. I was saving money by being abroad.

During the week, I decided to indulge in various Eastern wellness practices. This included my first acupuncture experience, performed in the bedroom of an Italian expat whose energy was, well, very off. One star. Do not recommend. And then there was my Indian astrologer who read my birth chart and, through an English translator, declared that I had almost cleared my negative karma (caused by my previous life as a turncoat soldier), and that 40 would be my year- the partner, the child, the inner peace. It was my destiny. I also sat in on some classes at the ashram. From vinyasa, to meditation, to asana philosophy, I was savoring my spiritual surroundings and feeling grateful for my last-minute decision to discover India for myself.

By the end of the week, Rebecca had wrapped up her yoga training and bid her yoga gurus and fellow devotees farewell, and we were off to the next destination.

This time, accomodation wouldn’t be so basic. And Hindu temples would be back in abundance.

The Temple

Earlier this year, I declared 2024 “The Year of Love,” and since then, I have turned my attention to things like hearts and love songs and manifestation workbooks.

So, when Rebecca mentioned the historic Meenakshi Temple, dedicated to the love goddess Meenakshi Amman, I was in. I mean, I’m actively manifesting a man at this point, so why not pray at a Hindu temple of love for good measure?

After a 12-hour overnight train ride (an absolute must do in India), we arrived at our beautiful hotel in Madurai (a far cry from the basic accoutrement of the ashram). We took a moment to take in our 5* surroundings before tuk-tuking to the temple.

On the way, I started to feel moody. Maybe it was the commotion of the streets or my mind, but I couldn’t shake my sorrow.

If I had to guess, I would say 1000 Hindu pilgrims were in line to get a glimpse of our girl Meenakshi and pray for love and prosperity. As non-Hindus, Rebecca and I were forbidden to enter the main shrine, but it meant we got to skip the line. And, the vibrant activities of the rest of the temple gave us more stimuli than we could imagine. There were elders deeply playing in drum circles, women in electrifying saris, swaying and chanting, children hiding and laughing in every corner. Colors on colors on statues on flowers on lotuses on shrines on sanskrit on spirit and on and on.

When the stimuli subsided, I made my way to the steps of the center fountain. It was time to meditate. On love. On life. On whatever decided to surface in that moment.

“Ummm, hey, Meenakshi. Uh. I mean, namaste. Thank you for having me. Your home is lovely. Clearly, I am not Hindu, but hopefully you’re open to listening. Firstly, I’d like to say that I have a good life. A GREAT life. I have everything I need and more. I’m so grateful, everyday. But there’s this pesky love thing. I’m not talking about familial or friendly love, I have an abundance of that. It’s the romantic love. The long-lasting love. The life partner, soulmate kinda love. I’ve experienced that to some degree, but I know that I deserve a partner that…[insert all the qualities written in my manifestation workbook], because I am…[insert all the daily affirmations written in my gratitude journal]. So, yeah. I heard maybe you could help with that. Thank you for listening. Namaste. Byeee.

When I came out of my meditative trance, I left my love sorrow on the steps, then left the temple in higher spirits.

Sometimes, you just have to let go and let the goddess of love clear your karma and guide your way.

The End

This post is getting long, so I’ll spare the specs of the rest of the trip.

Here’s the quickie:

The second half of our Indian adventure consisted of treehouses and tea plantation visits in the mountains of Munnar, and boat rides and spice market splendors in the coastal town of Kochi.

India was magical and chaotic and warm and wonderful. My previous trepidations about visiting were, as expected, unfounded. Yes, there is extreme poverty. Yes, it was uncomfortable at times. But, the country’s diverse and powerful prana (life force) welcomed me with open arms and left me with an open heart chakra.

I only scratched the surface of this sacred place.

So, yeah. I’ll be back, Mother India. After all, I promised Imran, Mr. Elephant Peddler, and Meenakshi that I’d return with my manifested man.

Gotta stay true to my word.

Past Lives

Posted in 30s, Dating, Love, mexico, self-discovery, solo travel, Travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Do you ever feel so inexplicably melancholic in moments of great joy?

I do. Often. And until recently, I didn’t know how to categorize this mysteriously gloomy, yet deeply glorious emotion.

After consulting my encyclopedic friend Dylan, I know now this feeling has a name. Actually it has a few names, depending on where you’re from.

Here’s what the internet says:

Japanese – Mono No Aware: “Literally translates to “the pathos of things.” But more loosely, it could also mean “the beauty of things passing.” As an emotion, it falls somewhere between sorrow and serenity. And so, to feel mono no aware is to experience impermanence, the inevitability of change, and the tranquility of transience — often all these things at once.” (Joppich, 2023).

Portuguese – Saudade: “Saudade is an emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone. It is often associated with a repressed understanding that one might never encounter the object of longing ever again.” (Wiki)

And then there’s the sort of related Korean concept of In-Yun (brought to light by the recent film, Past Lives), which is the belief that the interactions of two people in this life are owed to interactions in their past life. But that makes my brain bleed.

Instead, this post is about my addiction to the nostalgia of my past lives, from this lifetime.

And this is what I’ve discovered so far…

The Pull of the Past

I have an extensive list of past lives that I regularly ruminate over.

From trips I’ve taken, to countries I’ve lived in, to the relationships I’ve experienced, I get a heartbreaking thrill out of revisiting those eras. And not just in my head, honey. I’ve been known to travel back to the scene of the crime. To somehow recreate the romanticized version of that time. To reconnect with my loves in an attempt to live out an unfulfilled future. To rage war against my saudade.

If you’re one of the zero people that have read all of my posts from the last 10 years, it’s very easy to see my pattern of pursuing the past. For those of you that aren’t familiar, I’ll spare you the timeline. But trust me, I’m a chronic chaser. Of love. Of adventure. Of being everything, everywhere, all at once.

We all, to some degree, romanticize our pasts. We wonder what our lives would have looked like if we had taken that job, stayed in that city, married that guy. In my case, as I just mentioned, I tend to take that wonder to the next level. I often leave the chapters of my prior lives open, with a few blank pages, just in case I’m inspired to go back and write a different ending.

Is that crazy?! Maybe. Are my spirit guides shaking their heads and wondering if I’ve learned nothing about the art of letting go of the past to be fully present? For sure. But it’s also been a helpful (albeit unconventional) way of sorting out this weird and wonderful life. When I revisit my past, I often clarify present perplexities and feel inspired for future adventures.

Like the recent trip that kicked off this previous life pondering in the first place…

The Past, Presently

OK, we can talk about Bruno now.

Last month, I had an extra week off for the holidays. So, I booked a ticket to revisit one of my former lives in Los Cabos, Mexico. My only expectations were to see friends, eat tacos, and sip mezcalitas.

The surprise bonus of the trip was seeing my ex, Bruno, and feeling the deep love and appreciation we still have for each other. We made light of things that, in the past, were so heavy. We were playful and affectionate. We joked about a sperm donation before I turned 40 (I mean, maybe? He does have very good genes…). All in the spirit of our now platonic relationship. (And when your present Miami prospect is in a disappointing downturn, an admiring encounter with a former love is VERY good for the soul!)

Needless to say, my mono no aware was off the charts in Cabo, but for the first time I totally surrendered to the sorrow and serenity of the impermanence of it all. I deeply appreciated that particular past life for what it was, without ruminating. Without trying to recreate it. I made new memories in that moment and accepted the inevitability of change. I was fully present, utterly at ease.

And, I finally came to a peace agreement with my saudade.

So, you know what? If you’re feeling nostalgic, do a delicious deep dive into your 100,000 photos of the past. Let the saudade sink into your bones. Cry. Contemplate. Curse the screen. Call a friend. Lean in. Let go. Laugh hard. Be inspired. Book a plane ticket. Bask in the beauty of all you have experienced and how far you’ve come. It’s all part of your story. And, it all matters.

As long as you can embrace the tranquility of trancience, you’ll enjoy the ride.

I’ll leave you with a few photos from a recent past life, taken by B, on a very mono no aware kind of day.

37 & Thriving

Posted in Backpacking, camping, Dating, Love, mexico, peru, self-discovery, self-help, solo travel, teaching, Travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

God, it feels good to be back in London.

The pubs, the boys, the tube. The perfect place for a holiday escape.

Indeed, I made a few escapes last year. From Mexico to the Amazon to Brunswick, Georgia…2022 had me discovering life in weird and wonderful ways.

And, as I turned 37 in the middle of the Peruvian jungle, I reflected on how far I’ve come and how much I’ve grown.

Boundaries, breakups and medicinal branches…here’s a look back on how 2022 helped this human thrive.

My Work

I kicked off the year with the worst job of my life.

Now, I had no intention of ever going back into a middle school classroom. Ten years of teaching hundreds of students, I had put in my time. Done my due diligence. Survived the insanity. But, after months of contemplation during my hiatus in Peru, I had decided to return to Miami to buy an apartment and finally create a real home base for myself. But this meant getting a job asap so the bank would give me a mortgage loan.

So, I went back to the battle ground. This time, at an alternative school in a low-income, high-crime neighborhood in North Miami.

Dr. H., with all her post-Peru good vibes only namaste energy, was met with fist-fights and curse-outs. Desk-flipping and book-throwing. It wasn’t long before I was experiencing full-blown panic attacks as I ran out of the classroom crying on a daily basis. This was trauma-informed teaching at the highest level, and I was ill-equipped.

I took many mental health days, and set boundaries so I could crawl back and show up. I was determined not to give up on myself or my students (and turns out, all I had to do was a few TikTok dances to completely gain the trust and admiration of my students…bam!). Still, it was the hardest 6 months of my teaching career.

Sadly, the real estate market was just as traumatic, and, after a handful of rejected offers, I tapped out of the property hunger games.

So, yeah. The spring was chaos.

Then the summer saw a classic Holly attempt at giving love a chance and reconnecting with an old Mexican flame only to quickly extinguish the fire and head back to Miami where the fall had so much more in store for me.

I started my first university job as an adjunct professor (absolutely YES to college students!) and I spent the rest of my time chipping away at building a nonprofit idea I have had for many years. And, I actually did it. Like, you can go donate RIGHT HERE to help fund international learning trips for deserving students and be a flagship donor for a worthy program!

So, yeah. My work is back on track. All I had to do was break down with my students, break up with my boyfriend and break out of my insecurities to create the purpose-driven career of my dreams. It’s a work in progress. But I’m progressing.

My Love Life

For a free spirit like me, being single is second nature.

My obsession with newness has led to a collection of love stories fit for a novel. But not for forever.

I follow the fleeting and avoid the available. I’m thrilled by the chase and terrified by tradition. Safe is scary. Risky is sexy. I am a stereotypical sagittarius, after all.

The 2021-2022 romantic season was dominated by two such ephemeral affairs. 2 men, 2 years, 2 countries and 2 chapters in my Book of Love. No happily ever after. But I still got my thrill.

From the outside, it may appear that I’ve given up on settling down. But, actually, I’m redefining what settling down means for me. Maybe I continue to have beautiful relationships all around the world that break me open and bring me closer to myself. Or, maybe I have a love child and co-parent with a partner as we overland across Africa. Or, perhaps, my love life will take an unexpected turn for the traditional with a marriage and mortgage and managing mommy duties.

(I’ve said the word mortgage twice in one post…what’s happening?)

Either way, I’m here for it. Open. Excited. Up for the adventure. Not getting trapped in the worry of age or expectations or insecurities (I mean I have my moments). Trusting the process. Savoring the moment. Leading with love. Loving myself. Starting to truly believe in what I deserve. All the things.

Actually, I have a lot more to say on this subject. My love life deserves its own juicy, gritty, examined post. Stay tuned.

My Awakening

People say you don’t find Mama Aya…she finds you.

But, I decided to go to her house in the Amazon and kindly knock on her door. You know, to make it easier for her to find me.

And, find me she did.

Now, sitting in a sacred ceremony, sipping on ancient plant medicine, and traveling through time and space is not an easy experience to explain. There were divine messages in many forms, a vibrational energy connecting everything, and my inner child narrating it all. It was a mind, body, and soul reset on the deepest level. Indeed, what happened to me in the jungle was the most transformative experience I’ve ever had the privilege to be a part of.

Mama Aya, The Truth, The Source, The Light, God…whatever you call her, honey, she will have you leaving a believer!

But, I’ll leave the details sacred. And, instead, leave you with this post-ceremony pic that perfectly captured the mystic vibe…

My Year Ahead

So, 2023. Back in Miami, doing Miami things. Teaching, fundraising, dating, nesting, traveling, day-dreaming, scheming, meditating, saving, savoring, sulking, integrating, growing, crying, connecting, creating, contemplating, dancing, stretching, writing, being and doing….the best I can.

And sometimes even thriving.

As the world keeps turning…

Following the Flow (Peru Part 2)

Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Dating, Love, peru, self-discovery, solo travel, Travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

So, I went back to Peru to see about a boy.

OK, he wasn’t the only reason, but it certainly didn’t hurt my case to go back.

Three weeks in Florida, and I was already twiddling my thumbs and wondering why I had left Peru in the first place. After all, I had a few months left on my self-imposed sabbatical, and I felt my Peruvian peace slipping away.

So, in an effort to “follow the flow” and continue my journey of clarity and calm and pisco sours, I jumped back on a plane for Peru Part 2.

What happened next was a succession of life lessons that would change everything.

Here they are in 3 acts.

Prologue

I have been living out of a suitcase for the past year and a half.

From mansions to hotels to guest bedrooms to couches – my mind, body and soul have hardly had a chance to catch up to the frenzy that has been my recent transient life. And just as my spirit was starting to break, I got an unexpected break to travel to Peru (see Peru Part I). And for nearly 3 months, I had the privilege to just exist. No anxiety. No pressure. No noise. Just joy. Pure joy.

I encourage everyone to prioritize joy.

Now, back to the play.

Act 1 – A Tale of Two Chicos

There once was a girl who moved to Mexico. She lived in a very big house with a very rich family where she worked very hard to be the very best teacher for the children. But after work she would go to her room and not leave the house for fear she would get sick from a bad virus and spread it to the family. So she stayed safe, but grew lonely.

Then one day she met B. And very soon after, she got sick. B got sick, too. But together they both got better. They started to spend more time with each other. And have adventures together. And very soon after, they fell in love. But the girl was leaving soon, so they made a plan to reconnect when she returned. But the girl was confused. And she didn’t return.

Instead, she went to Peru to find clarity…

Along the way, she also found A. And they started to spend more time with each other. And have adventures together. And this made her more confused because she fell in love with him, too.

And then, something magical happened (see Act 2 and 3) and she wasn’t confused anymore. Instead, she was grateful to have two great loves in one year. What a gift!

The girl returned to the US with a new appreciation for Latin boys, and vowed to always retell her complicated love affairs in the form of a Mister Rogers story.

Act 2 – My Walk With Pachamama

If you don’t know who Pachamama is, that’s OK. Neither did I. Until I met her one day in the Sacred Valley.

“Is there a way to hike up to that little chapel on the mountain?”, I ask the hotel manager in my shaky Spanish. “Si, claro! Just walk up the path to the right and it will lead you on your way.”

I had spotted the tiny chapels the minute I arrived in Valle Sagrado. They were perched on the sides of the magnificent Andes mountains that surround this divine trail. I was told they were built to protect the valley below. So, I set off to explore.

I decided that Oprah and her Super Soul podcast guest Dr. Michael Beckwith would accompany me on my walk. As I started up the path, I immediately felt a phenomenal energy beyond comprehension. It grew in intensity with every step to the point where I had to stop and sit. I was utterly overwhelmed by something unexplainable. I started to cry so deeply, I couldn’t decipher if I was happy or sad. I just cried. And walked. And sat. And cried some more. Everything that surrounded me – the trees, the stream, the stray dogs – was sacred beyond words. The only way I can explain it is that it felt like I was walking with some sort of divine spirit.

Later, when I read more about the Inca nature goddess, Pachamama, it was very clear she was my companion that day in the Sacred Valley. Turns out, she’s pretty good company.

Whether or not believing in a higher power is your thing, there is no denying the higher vibrational frequency in which the Sacred Valley exists. It’s basically science.

I encourage you to visit. If not, at least listen to the Super Soul Podcast. If it doesn’t resonate, it will. Someday. I hope. For humanity’s sake.

Act 3 – “Is that you, Intuition?”

I am starting to learn the beautiful and subtle art of not giving a f*ck.

The book by Mark Manson has a meaningful message that really hit me this year. We don’t realize just how much our lives are dictated and designed by external forces- our family, friends, media, culture, country, etc. etc. And not giving a f*ck – i.e. truly listening to your intuition instead of being influenced by others’ “good advice” laden with their own fears, pains and regrets – is truly an art form.

Personally, when I’m at a crossroads and faced with big decisions to make, like this summer, I take it to committee. That is, I ask my inner circle for advice, and then ask every Sam, Dick and Harry what I should do:

“Excuse me, Starbucks barista? Hi. I’m having an existential crisis on whether I should go back to the States and reenter the capitalist construct in which I don’t fit anymore (or ever did) but is where my friends and family are concentrated, or move to Latin America to take a risk and give love a chance (I’ve certainly done it before), or live in the Andes mountains and meditate for the rest of my days because nothing else really matters?”

I get it. It’s a privilege to even have an existential crisis, and then have 5 months off to figure it all out. But the point is this: Our intuition is silenced by so many other voices, and as long as we can’t hear it, we can’t live out our most genuine life. It took me hiding in the foothills of Peru to understand just how out of touch I was with my intuition, and how much effort it takes to silence the noise and stay true to yourself.

The barista thinks I should give love a chance. Seems romance is always a committee favorite. My intuition is still deliberating.

Epilogue – Lessons Learned

So, what life lessons did I learn from this past year in general, and Peru Part 2 in particular?

Glad you asked. Here’s the top 5. Stay with me.

1. Follow your joy/flow/intuition. You want to moonwalk across the road at a red light and make everyone in their car happy for the rest of the day? Do it, girl! You want to go back to Peru and climb Machu Picchu for a 3rd time and take a spiritual walk with Pachamama? Queen, go! You want to start a nonprofit to follow your heart and maybe not make a salary for a few years? Yes, sis! Our intuition naturally guides us to follow the things that bring us joy. But, we let the things we think we should do get in the way. Life won’t always be joyful, obviously, but the more we prioritize joy, the more we will enjoy our lives.

2. Do this by being alone and silencing the noise. Most of us seek advice from others when we need answers to something. But, what I discovered is that the quickest way to make the best decision for yourself is to be alone, in silence, and connect with what your heart and soul are telling you. Take a walk in nature. Take a bath. Take a solo trip. Shut out the shenanigans. And just listen. I promise you’ll hear the answers more clearly.

3. Don’t fall in love with foreigners. Well, maybe. I mean, I don’t know. This is a lesson I keep trying to learn. As a transient lady, I am very familiar with falling in love in foreign places. It’s exotic and exciting and…a logistical nightmare. But, as a reluctant romantic, I still lean towards staying open to possibilities, even if it means the magic must end. I have a collection of beautiful and painful moments from my love abroad that I wouldn’t trade for the world. This year brought me 2 big loves that brought me so much joy. So, forget logic and location. Fall in love with whomever you want, wherever you want. Life’s too short. It’s all part of the ride.

4. Peace is my new hustle. Being busy and stressed and anxious and overly ambitious is not sexy. Why do we glamorize these things? One COVID blessing was that we were all forced to slow down. And it was beautiful. As a former FOMO sufferer, I desperately needed a distraction purge in order to prioritize peace. Glorious peace! This is my new hustle. Chaos? No gracias. I’ll be on the next plane to Peru.

5. Don’t listen to me. I’m a single lady with no dependents. I actually can be on the next plane to Peru. Might sound luxurious, but it can also be lonely. This is only my journey and my perspective. And writing is my way of sorting it all out. If you’ve made it this far in the post, thanks for sticking with me. It’s a long one. The point is to listen to your own damn self. Follow the things that bring you joy and peace and love – you, your family and the whole world will be better for it.

As I prepare to move back to Miami (my intuition has spoken), I’m looking back on 2021 with gratitude for all the emotional challenges, tremendous self-growth, blissful adventures, unexpected love, and newfound inner peace that I intend to carry with me into 2022.

Here’s to more peace, love and joy in the new year. And pisco sours.

Amen.

[curtain closes]

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.