Tag: 30s

And Just Like That…

Posted in 30s, Dating, Love, peru, self-discovery, TravelTagged , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

At 7:54 on a Wednesday morning, in a big bath tub overlook the Andes Mountains, I turned 40.

No profound insights to report, except, I felt at ease. The moment was delicate, without spectacle.

I had arrived.

It was the fifth time celebrating my birthday in Peru, and it was the only place in the world I wanted to be when I crossed the midlife threshold. My ritual books were piled high, a curated playlist set the mood, and I was soaking it all in. The view, the vibe, the reality that I was moving into the next phase of life.

Thus, this will be the final post of my 30s blog.

In an effort to come up with some sort of life lessons learned list, I re-read all of my entries from the past decade to reflect on the trials and tribulations, adventures and awakenings, loves, lives and losses I’ve encountered on my journey.

But then I thought maybe I’d write a love letter to my past self, from my present self. Something about how proud I am of the woman who never stops exploring. Or, the admiration for the very difficult self work she did in her 30s that took her to depths she didn’t know she possessed. And the joys from the important relationships she’s encountered, and the grace I give her for the lessons she’s still learning. The immense gratitude I have for how much self-love she’s discovered along the way that I now I have the privilege to carry. And on and on and on.

But honestly, thinking over 30 had me fatigued. I hit a reflection wall. I’m in my acceptance era where analysis feels like paralysis. And presence feels like peace. My post-40 vibe is like, “Yo, it is what it is.”

So let’s keep it simple:

Holly, I love you.

Life, indeed, is all the things. It’s a struggle. It’s delightful. It’s joyful. It’s pain. And it’s all impermanent. And I don’t have the answers. I’m just lucky I’m still here to enjoy the ride, and I’m grateful for the wild and wonderful road that’s led me to this point. And, yes. I am so immensely proud of the courageous, curious and confident woman I’ve become. And I’m still becoming.

So, yeah. Let’s see how 40 unfolds. So far, I feel great! A little wiser, a little sexier. A little more settled in myself. This is the Sacral Year, after all. The Year of Receiving.

And if my Indian astrologer has anything to say about it, this will be the year all my dreams come true. It’s written in the stars.

Cheers to that.

And cheers to those who’ve been even slightly interested in my musings all these years. It’s helped me make sense of this life, and has motivated me to keep sharing.

As the world keeps turning…

Love + light + joy for all the things to come.

Ciao for now.

In Season

Posted in 30s, Love, solo travelTagged , , , , , , , Leave a comment

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

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

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.

A Note on Love

Posted in 30s, LoveTagged , , , , , , Leave a comment

It’s Valentine’s Day, and I felt compelled to reflect on love. I’ll try to avoid the cliches.

Every new year I decide on a word that will guide me for the next 12 months. There was The Year of Intention, The Golden Year, the Year of Clarity, so on and so forth.

I declared 2024 The Year of Love.

Why? Well, besides being a relentless romantic, and love being the only thing we’re here on earth to do, I imagine it has something to do with where I’m at in my life.

Let’s have a closer look…

I have been romantically in love with approximately 4 people in my life. Wait, 5.

And, I’ve spent much of my adult life sorting out the meaning of those loves (as well as the less significant encounters I have had) along the way. The agony! The ecstasy! The triggered insecurities! BUT! I always emerge with a grateful/stronger heart and a deep appreciation for all my past loves, whose first initials, interestingly, spell out the word BETA. If I were cleverer, I could come up with a funny interpretation about how my BETA loves have been my “testers” on my journey to find my ALPHA love…but, like, not in a toxic masculinity kind of way…like the #1, most important love kind of way? You get me?

But we all know that love comes in many beautiful and complicated forms. For me, it’s the deep self-love I’ve developed over the past several years (i.e. the 5th person on my love list!); the complex but healing love with my mom and brother; the patient, gentle, evolving love I have for my dad; the authentic and elevating love for my friends; the pure and fulfilling love I receive from my students; my unconditional love for my family’s dog, Bella; love for my new home and the fountain that lulls me to sleep every night; love for travel and dancing and exploring and the ocean and good wine and new connections and on and on and on.

So as I sit here in my garden reflecting on the big “L” (in an intentional effort to refocus the low-key disappointment of not having a V Day date tonight), I am reminded that, indeed, love actually is all around.

Shortly after declaring 2024 The Year of Love, I found a framed print of the word LOVE on the streets of New York City. I took it as a reaffirmation from my spirit guides to stay fully open to giving and receiving all the love, in all the forms. I then proceeded to tout it around town proclaiming that all we need is love.

Now excuse me while I go light my rose quartz candle, pour a glass of wine, and pack for my Europe trip tomorrow. Because, Happy Valentine’s Day to me 😉

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.