Repeat the Sounding Joy

"Marlow, what do you mean your family hates decorating Christmas trees? That's it, I'm coming over this weekend. Can you get a tree by Saturday?"

...words from myself to my best friend Marlow nearly a decade ago.

Saturday finally came and I arrived at the Larson family home in the country side.  Marlow rushed in with a mug of meticulously prepared hot cocoa. "I think I may be onto something, this hot chocolate is the best I've ever made" he says.  After tasting and agreeing (and a second helping), he and I began decorating his family's perfectly chosen tree. The smell of the tree, a freshly cooked spaghetti dinner, and old boxes filled with Christmas decorations filled the home.  It smelled like Christmas should smell.

As the years went by, new traditions built into this carefully planned one.  I would arrive at his parents new home in the city and his mom and I would converse about the carefully picked tree, how its her sixth time remodeling the living room, and his dad and I would contemplate the best Christmas music to play (which was always Frank Sinatra or Nat King Cole).

Marlow and I realized that this is the time of year that makes us feel more excited and happy than any other and we wait all 364 days for it with hunger and intent. It was simply never soon to begin celebrating.  But this day, we went all out.

We began to pull out the decorations and agree together that the collection of clown ornaments is creepy and discuss what will happen if we cannot find baby Jesus for the Nativity Scene.

After it was completed, we stood in the driveway where the living room window overlooked the neighborhood, with a beaming, beautiful Christmas tree. Smiling proudly, and embracing the cold December air, we shivered and agreed that it was time for another cup of cocoa and a Christmas movie.

Although now just a memory, those days will still remain some of my favorite and most poignant.

Tradition is just that after all. Making something out of what was once nothing, creating a bond of spirits, and mostly, remembering how those seemingly small and simple moments made us feel infinite.

Perfect Strangers

My seat mate on my trans-Atlantic flight from London Heathrow to Miami was asleep for the better part of the trip.  When the elderly, white-haired man in a green and grey tweed suit awoke, he rubbed his eyes, polished his two-inch thick glasses methodically, and turned to me.  "Well hello there, have we reached Hong Kong yet?" Realizing his clever joke, I returned a little giggle and reached my hand to his for an introduction.

I found out that his name was Arthur, and at his spry age of eighty-two, he was returning from a trip in Nice, France visiting some old friends.  Once he found out my interest in languages and traveling, he shared his background with me.  By the age of thirty, he was fluent in five languages: English, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian. He later became a translator for the US military and many government projects.

Before departing the plane after an exhausting nine and a half hour trip, Arthur said, "It was lovely meeting a person who shares an affinity for languages.  I want you to know that I have been interpreting for over fifty years and I have absolutely loved every messy little moment of it. Every stumble in words and translation always led me closer to my goal and eventually my career. It is such a parallel to life. Remember that whenever you reach the stumbles in your path, think of it as a layover. You are nearly there."

After this, he handed me several of his vanilla and lemon creme cookies and waved goodbye to me at border control.

We all imagine things playing out a certain way only to find that our perfectly laid out plans were nothing but a dream. Going back to Germany turned out to be so much more than I could have ever hoped for.

Destinations are, after all, for the dead. It is not really a place to arrive at.  The journey does not end simply because you find a permanent place to live, have your dream career, or find that person you want to spend your life with. Life continues to evolve, inevitably.

Whenever I have felt "stuck", it was only because everything around me was changing--it was just my mind that remained behind.  Life propels. Catch up, or you miss it. It will not wait for you.

This simple plane trip "home" brought me clarity and peace.  It can sometimes be as simple as a smile or the people whose paths intersect yours.

I stand back and smirk sometimes when I realize the coincidence feels more like some elaborate plan. I see in those moments that more often than not, I am just a step, a breath, a word, a stranger, a new friend, and an opportunity away from meeting that "aha" destiny moment.

Even that is a step down the path of my extremely colorful, often treacherous, thoroughly confusing, yet full of love life. Why would I not enjoy the messy bits of it all too?

Now that I think about it, the layover has always been my favorite part anyway.

Thoroughly enjoying my London Heathrow layover

Dusk

The resounding, echoy bells

In the church tower afar

Do their best to reach me 

As the fall air sets its chill

Signaling a goodbye (hello) to the day (night)

The tea kettle whistles 

As the cold air rushes in

My sweater wrapping tighter

As the sky grows a billowy, soft blue and grey

And my eyes look to the passerbys

Goodbye (hello) sun (moon)

The fairytale city seems quiet, if only for a moment

As the somber bell sings to me
Through the window I peer
Taking nothing but a memory
The picture forever there (here)

Of a perfect, crisp, nearly winter dusk
Set upon the old German town

Something is Different...

Frankfurt, Germany is the same exact place it was when I was left. Besides the train fare, (now a whopping 4 Euros per way), things are comfortable and even seamless for me.  I glided off of the plane at the airport and headed straight toward customs, then Starbucks, then baggage claim, and even transitioned to speaking German already.  Then the sweet, familiar voice of Julia was shouting my name after I stepped out of the security doors.  After our typical greeting of lots of hug and laughter, we lugged what seemed like forty suitcases out the door to the car.  Then, a second warm greeting from her mom, and we were on our way to Bad Homburg, my new home.  

Even that was cozy. As we drove, we passed familiar castles and mountains. Splashes of orange, yellow, and red were setting in.  I smiled and relaxed into my seat  This was the best I had felt in a long time. Then, I was greeted by fleets of her family from all sides, embraced in hugs.

That night, jet lagged and goofy, I found myself in the home sweet home of MacGowen´s Irish Pub. I was surrounded by all of the favorite regulars from two years prior, and it felt as though no time had passed at all. My favorite, same elderly British men standing (not sitting) at the bar and sipping their whiskey, telling jokes and bursting out into ballads. 'How ya been, love?' They asked, and then went on singing and drinking the night away.  Details of this place were all the same.

But something was different.

Finally, one night, I understood the change. It was a shocking revelation to see that it was me who was different.  Viewing old photographs from my last time in Germany showed that over time, the light in my eyes had drastically dimmed. I envied the girl in those pictures and felt stranger to her. She had really embraced life and feared nothing...but mostly, she loved being 'Meg Miller.'

It became my fiercest and most honest goal to find that again. It seems clear to me that it is not only attainable, but that this, above all reasons stands to be why I am really here this time.

And this time, I will never allow that light to diminish.  Not for anyone, any place or anything.  Life is just too beautiful.

Fairy Trees and Conch Shells

My best friend Ashlynn, and I made a pact and a promise to visit Ireland someday together.  That is where this story begins.

The day came 4 years after the pact was made, and we were off to Dublin together. We toured Dublin, but mostly spent our time in the countryside and the coastal towns. One of the most impacting moments of the trip occurred when we were hiking on a family farm in a place known as "the Burren." We nearly reached the top of the limestone landscape when we came upon what our guide called, "fairy trees." Like witches fingers, the only thing that the otherwise bare trees contained were little pieces of string or cloth.  The guide elaborated that people climb up the Burren with their carefully selected piece to leave behind a worry or a trouble.  I tore a piece of my scarf and tied it around the tree.  Maybe it was because I was getting into the culture, or because the landscape enthralled me, but I truly felt like my worry had been left there that day.

Almost a year later, I found myself on the shores of Cozumel Mexico, walking down the beach, when I happened upon a driftwood tree that contained conch shells hung intentionally on the limbs.  I wondered in the back of my mind if these conch trees had the same purpose as the Irish fairy trees.

I asked a few locals in (very) broken Spanish if they knew the reason for it, to no avail.  For me, however, I carefully selected a beautiful conch shell from the hundreds that were lying on the beach and picked a spot on the driftwood branches.  I thought very hard about what worry I would be leaving behind, and hung the shell.

I am leaving the Keys, without fairy or conch trees to choose from. Worries, while natural, weigh us down, prevent growth, and make us fearful.  I am leaving the Keys to symbolically leave behind several conch shells and pieces of cloth. It is not an act to run away, but instead a confirmation that I have more to offer to the earth than worries and the emptiness that it brings.  We are complex beings, but we are full of love, kindness, bravery, and strength.  Even in the tough times, I knew that this was true all along.  And though I be but small, I am fierce (Thanks Shakespeare).

The Burren's Fairy Trees in Co. Clare, Ireland

Conch shell trees in Cozumel, Mexico

These are a few of my favorite things...

Venice, Italy

Seeing blue and green--Islamorada, Florida, USA

My host parents in Cologne, Germany stealing a kiss

Windows and more windows in Rome, Italy

Proud Eric on his daughter's graduation day
One of my personal heroes

The lanterns of the Festival of St. Martin in Bommersheim, Oberursel, Germany

Strand Theater in Key West, Florida

Motorbikes in Cozumel, Mexico

Piñata Maker's Apprentice in Cozumel, Mexico

Coca Cola always tastes better out of a bottle in Cozumel, Mexico

The sun sets over wine country in Temecula, California

Panopticon

Three fourteen-inch thick concrete block walls surround me. They feel cold to touch, with the matching floors, hard and foreign. The interlocking bars are almost surreal, but once I feel them in my grasp, I realize that no thing, and no man can break this. Ultimately, it is not the metal and concrete stronghold are not what keeps me captive. I see the tall, brooding tower in the center, right in front of my barred door and feel the eyes surround me on all sides. Suddenly, this transforms into reality.

One of the most intriguing social theorists and philosophers, Jeremy Bentham, had a theory. He created a complex building design for prison systems that was Big Brother far ahead of its time. Essentially, it made prisoners feel as though they were being watched at all times, though the reality was that the design was an elaborate scarecrow.

Eventually, it becomes normal. The scarecrow remains scary, but it becomes a backdrop of the routine life for which one has been dealt. 

Although not many people escape the panopticon, many can outsmart its cheap design. After all, the way of the world is built on this destiny. To overcome the cage, the prison, the valleys, we realize that the prison guard was really just a scarecrow after all. And we valiantly march forward to destiny, hope, and the reality that we make for ourselves, no holds, and certainly, no bars. 

All the Unfamiliar Places

He brought me the the airport on a day that he and I had planned for nearly a year in advance.  I knew that little intricate details of my perfectly planned life had an expiration date for reasons that I have yet to comprehend.

After a tearful goodbye, I patted him on the chest and said, "see ya in a month."  What I really knew was the opposite.  It was more of a Billie Holiday-esque intention.  I'll be seeing you--maybe?

It became clear to me that this was my fate when I turned around in the security line for the final wave. I looked for his bright blue shirt, but he was nowhere to be found.  He had already left.  I knew coming from him, this was a permanent goodbye. I had buried myself in mounds of German language books and European travel guides with a focus on companion travel. Yet I already felt alone.

One month passed and contact fizzled. Then two months crawled by. So much more than an ocean separated us.  He did not have to say anything to me, because I already understood that he would never be stepping off of that plane like we had meticulously planned.

One day, I felt the gold metal around my finger, suddenly cold and foreign. Slipping it off delicately, I buried it deep inside of boxes and bags in my tiny attic of a room on a cold winter evening. Out of sight, out of mind?

I made my way across the train tracks to a place I had lingered outside of in contemplation at least a hundred times before on the way into the city center.  It was quiet, but the pub was bursting with light, laughter and music.

As I opened the door, the whipping wind slammed it behind me, decidedly so. The warmth of the pub instantly surrounded me like a lovely, familiar embrace.

I nestled myself into a comfortable table close to the fireplace.  A smile sprawled across the kind bartender's face. I was impressed with her impeccable English as she asked for my drink order. 

Little did she know that her smile was like a life ring in the middle of an ocean. It made me forget the reason that I had come here and made me be present in time with who I was in the place that I was in. 

I would continue on this journey for the next few months, living as I was, for who I was, never allowing plans to impede the opportunity for bigger things to happen.  Even if only internally beneficial, these few months were the happiest of my life.

When plans fall through, with open eyes and and open mind, life happens, friends are met, and love enters in.

Ruin

Warning:  this entry may not be what you expect from me. I apologize ahead of time for the shock factor.

I often feel like I fail by default....

I have always said, I'm unlucky, I'm a klutz, et cetera, you get the idea...

But recently, unbeknownst to me, I've been succeeding in more ways than I ever realized. It took my greatest failure yet to figure out all of my successes.

I failed at making my existence no longer known on this earth.  It was all I could obsess over. When I was not sleeping, I was contemplating. How can I count the ways?  And yes, people, what you are reading is true. I did not want to be alive anymore. I tried to make it happen.

Minutes crept by. Literal moments seemed like days in my head. Lying in my bed seemed like the only possibility for a location in time. Even then, I would rather have been asleep than awake so that the thoughts were not there. I did not want to see my phone with the calls or the messages from him...or anyone for that matter. I did not want to think about how I would feel when I did hear his voice or see his face.

For the first time in my life, I gave control and power to another human being over my own life. It was paralyzing. And it was literally killing my spirit. Words he said to me seemed like mountains of insecurity and despair.

But then something in me just changed. With my failure in eliminating my own human life, I realized that I need to be here for some reason.

I succeeded immediately because I sought help, something I seldom do. I asked, on my knees, with nothing left in my soul, for help.  The people that surrounded me in support are people I will forever be grateful to. These people picked me up off of my face and told me that I was not alone.

Now I fill my days with the outdoors and sunshine.  I surround myself with the people who picked me up off of my knees and loved me regardless, rather than giving up.  This experience has taught me that love is not destruction, obsession, or control.  It is really very simple.  Love, to me, means mutually exisiting with others and embracing people for exactly who they are. I want this same blessing from others.

From the ruin and the rubble, I find myself emerging.  It is not pretty or impressive... in fact, it is a little messy and clumsy. But guess what?  I'm emerging, nonetheless.  Brush me off and hold me close...I am still alive.

Here is to the best that we can all be--work hard to find it, and never give up on anyone, especially not yourself. Blow yourself away with strength and you will see yourself on the other side of that mountain, gleaming as bright, if not brighter than before.

The California sunset and I

Mi sento perso

There is a difference between being lost and feeling lost. 

The irony of the Florida Keys is how visible and clear things seem. Everything important is located on a 106 mile stretch of road called Overseas Highway. Getting turned around or lost means north or south. It is nearly impossible not only to get lost on land, but underwater, it is so clear, you can see for sometimes a hundred to two hundred feet. Even relationships are clear. When you meet someone new, their profession becomes immediately clear and transparent. Dive shop t-shirts and sunglass tanlines reveal fisherman and boatmates.  Anyone dressed nicely reveals and air-conditioned office job or stay-at-home rich mothers of Islamorada. Daily happy hour is a way of life and it's easy to understand a person based on the drink in their cup (unless it's covered by a Keys coozie).

Amazingly, as always, life is full of contradicitions.

Today, and for months now, I have felt lost here.  I have solid roots planted with the real, grown-up job, the real grown-up apartment, and real grown-up situations. Every aspect of my life is predictible. I know exactly how many miles it takes to get to everything and my life on this little island. Everything is within my reach to the point where it would be impossible to even ever be lost. Yet I feel lost. The irony is that I have not been actually, literally lost in over a year. I have not been able to wander unknown streets...that makes me feel utterly out of place.

I absolutely thrive outside of my comfort zone. Perhaps this is too much comfort? 

It is comfort that I am exceedingly thankful for. The nature is breathtaking. Every morning I wake up, I see palm trees. I smell the ocean and see the blues and greens that are so unique to this area. I watch heat lightning at bed time from the hot summer sky. My family is just a phone call or drive away, my brother is my neighbor, and my two roommates are also some of my best friends. What more could you ask for? 

But my time here is coming to a close. I can feel it, see it. Much like the seasons, it's wrapping up into another one. The winds of change are here.

Good vs Evil vs Meg

I'm looking up at the pattern of the fan spinning and thinking....where will I go next? Who will be there? And most importantly...when?

At twenty-four years old, instead of feeling young, all I can think of are the things I have yet to accomplish. My life goals and dreams infiltrate my nightly dreams. Sometimes I wake up thinking I am somewhere completely different.  It gives "disorientation" a whole new meaning.  But then I take a deep breath and remind myself that although I would much rather be at the destination, that the ultimate goal is to enjoy the journey for all it's worth.

No epic tales have ever skipped straight to the end, after all.  It was the fight for good and evil, love and heroism. The Bridge Too Far proved to be to not too far.  Indiana Jones always trolled past his fears (snakes, why'd it have to be snakes?) onto putting his great finds into museums. The encouragement that sometimes it only takes one man to change the world or that ideas are contagious. Ultimately, the thought that "to infinity and beyond" is nothing short of a regular day's work. Chivalry is not dead...and neither is the good fight for that breakthrough. That moment to truly feel alive.

I know that a lot of the entries are accounts of where I've been and what I have done and seen, but seldom is the time when I write about me....about my experience. And then it comes up, like the still small voice...a "Jiminy Cricket" for all you fellow Disney fans out there. I will quote it again and I am very sure that it is not for the last time:

"Wherever you go, there you are."

In order to experience these things in their fullest flavor, their most breathtaking colors, I need to really enjoy what it is to be me. Fortunately, I continually attempt this. I surround myself by life and love. By people who really mean it when they say it. My brother comes over with a six pack of beer to my little "matchbox" of an apartment at least twice per week, and it really reminds me of not only how much I am loved, but how often I am remembered.    I always wanted to be....unforgettable.

The globe will see my footprints. I will exchange breath, and life, and love, and goals.  I want to leave more than what the old adage of tradition holds. I want to be passionate. I want to have a legacy. I want to do just this. Not for myself or my conscience, but because I know that the world has always coerced human nature to do just that.

Explore, dream, create....just...do.  I cannot help this fierceness in my soul.  Contradictory as it is, I feel at home in this nature.

The whispers call to me from across the ocean, and they will continue to do so.  Will I listen?

Pretzels for Chloe

Pretzels for Chloe

It really is the little things...

On my flight to Atlanta, Delta handed me the the standard bag of pretzels and it gave me a flash back.

My sister was just like I was when I was young. She was enthralled with plane travel and the anticipation of an airport terminal. I would tell her stories of my flights and my layovers and she always had this sweet gleam in her eye. I always brought her home the souvineer from my flights. Sometimes a cookie or a flight magazine...but mostly the pretzels.

She finally got to fly for the first time when she was about nine. While she and my mom were located in the Atlanta area, my dad and brother were down in the Florida Keys setting up for the island life they all now share. For months she pleaded with my mom to give the poor family SUV a rest and take a plane for their next visit. After months of shameless begging, the Gilmore Girls were booked for ATL--MIA. She undoubtably reminded me SO much of myself.

And onto the flashback. I found myself stuffing the pretzels into my bag this evening much like before. Except now the little lady has grown. She embarks on her own flights and travels. She now had her own adventure stories.

I'm so happy to have a sister to share this with. Even so, every time I go somewhere, near or far (or I hope, VERY far soon), I will always think about pretzels for Chloe.

Solo--Not lonely

I often get asked the question about how I survived traveling alone for weeks at a time.  I, too, was initially apprehensive about it all. Thoughts of tables for one, getting lost, and being alone were somewhat of a reality when it actually came time to do it. But all in all, it is a myth that traveling solo is lonely. It's also a myth that it's dangerous...but I digress. A different story for a different day.

My favorite restaurant to date was a teensy little place in Paris called Chez Toinette. I'm not going to sit here and lie and say it was the most charming place ever. In fact, most people walked right past it because of its location. It's in between the districts of Pigalle (red light district) and Abbesses which is at the foot of the famous Montmartre just up from the Moulin Rouge. Needless to say, it's a less desirable area of the city. When I entered the restaurant, it was shocking how much it transitioned from the noisy streets to silence. The walls were splashed in an artsy red with photos all over the walls. This place was so small that it felt like you were sitting in someone's kitchen. Three amazing courses and two glasses of Bourdeux later, the entire restaurant was like a temporary home away from home. I met a couple from Australia to my left and a family from Boston on my right and the waitstaff came around announcing "free refills" to all the guests at the table. Well past their closing time, the waitress and the chef joined me at my table sipping on some champagne worthy of being a stand-alone dessert. Worlds away, we talked about all of our differences, our similarities, our countries, our love lives. We bore striking resemblances.  I was lucky that hostel was just a "stumble" away that evening.

I noticed that when I was alone in a foreign place, everything was hyper-sensory. I could smell, taste, feel, and hear everything far more clearly than I ever had before because I had no choice but to pay attention in my solidarity. My mind was like a sponge, harvesting all the details...the minor ones I can remember from places and times still surprise me.

I still have a preference for being utterly alone sometimes.  As a very social and lively person, this seems like the opposite of what my personality reflects, but for many people it is necessary.  These seemingly contradictory parts of me balance one another. I learn to appreciate the one and then the other in their own times and seasons.  In fact, I need one to have the sanity for the other.

My favorite thing about this solo travel was all of the people I collided with that I otherwise would have passed by with no thought. This short-term temporary family and home was more impacting and bonding than anything I have ever experienced.

Even so, the road does get lonely, no doubt.  For whatever reason, it never bothered me.  Perhaps this is because I've heard it said that if we really are all alone, then at least we are all together in that.