Category: Uncategorized

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.

Put It On My Tab

Posted in 30s, Love, miami, Travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Back on the beach with the freaks and the geeks.

And, frankly, these are my people.

Procuring a home in my old, beloved hood was no easy feat. In fact, this summer was the most expensive on record. After cruising through 5 countries, hanging out in the Hamptons, and purchasing my first property, my bank account was left entirely empty.

But, my heart? She’s full.

So, yeah. Whatever all that cost…just put it on my tab.

The Price of a Home

After the trauma of last year‘s housing market hunger games, I started to lose my house-hunting appetite.

But a casual Zillow perusal back in February led me to a charming South Beach studio that was perfect, but overpriced. So I watched it. For months. And, when the price went down, I called my realtor up.

It was the studio of my dreams. The home base I’d been manifesting for years. A lush, sacred space with seven windows, six blocks from the sea. I immediately put in an offer.

Now, I know how these things go. You fall in love, you give your offer, you get rejected. Sadly, a public school teacher with only her charms and a down payment is no match for the full-cash-offer-plus 50-sight-unseen-foreign-investor-f*ckers that really make the housing hunger games hard to win.

So, when my offer was accepted, I…

1) cried.

2) laughed.

3) Asked if the seller was a teacher.

Indeed. A retired professor that actually cared who she was selling her home to. That’s all I needed.

Three months (and every single penny I had in my bank) later, I’m home. And no matter where life takes me, I’ve now got a beach bungalow to retreat to (or rent, or sell, or retire in!). Honey, that’s priceless.

Put it on my tab.

The Price of Travel

I once bought a Louis Vuitton purse for $3600.

As I stared at the orange box on my shelf, I couldn’t help but lose sleep over the stupidity of the purchase. I agonized for weeks about all the things I could have done with that money. $3600 would have funded a whole summer in Europe back in my backpacking days. So, I took (the most delicious purse I’ve ever temporarily owned) back. And I never looked back.

I’m sure I’ve spent 6-figures in the twenty years I’ve spent traveling the world. It’s wild to think about. But, I don’t really think about it. And, it’s not like money is no object, I just rarely regret it. If you’ve read my blogs for the past 10 years, I’ve explained, extensively, why. Travelling is the thing that makes me feel the most alive.

So, when I had 4 big trips planned after purchasing a property, I…

1) cried.

2) laughed.

3) did what all good Americans do and put everything on my credit card.

Swipey, swipe, swipe.

I swiped my way through…

London, Paris and Rome on the first learning trip with my nonprofit program.(Wait, what’s your nonprofit, Holly? And, how can I support? Glad you asked!)

And…

NYC and the Hamptons for the 4th of July. Okay, fine. I was paid to hang in the Hamptons (perks of my gilded homeschool gig). But, my cc still got some swipe action.

Also…

A last minute trip to Guatemala for work. Okay, fine. That was pretty much paid for, too. But, I went over budget so more swiping ensued.

And finally…

The summer culmination trip to a wedding in Portugal.

At that point, however, my mind, body and credit card were all swiped out. But this was the trip I was looking forward to the most. And, although it was the most expensive plane ticket I’ve ever paid for (last minute flight to Europe in August + eating a chicken sandwich before take-off because I have anxiety about being hungry on a long-haul flight, and then missing my non-refundable flight as a result, and then immediately booking another flight on another airline so I would get to Lisbon in time for first day frolics with my friends = breakdown, breathe, swipe, cry, drink, dance, forget)…it was worth every swipe.

From exploring Europe’s greatest capital cities, to enjoying lazy mornings in the Hamptons, to being utterly rejuvenated by the magical energy of Guatemala, to spending the last days of summer with old friends at a beautiful wedding in Portugese wine country (Oh, and, sneaking in another enchanting trip to Peru to ring in my 38th year!)…Honey, what is money?

Put it on my tab!

Peace is Priceless

Clearly, you’ve gotta pay to play. But, peace? That’s priceless.

And, I can honestly say, this is the most grounded I’ve ever felt in my life. My tiny home, my big boundaries, my fulfilling work, my continued adventures and my supportive relationships have guided me straight to my Peace Era. In this marvelous moment, I am calm, cool, and content. And knowing the ephemeral nature of life, I’m savoring this chapter while it’s here.

And, it’s delicious.

And, my tab has been paid.

So, here’s to continued peace, love, joy, light, growth, connection, adventure and gratitude in 2024.

Until next year, friends…

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…

Blonde & Burnt: My Summer in Cabo

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

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

Yeah, I know. I need to stop crossing borders and chasing boys.

But my proclivity to pursue overseas affairs is a direct result of the transient life I’ve chosen to live.

Love, as I know it, has been foreign, feverish and fleeting. Craig the accountant – with all his emotional and financial stability – doesn’t quite have the same appeal as the exotic romances I’ve had the privilege to savor.

And as I sit here looking very blonde, slightly burnt, and a bit broken-hearted, I’m gathering up the lessons learned on yet another one of life’s colorful journeys.

This is the story of my summer in Cabo…chasing love, seeing signs, and closing chapters.

My Boyfriend Bruno

Why are American women so reluctant to say the ‘b’ word?

Easy. We live in a casual, no labels dating culture where declaring someone your boyfriend is such a big deal.

This cultural conditioning did not translate well last year in Mexico when I met Bruno.

You see, the moment a Mexican breathes on you, you’re novios. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Simple as that. So, when I kept coyly referring to B as my “special friend” or “Mexican lover” he took it to heart.

“Was this just a casual thing?” he thought.

The truth is, I was very much in love with Bruno. From the beginning. But, by the time I had the courage to call him my boyfriend, it was time to go.

10 months later, we had a spring break reunion that had me mapping out my move back to Mexico. At least for the summer. You know, to see how things go. To give love a chance. To start nurturing my neglected love life.

So, I showed up. As I do. No matter how illogical my love tends to be. (See, for example, this and this). And this time I was equipped with a few years of therapy, a slew of self love and an arsenal of communication tools that I was aching to put into practice.

But, as a blind and deaf optimist, I tend to only see and hear what fits my vision of the person I’m pursuing. I have faith in people’s potential. I can see how it could all work out. And this summer, my sights were set on a reconnection with Bru.

As it turned out, my vision was blurry. Our connection had long faded and our lives were worlds apart. And for the next few months, my hope for a relationship redo started to unravel.

But before I could throw myself a Mexican pity party, some wonderful blessings came clearly into view…

Three Yellow Birds

After my spiritual awakening in Peru, I’ve been much more attuned to life’s little messages.

One such message came last month, in the form of three yellow birds.

As I contemplated my complicated relationship in Cabo, my celestial friend Christie suggested I ask my guides to show me a specific sign to help me on my way. So, I did.

A yellow bird would mean fly free and go. A red cactus flower would mean stay and grow. Cute, right?

The next morning, as I enjoyed my coffee on the balcony, I heard a commotion in the bush below. Not one, but two yellow birds were joyfully playing and singing, as I did everything I could not to notice them. I looked up, down, left, right. Stared at my arm. Counted my freckles. So, just for good measure, the universe sent a third bird past me in a blaze of yellow to join the others in the bush.

I could imagine my divine guides laughing at me as I decided how much stock I would put in the signs they had sent. Surely, I wasn’t meant to leave yet. I had just arrived. I needed more time to grow.

But, in a country full of cacti, there wasn’t a red flower in sight. Mierda.

Alas, the universe wouldn’t allow me to sulk for long. Instead, she gifted me a gaggle of mortal guides that had my back before I broke down.

Like my empowered and supportive amigas – Martita, Sofia and Fer – who, upon asking if they were in a relationship, replied, “Yes, we are in a relationship with ourselves.” ¡Órale! I’d found my mujeres. (They also happened to be good friends with B. But, let’s just say they wore Team Holly shirts…and sombreros and pom poms and chaquetas and pantalones…).

Then there was Z, my healer. My shamana. Z gifted me with an indigenous massage that literally exorcised my demons, dropped a micro dose of mushroom medicine in my morning water, and nurtured me with wisdom collected from her years in the mountains of Michoacán. And, she’s like, 25.

And then there was my local taco shop where O the owner would serve up the cheapest, freshest fish tacos around, while Lola the resident perro sniffed out my sadness and showered me with emotional support.

And then my five best friends showed up for a Baja adventure of boating, tacos, mescalitas, and life chat.

With all these beautiful distractions, I hardly realized my relationship with B was coming to an end.

The thing I’ve learned about my transient love is that it’s better left preserved in the moment it occurs. I have a tendency to return to try and recreate the magic. And, that’s when I’m usually left deeply disappointed.

But do I ever regret it? Following my heart to the ends of the earth? Of course not.

In fact, I went back to that one time I moved to Australia to see about a boy. And, this is what 29-year-old Holly had to say:

But of all the little life lessons I learned, it comes down to this:

I followed my heart and took a huge risk for something and someone I believed in. It was crazy and irrational and exactly what life is all about. I’ve realized how imperfect love can be, but how much it’s worth fighting for. Worth crossing oceans for.

And even though it didn’t work out the way I had hoped it would, and it hurt a lot, I’m a wiser, more resilient more self-assured me…strengths you only acquire after facing your fears, taking a leap of faith, falling (as gracefully as possible) and getting up to tell the tale.

No regrets.

Yes, you free-spirited queen. No regrets. And no apologies. Just lessons learned, memories made and clarity acquired. Cabo chapter closed.

Now I can get back to being in a relationship with myself.

Cuz, she cute.

Speaking of queens…honorable mention goes out to Beyoncé for dropping the perfect summer breakup song of 2022.

Oh, and this song from Encanto because, right now, we definitely don’t talk about…

Now, excuse me while I release my wiggle.

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]

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…

 

 

Cuba and Other Curiosities

Posted in 30s, Dating, Love, Travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , 1 Comment

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…

Asia

Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Travel, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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.

46721C2600000578-0-image-a-98_1510927117849

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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