adventure – Page 2 – Thinking Over 30

Following the Flow (Peru Part 2)

December 30, 2021December 14, 2025Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Dating, Love, peru, self-discovery, solo travel, Travel, UncategorizedTagged 30s, adventure, Backpacking, Dating, explore, Love, self-discovery, self-love, teaching, Travel1 Comment

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

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

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

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

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

Here they are in 3 acts.

Prologue

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

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

I encourage everyone to prioritize joy.

Now, back to the play.

Act 1 – A Tale of Two Chicos

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

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

Instead, she went to Peru to find clarity…

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

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

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

Act 2 – My Walk With Pachamama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Act 3 – “Is that you, Intuition?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue – Lessons Learned

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

[curtain closes]

Peru

October 11, 2021August 12, 2022Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Dating, Love, self-discovery, self-help, solo travel, teaching, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Backpacking, Dating, explore, Love, peru, self-discovery, self-love, south america, teaching, Travel2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

As such, Aladdin quickly became my new best friend.

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

They also made this plane ride home a lot harder.

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

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

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

Two days later I was on a plane to Peru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what clarity did I find in Peru?

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

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

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

The Bubble

May 12, 2021December 28, 2021Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, Love, mexico, self-discovery, solo travel, teaching, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Dating, Love, mexico, phd, self-love, teaching, Travel1 Comment

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

Oh yeah. I live in Mexico.

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

Everything except…privacy.

That would come after a vaccination and some negotiation.

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

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

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

Nevertheless, I committed.

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

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

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

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

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

This was my freedom card.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

Oh, Holly. You jumped the gun, girl.

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

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

F*cking COVID.

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

I celebrated by taking a nap.

You can’t make this shit up.

So, what’s the silver lining?

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

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

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

Stay tuned for notes on my summer in San Diego…

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

September 27, 2020October 4, 2020Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, Love, self-discovery, self-help, Travel, UncategorizedTagged 30s, adventure, covid, life, Love, self-discovery, self-improvement, self-love, teaching, Travel2 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.

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

August 2, 2020August 3, 2020Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, self-help, UncategorizedTagged 30s, adventure, coronavirus, quarantine, self-loveLeave a comment

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…

The Seattle Experience

September 18, 2019September 20, 2019Posted in 30s, Backpacking, camping, Dating, Love, seattle, solo travel, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, camping, Dating, explore, Love, pacific northwest, seattle, Travel, washington stateLeave a comment

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

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

I hoped that just meant spray.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of Bumble…

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

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

So, I started swiping right.

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

And, that’s how I met Matt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like, seriously. What was I doing here?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of feeling valuable…..

Enter New Rob.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-The view of Seattle from my roof deck

-Guys named Rob

-The Pacific Northwest

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

-Free lunch at the Foundation

-Not being eaten by a bear at Campsite 13

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

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

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

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

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

April 24, 2019November 8, 2019Posted in 30s, Dating, Love, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Dating, explore, Love, Travel5 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which led me to my recent spring fling.

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

And, this guy was actually worth pursuing.

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

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

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

So, what exactly is that reality?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, my stories much more interesting.

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

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

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

Onward and upward and all that.

Plus, I hear Seattle guys are cute, so…

Since Turning 32

June 13, 2018July 31, 2020Posted in 30s, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Travel1 Comment

I’ve been in Beijing for over 48 hours and I still haven’t had a full conversation with another human being.

Instead, I’ve been roaming the Hutongs (alleyways, or what I like to think of as the Chinese version of my last name) and waiting patiently for my tour to start. Similar to last year in Africa, I’ve opted for a 2-week guided tour to give me a little Chinese taster without all the fuss of organizing it myself. Because, yes, comfort and convenience have become good travel companions in my 30s.

In fact, I’m eating an American breakfast as we speak.

Relax, people, I’m sure I’ll eat my weight in dumplings before this trip is over.

It turns out China’s internet game is not strong.

Of course, if I had done my homework, I would have remembered that the Great “Firewall” of China is as mighty as ever. Google, WhatsApp, Instagram…they are all my ostracized friends that are not welcomed here. As a result, I have plenty of time to read, write and practice what I preach to my students – “I will not die without the internet!”

So, today is a writing day. Or, what I like to call catching up on the last 8 months of my life, since turning 32.

Tuk Tuk Tom came to visit me for my birthday.

And, even though my real world Miami life-with its 6:00 am wake-up calls and $20 cocktails- would be a far cry from our African adventure, I wasn’t going to pass up a sweet birthday treat in the form of a handsome British man.

Tom’s trip kicked off with a week-long classic Florida tour, complete with gator-hunting, manatee-watching and mermaid-creeping. He even got to spend his first American thanksgiving with my family!

Unfortunately, the last British boy I brought home left my family slightly skeptical. But, Tom did a great job charming them with his cello-playing, mom-flattering, dish-washing ways.

Back in Miami, I gathered my crew, threw on some shoulder pads and white pumps, and rang in my 32nd year with a Miami Vice-themed birthday party.

Everyone was on top form, especially Crockett-obsessed Tom who really got into the Vice City groove. It was a memorable night, indeed.

Two weeks later, Tom was gone.

But, it was ok. I was ok. I had managed my expectations, understood the different paths we both were on and enjoyed our time together for what it was. I guess that’s 32.

And, yeah, maybe I still like to tell our epic “how we met” tale. Can you blame me?!

I took a trip to Spain for Christmas.

It was an impulse purchase based on plans that all fell through. And just before I thought I’d be walking the Camino on a solo journey to Catholic conversion, my friend Alex impulsively booked a ticket too.

Phew, that was a close one.

Flash forward to New Year’s Eve. Standing on the rooftop of our random hostel in the small Medieval town of Toledo, I heard someone shout, “Ms. Hutton!”

“Oh Dear God,” I said. “Why? How?! Not on my vacation!”

Turned out to be the lunch lady at my school, which, still is a lottery-odds chance of happening. But at least I wasn’t caught by a student in the throws of my NYE’s champagne merriment.

Phew, another close one!

From there, we proceeded to eat and drink our way through Madrid, Toledo, Sevilla and Lisbon. Along the way, we met friends and tour guides like Javi and Oscar, partook in magical moments like sleeping in Portuguese castles, and indulged in instantly regrettable decisions like dying my hair dark.

YOLO does not apply to your hair, Holly. Remember that.

One morning in March, I woke up to what sounded like the collective buzz of a million bees.

But before I could contemplate a My Girl demise, I realized that these little buzzing creatures wanted only to feast on the cacti blossoms that surrounded the romantic retreat I had booked for myself somewhere in the mountains of Mexico.

The next day, I found myself shotgun in a beat up truck, hitching a ride with some hombres (presumably the “good” kind) to a private members club in the middle of the desert where I threw back mescal with a famous Mexican movie director and a best-selling American author.

Back at my retreat, I sat with my Modelo and a million-dollar view…

…just me, the bees and my reflections on how random and wonderful my life continues to be.

And now, it’s summer again. And Asia is my home for the next two months.

Perhaps, I’ll have another random summer romance. Or, I’ll simply enjoy the company of my Asia-residing friends. Either way, one thing is for certain…another adventure awaits and a new blog post is already starting to brew.

Stay tuned…

Africa

September 15, 2017July 31, 2020Posted in 30s, Africa, Backpacking, TravelTagged 30s, adventure, Africa, Backpacking, overlanding, safari, Travel3 Comments

I wasn’t expecting the Serengeti to be such a sausage fest.

From willy-willies to dik-diks to actual sausage trees, these endless plains of Africa were lush with male members.

But of all my wild encounters with giraffes and zebras and gazelles and cheetahs and elephants and ostriches and warthogs and wildebeests and hippos and every damn creature you can think of, there was one male member of the animal kingdom that was markedly absent: The Lion King.

His female counterpart, however, was always around. You could find her meticulously mothering the cubs, gracefully napping in the bush and savagely hunting for the pride.

But The King was nowhere in sight. Probably philandering with other felines.

As they do.

And then there was Tuk Tuk Tom.

After three days in the Serengeti, I arrived back at camp to a very unusual sight. Parked up on the grass was a zebra painted tuk tuk with a sleeping hut built on top. I saw a figure laying in the hut and thought to myself, “Now, that guy has the right idea!”

Turns out, the carpenter behind the contraption was Tom from England. He had been traveling through Africa for the last 8 months on his motorbike, having his existential, Ewen McGregor-style life journey, and he was planning to take his newly customized tuk on the next leg of his trip.

I decided to introduce myself.

After all, my tour group consisted of couples and single ladies, so an opportunity to say hi to a cute boy traveling alone was not to be missed.

The next thing I knew, I was having a beer with Tuk Tuk Tom and deliberating whether or not I should jump on the back of his motorbike to hitch a 400-mile ride to the next stop on my African itinerary.

The next morning, I took him up on his offer.

After signing a waiver stating that if I died whilst gallivanting with a stranger in Africa, the tour company shall not be held responsible, and then waving goodbye to everyone as Tom and I moterbiked on out of the campsite (essentially playing out the greatest cliche of my life!)…we were finally on our way.

The first 5 hours were exhilarating! Here I was, zipping through the tiny villages and gorgeous landscape of Tanzania on the back of a motorbike with a cute British boy (pretty good going for having only been in Africa for 5 days!).

What an adventure! Everyone surely must be jealous of my alternative mode of transportation as they trudged along in the big yellow tour bus!

But then…

My back started to ache, my legs started to cramp, I couldn’t feel my ass anymore, my eyes started to burn…and it started to rain. Like, soak to the bone and everything you own, rain.

When we finally stopped for the night, had a hot shower, enjoyed some masala tea and inhaled a delicious curry, I was feeling much better. And, after a few hours of solid life chat, I realized Tom was much more than just my dashing driver.

34 hours later, I rejoined my group on the ferry to Zanzibar, dodging questions about my two-day escapade and trying to conceal the smile on my face.

“It was fun,” I said, casually. “I’m glad I went.”

And then I had a meltdown in Malawi.

That is to say, after 42 hours on a bus with my 23 loud and smelly travel companions (spending 12 of those hours puking in the Tanzanian/Malawian bush), I had reached my physical and emotional limit.

So, when we finally got to our destination at Lake Malawi, I immediately upgraded to a single room where I could spread out, chill out, and meltdown in peace.

Which is exactly what I did.

Good thing Lake Malawi is one of the most peaceful places on the planet, and for the next three days I rested, rode horses, and recovered just in time for another 2 days barreling through the total length of Zambia to get to the next stop on our route.

I was on a houseboat in Zimbabwe the day my ex got married.

As the boat slowly floated past bathing hippos and towards the sunset in the distance, I allowed myself a very brief moment to mourn.

And then I remembered I had a bottle of rum.

So, I smiled at the sky, thanked the universe for my blessings, grabbed the bottle and followed the music to the upper deck where I proceeded to dance and sing and get joyfully tipsy with my new friends; acutely aware of the far distance from the shore and the forward motion of the boat.

And then I fell in love with a rhino ranger named Ian.

Dressed in a full Top Gun onesie with a cigarette dangling from his mouth, Ian proceeded to debrief our group about the game drive he would take us on the next morning.

With fiery passion, he explained all things rhino conservation in Africa and I found myself grabbing for an imaginary checkbook to give all my money to Ian and the rhinos.

The next morning, I was geared up with my safari chic attire, lipgloss and sass. And, when Ian offered up the front seat next to him in the jeep, I nearly broke my camera as I threw down my bag to claim the coveted spot.

The magnetism of this man had me glued to his side the whole day! A person so passionate he makes you reassess your purpose in life.

We spent the day crouching down 10 feet away from mama and baby rhinos, climbing caves to discuss ancient bushmen paintings, and soaking in the stunning surroundings of Matobo National park and the glorious Zimbabwean bush.

This was a day of magical, mystical, otherworldly proportions. A day that will forever be filed in my best days memory bank.

And, Ian? Well, he will forever be filed in my sexy, middle-aged man crush bank…

A girl can dream.

If you haven’t found God yet, go to Victoria Falls.

That is all.

And just as I was really hitting my traveling stride, I had to say goodbye to my new, fabulous, tour group friends.

After 33 days of exploring some of the most beautiful places on earth together, and bonding over things like…

Bush pees
Sharing Maasai blankets because, yes, Africa gets cold in the winter
Pitching tents in the pitch dark
16-hour bus rides, 3 days in a row
Spiritual moments interrupted by loud, Cockney accents
All kinds of bodily malfunctions

…we had finally become a little family.

Oh, but my African adventure wasn’t over yet.

With 2 more weeks left on the agenda, I was gearing up for Part II:

Namibia → Cape Town

Who drives 918.6 miles to pick someone up at the airport?

Tuk Tuk Tom does.

But this time his chariot of choice was a tiny gold Toyota Etios – one of those weird models that don’t ever make it to America.

But, it was perfect.

And, for the next 11 days, Tom and I traversed the great deserts of Namibia, visiting smelly seal colonies, climbing unforgiving sand dunes, camping under magnificent African skies and hiking around the various canyons and rocks that define Namibia’s dramatic landscape.

Most of our time, however, was spent in the car.

We passed the time by taking naps (me), drinking wine (me), sharing life stories and blasting power ballads (I didn’t realize how much Tom loved Celine Dion, but I sure wasn’t complaining!).

Tom even taught me how to drive a stick shift!

Uh oh.

Now, I was doing just fine for the first 20 minutes. We were the only people on the road, not a lot of gear changes, and I was feeling confident.

And then I hit some gravel and we spun out of control.

As Tom yelled to, “keep the car straight!”, I overcompensated, and several 180 degree spins later, we skid to an abrupt stop.

Tom was calm as a cucumber – I think he even laughed. I, on the other hand, had seen my life pass before me and was sure I was dead.

Luckily, we were fine, and for the next couple of hours, Tom and I picked pebbles out of the rims of the car, with tent pegs, in the middle of the Namib desert.

Not a soul in sight.

And then I laughed at how random and fortunate my life was at that exact moment.

I nearly lost my shit when we crossed the border to South Africa.

Cape Town was on top of my “cities I want to visit” list for years, and it had been the catalyst to my amazing African journey. Now, it was only a stone’s throw away.

With a bag of biltong and a bottle of Pinotage between my legs, Toto’s Africa on full blast, and the sun-soaked South African wineries out the window, just beyond Tom’s man bun, I started to have a happy panic attack.

It happens sometimes – when life hands me a bunch of amazing things all at once.

That was one of those times.

After several more magical days of wine tasting and Cape Town exploring, my time with Tom was over and my African adventure was coming to an end.

Sitting in my sweet little studio in Camps Bay, I reflected on the summer I had just experienced…

10 countries, 2 months, and more miles clocked than the circumference of the earth!

At 31, I had managed to pull off another backpacking adventure for the books! (Shout out to the splendors of single life and summers off!)

Africa was epic.

With its storybook narrative – adventure! romance! memorable characters! – it reminded me of why I’ll always keep exploring.

I did finally see The Lion King at the end of that first safari.

He was sitting very far away, alone, with his enormous golden mane framing his (possibly post-coitus) contemplative face.

That’s how I’ll remember Africa.

Wild and graceful. Golden and free.

I will see you again soon, Mother Africa, you gorgeous Queen.

Oh, yeah. And as for Tuk Tuk Tom?

Well, let’s just say I haven’t completely put the lid on my African box. That sounds dirty. But, you know what I mean. Wait, do you know what I mean? Do I even know what I mean?

I guess it means stay tuned…