Tag: self-love

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.

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!

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

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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.

Following the Flow (Peru Part 2)

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here they are in 3 acts.

Prologue

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

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

I encourage everyone to prioritize joy.

Now, back to the play.

Act 1 – A Tale of Two Chicos

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

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

Instead, she went to Peru to find clarity…

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

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

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

Act 2 – My Walk With Pachamama

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Act 3 – “Is that you, Intuition?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Epilogue – Lessons Learned

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amen.

[curtain closes]

Peru

Posted in 30s, Backpacking, Dating, Love, self-discovery, self-help, solo travel, teaching, TravelTagged , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

As such, Aladdin quickly became my new best friend.

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

They also made this plane ride home a lot harder.

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

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

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

Two days later I was on a plane to Peru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what clarity did I find in Peru?

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

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

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

The Bubble

Posted in 30s, coronavirus, Dating, Love, mexico, self-discovery, solo travel, teaching, TravelTagged , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

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

Oh yeah. I live in Mexico.

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

Everything except…privacy.

That would come after a vaccination and some negotiation.

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

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

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

Nevertheless, I committed.

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

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

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

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

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

This was my freedom card.

Or at least that’s what I thought.

Oh, Holly. You jumped the gun, girl.

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

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

F*cking COVID.

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

I celebrated by taking a nap.

You can’t make this shit up.

So, what’s the silver lining?

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

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

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

Stay tuned for notes on my summer in San Diego…