No One Tells You

No one tells you how deployment sounds. The door closes behind you you arrive home to the air conditioning kicking on and no friendly, "how was your day?" from the other room. Tonight, you walk into the kitchen and turn jazz on to cook dinner to. Usually, laughter fills the kitchen and you hear him singing along to whatever is playing, but rather, it is your own silence and your own thoughts that you hear. You watch TV alone on the couch and look up to see where he normally sits. It sounds like no "I love you's" in that goofy voice from that spot. It sounds like his heartbeat at night when you lay on his chest. It sounds like his sigh in the morning when it's time to wake up for the long day ahead. But tonight, it's silence from the fans running. In the morning, it's your sigh when you wonder when he'll call and if he's okay.

No one tells you how deployment will look. You stare into the mirror after a night of restless sleep from worry, circles under your eyes.  It looks like a smile in the office hallway and your fight to hold back tears. It looks like glass of wine and no one to share your thoughts with. It looks like the flowers he bought you for your anniversary even though you couldn't be together. They make you smile, even just for a moment. You remember how much he loves you. It looks like scribbled notes that you keep reading over. It looks like old photos that you love to observe from the distance of time while a smile cracks on your face, "if only they knew how lucky they were." Life was simpler then. It looks like one side of the bed perpetually made up, waiting for him to come home. It looks like Thanksgiving plans with friends who take you in for the day. It looks like texts checking in with you from those friends. "Are you hanging in there? Are you doing okay?" It looks like unanswered phone calls. It looks like no phone calls. It looks like a box of Halloween decorations that you haven't put up because there's no one to decorate with.

No one tells you how deployment will feel. The loneliness, the fear, the anxiety. The depression that slowly creeps in and takes you over one day at a time. And one day, you wake up. That person you've missed so much may not even want to be yours anymore. That person may be a part of your past because no one told you that depression knocked you down and took you over. No one told you that anxiety would make it worse. No one told you because there's no way to quantify it. No one told you that you would become this. No one told you because they thought you would be different.

But you are different. You mess up and you fall down. But you get back up, put that smile on and continue to live. You continue to grow. And now, when you come home, you appreciate the moments. The moments that you hear from him, the jazz music in the kitchen, the memories, and the photos. The change comes when you realize that you are okay on your own. The change comes when you appreciate the sunsets, the sleepy mornings to yourself, the time passing, because one day, he'll be home with you.

If You Don't Write it Down, You'll Forget It

Bathsheba, East Coast, Barbados

"One more drink tonight!" This seemed to be the theme of the Caribbean lifestyle. This was an island where everyone has the potential to be a new friend or the perfect charm to bring old friends back together.

But let's back up for a second. I did the cliche spin a globe and pick a spot trick when my finger landed in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. "Hm...what's close?" I asked myself. "Ok, Barbados it is." I also intended to go alone and spend time alone writing and having existential internal experiences. So I booked an Airbnb with a private room and no real plans but hanging out on the beach and swimming with the turtles. Key word here: ALONE.

Within my first five minutes on arrival, I met the girl who was staying downstairs, and it just so happened that she came to Barbados with the same intention of traveling completely alone. We were both 27, both solo travelers, and we both worked from home. What a coincidence.

On my way out to my private dinner that evening, the girl downstairs (who I learned was named Julia from Lithuania) was playing cards on the back deck with our Rastafarian host. She asked me where I was dining. "NO! Don't go there. Keep walking ten minutes away past two beaches and go to Surfer's Cafe. Order the chicken caesar salad. Seriously it's the best I've ever had." I followed her advice and did just that. And my very jetlagged brain jammed out to some true island reggae at the lovely oceanside spot while I sipped on a local beer. By the end of the evening, I had met two Americans just down the bar from me. He was a doctor and she was a nurse and they were looking to get into some fun for their last few days in town. We exchanged information and promised to meet up at the Fish Fry on Friday evening.

By day two, Julia had our whole day planned out. The morning would be spent tasting rum at Mount Gay, the birthplace of the lovely liquid, followed by an afternoon in underground caves, and a sunset on the East side of the island, known for its surf waves and rugged coastline. All of this was led by our Rasta "dad", Gregory.

We hopped onto one of the fastest public city buses I've ever been on to zip up to Bridgetown. Gregory walked us around the neighborhood he grew up in, waving at what seemed like everyone there. "Respect, bruddah" was a constant greeting. Once we reached Mount Gay and finished learning about the history and distillation of rum, we were finally able to taste the assortment of deliciously aged rums.  The tour guide asked if we wanted a man, woman, or wimp pour. Each time, Julia and I excitedly turned to one another as we placed our snifters on the bar and shouted, "man pour!"

After a comfortable buzz, we walked to find a taxi that rode us through fields of sugar cane and up through hilltops and farmland toward the underground caves. Remnants of sugar plantations were still intact, harsh reminders of the oh-so-recent past. I asked the taxi driver if he knew anything about it. In his lovely accent, he answered, "Oh yes, my great grandfather worked the sugar factories. It was dangerous work. He lost a couple of fingers."

Once we reached the caves, we enjoyed the quiet of the countryside after the crazy, constant buzz of Bridgetown. Climbing down toward the caves, we saw monkeys scaling the jungle walls. Vines and huge tropical plants overtook the green landscape. The caves were a fun time for nerding out on geology with all the stalagmites and stalactites and also a nice, cool break from the tropical temperatures above ground.

After our time underground, we returned to the surface to board the most fun and probably dangerous bus ride of my life. The man driving whipped around country road corners at high speeds and crazy turns, totally missing bus stops with screaming and angry Barbadians but we just held on and thanked our lucky stars that we made the bus.

Once we reached the east coast, the sun was perfectly positioned to make the surroundings seem even more surreal. Huge rocks lined the pebble beach and I walked along in the tide pools collecting sea glass. I met a lady on the beach from England who thought that I was a lifeguard because I just "had that look about me."  After a nice walk, we all sat and enjoyed the sunset together as the surfers pushed out to sea for one more good wave.

Our final "bus" (small, speedy van) took us home for the evening. With all the windows down, reggae beats blasting, and friendly locals singing along, this was the perfect end to an already incredible day.

But it wasn't over because this island never slept. I told Julia that we were required to go find a Guinness because it was St. Paddy's Day. Not even a stone's throw from where we were, we found a great bar to enjoy our Irish celebration on a British isle while trying to figure out the rules to cricket that played on the TV.

After a few good beers, we walked back together and she said, "In the morning, let's go to the beach and eat pancakes." How could anyone say no to that?

It was in this moment that I laughed to myself that I ever thought I would spend my week there alone. You meet some of the most incredible people while traveling who change your life forever.

All of this...and then I realized I still had six more days in this wonderful place.

Waiting for the bus in Bridgetown with Julia and Gregory

A Brave Man Admits His Mistakes

What started out as a week of grief and mourning ended in one for a completely different person.  My brother and I flew cross-country from the west coast to Key Largo where we were preparing to attend the funeral of a man who was a mentor to us both, most especially my brother. 

Suddenly, we received a phone call from another man who once held the place of mentor in our life.  Our father called us from jail begging for bail money for crimes we still had yet to discover. What we did not expect was twenty-five years of secrets and deceit to come tumbling out of the jail cell with him.  

When we arrived at the small county jail to pick him up, what we realized was that the man standing in front of us was someone with much deeper-seeded problems.  He was someone we no longer recognized. He felt no remorse for his mistakes and denied everything.  

We sought others in the form of friends and family for guidance and help in the situation.  Only the people who knew him best. What they told us was to caution ourselves, guard ourselves, and keep each other safe from our father.  We learned that trusting him was a mistake that we had continued to make over the years to perpetuate a lifestyle that we had grown so accustomed to.  One of complete instability, negativity, and victimizing.  We saw those qualities in our own lives and it scared us.

My father was brought up on several charges of dirty business dealings, something that was a trend from the past for him. 

Our first inclination was to protect our younger siblings and my own mother, who had been hurt so many times before in their marriage. 

After my brother and I mourned the loss of our friend and mentor the following day, we took another day to mourn the loss of another man that we had genuinely seen as a hero in our young lives.  What we realized was that now, as adults, we had to overcome that idea. Now it was up to us to be our own ideas of success. 

I have tried to do my part in seeking help for him by making arrangements with therapists and meeting with his family.  He has rejected my help and the assistance of others as well. In his own mind, there is nothing wrong.  And his legal trial is pending.

Although the mourning process has been coupled with mixed emotions and trying times, I have come out with a clearer picture of myself and my family.  When secrets are no longer secret and lies are smashed to pieces, the world becomes a much less foggy place, even if the storm clouds take a while to clear out.

It will take time to overcome the events that continue to transpire, but what I can say is that I do not want to perpetuate the negative qualities that may exist in my own personality from my father. Rather than blaming him, I see it as a necessity to grow past.

It has brought the rest of the family closer in realizing that the man we once knew may not be here anymore.  The reality is that all that he has done in his life is truly his doing.  His responsibility.  A series of choices that he will or will not take credit or blame for. 

The other reality is that in this ambiguous loss, I take responsibility for how I react to it all.  For how I respond and overcome.  And that, in itself, is empowering.

Deja Vu

The landscape is vast, blending purple, blue, and grey hues all together at once.  The stark, white snow dots the view-filling landscape.  It is one of those views that is so large, it takes several frames of view to see it all at once, to capture it all in your mind.  I try to peer out of the plane window to see the top of the mountains, but even as I strain my neck to an impossible position, it is plainly out of sight.  The bumpy road takes me and a small group of fellow travelers, none of whom speak my language, to a tiny shack of a home on one of the hills in the foot of the shadowy mountains.  

I continually have the same dream repeatedly and consistently, almost like it has happened or is going to happen.

I still dream of this seemingly unknowable, unthinkable place, but to my mind, it does actually exist.  For me, during the day, I let my mind wander.  In my heart, I know exactly where it is. 

Just because you have not visited a place, seen a sight, or felt a feeling does not mean that it is obsolete.  It is there. Find it, or it will find you...often on its own in a delightfully sneaky sort of way. It always seems to be a journey, whatever the goal. And who knows?  Maybe we really have been there before after all.

Icy Strait, Glacier Bay, Alaska

A Day in the Life

The cold wind rushes through my hair as I reach the bow of the ship. I tuck my face down into my coat and take it all in. The sun is already out and the Alaskan wilderness is awake at this early hour. Standing with my coffee cup in hand, a mixture of steel blue, blinding white, and sooty grey come into view to match the stark contrast of jade-colored water.  

Flat calm, peaceful, and powerful all in one, the glacial valleys take my breath away. Although it is a glacier I have seen many times before, this view feels unique and personal.  I return to the warmth of the interior of the ship and am joined by my friends with morning chatter over coffee. 

Later on in the day, I hop onto a small skiff with the same group of friends as we silently observe two bears in a stream fishing for salmon.  The older bear is successful early in the hunt, but is later joined by the younger, but still large brown bear.  They gently look back toward our boat, then continue to enjoy their meals.

Dinner is interrupted by a pod of orcas swimming under our boat.  They come so close that we can see their individual markings. The bull has a light white marking near his dorsal fin shaped like a Nike swoosh and the calf still has his typical light yellow markings from birth.  He is an able-bodied newborn, however, as he flips through the air, slaps his tail, and plays with the other calf. They continued to follow our boat for two hours.

Once asleep, I am awoken by an announcement from the captain of northern lights. As I bundle up in my cozy jacket and blanket, I climb to the top deck and take in the bright green lights as they dance through the sky like a ribbon, twisting and shaping, forming, and fading. Arm in arm with my friends, we all stand, exchanging gasps of excitement and amazement.  Just as I think they lights are finished performing, they return for another show, each one different from the one before. This is just a glimpse into one of my favorite days as a steward on board a small cruise ship.  Although there is six weeks straight of hard work in between, ultimately it is all about the crew mates who are like family, the guests who are new friends, and the moments that make me stand in awe that solidify this as the experience of a lifetime. 

To the Lover of the Wilderness...

It is 4am and the sun meets me at the window like an old, familiar friend. The mist and fog hangs not he mountain tops, indicative of the once volcanic and ice-filled valleys. 

My small life feels wholely significant among the mist and meanings this place holds. 

I want to leave here, yet I am drawn so strongly to it. 

Flying over the luminous clouds, I can see the islands, wilderness, and mountains, and snow all at once. 

So much nature begs me to stay. 

"I will be back." Says my mind. 

But my heart knows I will never really leave. Alaska never departs the wild at heart. 

It has stuck, become a part of me, inexplicable and completely clear all at once. 

A "Voggy" Day in Kona Town

I got truly lucky for my last day in Kona Town. My friend decided to give me a tour around the west side of the Big Island.  We started with coffee plantations, local farmers markets, ancient royal grounds, and local breweries.  On this day, the "vog" or volcanic smog created an interesting haze over the island, as is characteristic.

We walked from her apartment after snacking on our assortment of tropical fruits and goodies we had collected from the day down to the beach across the street for a pre-sunset snorkel.  The beach is well-known for being the starting point of the Iron Man competition, but on this particular evening, the only people there were locals.

On shore, after an active snorkel in the Kailua Bay (boasting some of the most pristine water I have ever seen),  I climbed out of the ocean, placed my snorkel gear next to me, and dangled my legs over the seawall for one of my favorite activities: people watching.  

A group of local boys played in the sand, burying one another and then running away from the one submerged friend. Groups of families argued back in forth exchanging plenty of colorful words.  The crashing waves continued to hit my legs and I looked up at the ridge line toward the snow-capped volcano, Mauna Kea as the sky turned a hazy purple and pink.  

My friend showed me some of the hula moves she had been learning in her classes, and we swayed our hips and swirled our hands to celebrate the sunset in the best way we knew how.

On the ocean, we watched Humpback Whales surface and knew that Sperm Whales were asleep just below the surface. Such an overwhelming sight for the senses, I was a bit taken aback.  There were moments of the day that did not even feel real, yet as a great contradiction, I felt quite at home.

To feel stressed out in Kona seemed an impossibility. To me, that would just mean that quite frankly, one had missed the point of the aloha spirit. 

Good Morning Columbia

The light is a dark grey and blue hue now, but the salmon fisherman are in their boats, anticipating the catch of the day.  The Columbia River is as pristine and calm as ever. As we motor past them on our large boat, my lazy elbows catch the window sill to try and grasp the view in my mind forever. In the quiet of the morning, the smell of the coffee and the hum of the engine are the only things in my mind.

Some guests begin to saunter into the lounge.  I straighten my uniform up and smile a genuine, but tired smile.  I used to despise mornings.  But the moments before the sun rise are my favorite as of late. 

After I check on the coffee, I prepare some for myself and overhear a conversation just a few feet away.  The two ladies talking were complete strangers before, turned friends after just a few days aboard. Giggling loudly, then crying, they both speak of their recent trials with cancer. Holding hands, they begin to laugh aloud after what I assumed to be an inside joke.  Just then, I move toward the window to see the first sign of Mount Hood in the distance, snow capped and grand, demanding to be seen.  

The ladies move in next to me by the window. All of us, holding our coffee mugs, mouths widened by the view before us.  One of them looks in my direction and puts her arm around me. She says, "Oh honey, I bet you never tire of this view."  

And she is right. This moment was not so fleeting and it felt so wonderfully shared that made me  so connected in an otherwise jumbled, busy life.

Moments like these should have soundtracks. This one would be a happy one. Columbia River+Coffee+Sunrise=Memories

Irish Goodbyes

I woke up shivering in my room in Germany. I walked over to my radiator to adjust the heat and rubbed my eyes to see my friend Hanna, asleep in the next bed over. She rolled over, laughed and said, "I was too lazy to get up and turn the heat on. Who knew a German winter could be colder than a Swedish one?"

I threw a cover over Hanna's head and said, "Go back to sleep silly, it's only 4am." 

Just a few hours later, the three little girls I looked after were jumping on our beds and shouting, "It's snowing, it's snowing."  Sophia, the middle child, told us that she felt lucky. It snowed on her birthday, just for her, she is convinced.  

Peering out my window, I saw the world, a world over, covered in white. And slowly, I saw it covered in tiny little footprints of the excited neighborhood children.

When Hanna saw that I was awake, she and I moved chairs close to the window.  I shared my blanket so we can both enjoy the view from the warmth of the room.  She nudged to remind me that she needs to leave to go home soon. And by home, I know she meant home for good. This was her last stop before her flight.

That was one of the things that I could never get used to overseas.  Having to know such incredible people in small periods of time.   I became very accustomed to the Irish Goodbye.

But I will always remember the way the snow looked that morning. How the texture of my blanket felt.  How chilly the wood floor was beneath my bare feet.  The details of that day linger with me forever, just like hundreds of other moments.  And every time I see snow now, I always think of Hanna.

I guess people just have a way of sticking with you forever.

Been There, Done That, Have a T-Shirt

I started a goal list when I was seven years old.  I remember being so eager to travel because of my aunt and uncle's life.  His Navy career took he and his family overseas.  My cousin attended high school in Italy and brought back t-shirts for my brother and I that said, "Roma." Since one of us misplaced one, we naturally fought over this t-shirt for years.

I wanted my own foreign experiences and to learn languages.  So my parents encouraged me to start a list of things I wanted from life. I wrote it in my very best cursive with my favorite purple ink pen. My goal list grew year by year, starting out with simple things like..."Drive a boat, learn how to make ice cream, see it snow on Christmas"

I understood from a young age that I would be very busy in my life if I wanted to complete my goals. Today, I take this list out every so often and add to it, cross some things off, and it brings light to how important things were at times to me in my life. Often times it has brought me back to my roots. It is encouraging to be able to take the list out and check some off from time-to-time.

Ultimately, the point of these postings are not just a casual side project. I want to use it as a tool and a reminder of the importance of accomplishing arguably the biggest dream I have on my list...and the best part is that it has been on there since day one when I made the list seventeen years ago.

My major goal on the list still remains the same.  I want to see and hike some of the largest mountains in the world Something has always drawn me to them. Volcanic, glacial, snowy, evergreen. Every mountain just begs me to draw closer.

Why climb?  Mountaineer George Mallory had the answer:

"Because it's there."

Eight-year-old me driving a boat (with my feet of course)

Lessons from an Italian Post Office

I remember handing my meticulously written postcards into the care of the Italian post office in Venice.  I realized that my postcards would very likely never make it to their intended destination, but I put extra stamps on just for good luck's sake.

The woman behind the counter chuckled at me when I asked how long it would take to arrive in the United States and signaled an Italian hand gesture.  Thumb to forehead, she laughed and said to forget about it.  Then, clearly looking starved and parched, she signaled me to a little Osteria around the corner.  Settled into my corner table with my half carafe of Chianti, I drank and watched locals pass the windows as I soaked up the day for all it was.

It was the little intricacies that made me fall in love with every city, town, village, street, restaurant, bar, and most especially, the people of the fantastically colorful country of Italy. Enjoying life could be a variety of meanings. Standing on a street corner sweeping off a your storefront, fixing your mothers car, whistling at every female tourist passing by, sometimes all at the same time.  The Italians really seem to get it. And they do not have to try.

My high-strung mind buzzed. "Will my postcards arrive in time?  What if my purse gets stolen?  Will I find a hotel for the night? Can I catch the train to Florence on Thursday? How much does a water taxi cost?"  My people watching became significant to me when I realized that they, too, were observing me, especially in my clearly worried state.

Here I am, in the middle of one of the oldest, most beautiful and historical cities in the world, worrying and pondering some of life's much less important questions.  I inhaled a deep breath, took my hair down, and merrily poured myself another glass of wine.

Sometimes, I really have to remember the significance that the Italians taught me.  Worrying does not seem to be a part of their culture.  Whatever will be, will be.  The train will be late or may not arrive, but there is always another train.  The food service may not be speedy, but you will eat amazing food for three hours.

I returned to this same Osteria every day. On my last day in town, I decided to extend my time in Venice since the owners of the restaurant offered to take me on a personal tour the next day.  I booked a train for a day later. It arrived on time.  And guess what? The postcards arrived safely to their destination. Two months later.  Ah, Italy :-)

Sometimes life requires patience.  When you have done all you can, hang on to hope in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other.

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