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.