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.
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
(of a fruit, vegetable, or other food) grown or available at the time of year in question.
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.
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…
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.
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 😉
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…
You will love San Diego. Trust me. You will see. You will love it here.
It’s late and I’m trying to be cordial to my enthusiastic Uber driver. He’s originally from Iraq, and he regales me with reasons why he moved to San Diego. Fleeing from war and religious persecution in his motherland, yes, but…
the weather, mostly.
It’s been a weird year for the world – a lost year, if you will. And, in this moment, with this Uber driver, on my way to quarantine in the pool house of a very wealthy family before I start a 4-day working interview for the role of private teacher, fits perfectly in the nutty narrative of 2020.
But as much as we’ve lost this year – jobs, lives, our minds – COVID, for many of us, has been the catalyst for self-discovery. From unearthing buried burdens, to unpacking past relationships, to unscrewing the cork off of many a wine bottle, I’ve actually found a lot of useful things in this bizaar year.
Here’s some of the most important.
I am the sum of all my romantic experiences
Now, I’m not great at math, but I’m pretty sure that if you count up all of my heartbreaks, plus my disappointments, divide by all of my fabulous flings, subtract by the number of almost lovers, solve the slope of my first love, approximate the linear relationships of all the difficult dudes, and multiply by the power of 2 beautiful Brazilians and, well, that pretty much sums me up.
Indeed, I have found that all of my romantic relationships are a reflection of me and my flaws and my patterns that need adjusting. They’ve played a huge part in discovering who I am and what I want from a partner. So, I truly thank them. No resentment, only gratitude.
Speaking of…
Writing in a daily gratitude journal is totally transformative
Seriously. I know it’s kind of a life coach cliché, but that shit works. I bought one back in July when I started to feel a complete nervous breakdown coming on. As someone who has been actively trying to avoid such a personal catastrophe, I decided to give the gratitude journal a shot. Besides, I had the new privilege of leisurely mornings where I could make an elaborate breakfast and write down what I was grateful for.
And, so I did.
I’ve found that this simple ritual has transformed my mindset (and green smoothies have transformed my skin!). Starting each day with a focus, an affirmation, and a gratitude list has started shifting my anxious attitude to a more positive and productive perspective. It’s given me space to reflect on all the good things in my life and focus on staying calm, cool and collected, even if the rest of the world is falling apart.
In other words, I’ve started to…
Stop worrying and start living
Dale Carnegie’s 1948 practical guide to living a more joyful life has never been more apropos than right now. This guy knew that worrying will always be a disease of the human condition. So, he wrote a book to help cure us of the sickness that is stress, worry, anxiety, panick, etc. I’m halfway through, and, let me tell ya’, I’m starting to turn into a zen buddhist.
Yas, Kalidasa!
Most of our worry is made up of scenarios that haven’t even happened yet. We agonize over uncertainty until we literally make ourselves ill. For me, stress lives in my gut and, earlier this year, I couldn’t eat most foods, including my favorite COVID companion, wine. Travesty! I had to sort my stress out fast. Yet another catalyst of my self-care kick, and my discovery of Carnegie’s wisdom on combating worry.
Continuous self-improvement is a life-long game, people. I’m just glad I’m finally starting to learn the rules (and, shout out to some badass chicks that have been doing the work for years and are now dedicated to spreading the love and throwing some free life advice my way! – Marina and Poppy 🙂 )
These are only 3 of many eye-opening discoveries I’ve made during this lost year. It took a global pandemic to stop us all in our tracks and force us to sit with our demons and reassess our lives. For me, it meant working through past traumas, letting go, taking responsibility, staying gracious and embracing uncertainty. Because, shit. You just never know what life is gonna throw at you, do you?
I certainly didn’t think I’d ride the Covid wave to San Diego to start a new gig. But, here I am, polishing off this post with a glass of chardonnay in the rose garden, and processing just how wild 2020 has been.
As I start this new chapter (which will probably fill the pages of a book), I’m grateful for how far I’ve come, and excited for the work ahead. I will miss my Miami life and all who made it memorable. But, it was time for a change.
And a new adventure awaits.
OK, admittedly, this was an emo post. But, don’t worry. I will soon have tales of private jets and pool boy affairs. I just need to review my NDA to see what I can get away with…
Thinking Over 30 