The 7 lessons I learned during a year spent running from Melancholy: A 2020 Story.

As the clock struck at Midnight on New Year’s Eve a few weeks ago I feel it is safe to say that there was a collective sense of relief, a feeling of hope that arrived with the new year as we left 2020 behind. And I believe we all truly knew that a change in the calendar would not also mean a change in our lives - that when the new year arrived it would not (could not) clear the deck on what has and is happening in the world - but we celebrated anyway. But no matter how well we celebrate or make declarations of leaving the past behind, our lives do not reset at the new year, except for maybe symbolically. And this symbolic action is an important one. This symbol of a new year allows us to feel, for a moment, a sense of significance and it brings with it an opportunity for change. Because while life continues on as it always has when the clock turns over we are none the less handed a fresh year to begin again. A year seemingly untainted by our choices, or lack thereof, - a clean slate. So we carry on with life, but for a moment that life has a renewed sense of hope in the potential of a new year. 

It has taken me several weeks to write down my reflections and thoughts and hopes for this new year.  When I started to write this in December I found that each time I sat down to reflect, I ended up regurgitating onto the page a year’s worth of unprocessed emotions and anxieties that I hadn’t realized were coiled up inside me until I gave them the space they needed to spring into release: my presence and stillness.  For my part, while 2020 certainly had its shimmers of light, 2020 was the year I spent in one of the worst depressions I’ve yet experienced in my life. 

I believe that 2020, more than most years, truly held the human experience - in all its rawness. Because while the joys and tragedies of life continued on, we were forced to experience them in isolation - secluded in our homes, with our thoughts, and forced to reckon with our relationships (to ourselves, our colleagues, our loved ones, our politics) in ways we hadn’t before. 

As I contemplated all of this I realized I could never write well enough or even just ‘enough’ to truly capture all that happened last year in any significant or meaningful way via a simple blog post. So, instead, I asked myself a question: What can I bring from 2020 into 2021 that might allow me to feel and be more joyful? What lessons can I take with me? 

This felt significant because, as we all know by now, 2021 has merely been an extension of 2020 with a new ID. So if I am able to learn from last year, perhaps I can make this one feel better - even if just a little.

So here they are, the 7 lessons I learned in 2020. Lessons I am still learning. Lessons I’m hoping will keep me sane and which might even help me thrive as move forward into 2021.

Lesson 1:  To run from Melancholy

All the other lessons I learned last year stem from this. In fact the rest of the lessons are ways in which I have learned to ‘run’ from melancholy, and not let it consume me.  

Over the course of last year I read a lot of poetry. I started in January, with a book I had been gifted at an estate sale, and continued forward reading as much poetry as I could get my hands on.  Poetry from the new and the old poets. Rumi, Whitman, Oliver, Kaur… The words of these and other poets became my landing place when it felt like everything around me was spiraling. And it was in the Spring, as I was reading a collection of poems from Mary Oliver that a particular verse from her poem Hum Hum stood out to me:

Yet Little by little

I learned to love my life.

Though sometimes I had to run hard - 

especially from melancholy-

not to be held back

I had always believed that I it was required to face melancholy, to face my demons, straight on. That to live a life worthy of anything I must attempt to wrestle my melancholy into the ground, conquer it, obliterate it out of existence. I believed I had to win the fight to live my life, thus trapping me in a constant state of exhaustion and fighting.  It had never occurred to me that I might simply, run. That I could run and just leave it behind, alive but unattached. This epiphany during the spring acted as salve to my wounds while providing me with a course of action.

So I set about the business of learning what it means to run from melancholy. What I did not realize when I began is that as with most endeavors, I had to practice and train if I were to ever build enough stamina to maintain pace, and keep out of reach of my melancholy. 

Being uncertain exactly how a person runs from melancholy I decided to, well, start actually running. And I was terrible at it. At 3/4 of a mile I was out of breath and unable to go on. But I kept running anyway, each day extending my route by another .1 or .2 miles. Hating every second of it until the moment I finished when the pride of having made an effort to move my body through time and space washed over me. By summer a 3 or 4 mile run became less effort and more ease. And my moods, on days I had run, were noticeably lighter.

With this success I then started to explore other things that might bring me joy: reading a book in the heat of the afternoon sunshine, listening to the birds sing each morning, launching my paddle board into the lake from one of the pocket parks near my home, wandering my neighborhood looking for the free little libraries for new books to read, watercolors. I was learning how to run from melancholy by paying attention to all the moments, big and small, in which I caught or created joy.

Of course, melancholy still caught me. More often than I liked and for varying periods of time. But I was still learning, still wobbly. During one such period when I found myself trapped in bed with the weight of what I can only describe as a deep sense of unending emptiness (dramatic, I know, but true), I found solace in the words of another poet - Dickinson:  “Hope is a thing with feathers / that perches in the soul / and sings the tune without the words / and never stops at all…”  Her words helped me find my feet again, giving shape to the most shapeless of things - hope.

Lesson 2:  To do things I enjoy, even if I do them (very) badly

I am not good at being bad at things. I often do not have the patience for mastery, but as it happens I am also a perfectionist. A deadly and terrible combination. This has meant that across my life I have rarely felt the need to try things I do not believe I will win or succeed at, the result of which has meant that a lot of my life has potentially gone un-lived. 

As I experimented with ways in which I might find or create joy in my life, in an effort to run from melancholy, I made a rule that I must pursue all endeavors which peaked my curiosity or sparked a sense of joy - no matter what. 

So over the summer I purchased a set of watercolors and discovered I could spend hours happily painting, simply moving the brush across the page.  I painted landscapes - badly. I painted sunsets - badly. I would sometimes just splash color across the page. My effort was akin to a toddler being gifted paints and a page.  But what I discovered was that by allowing myself to do a thing badly I actually, accidentally, got better at it. I can now paint a leaf or a flower with great detail to the point that I feel proud of my water color foliage, no longer toddler-esque. The same became true with running (see above), guitar, yoga… I was enjoying these activities, despite how bad I was at them,  and letting my joy - not the pressure of betterment - lead me through them.  

Lesson 3:  To get outside, every single day. 

This is by far the easiest lesson to follow, with the greatest return on investment. This is also the easiest lesson to let slip and forget, especially under lockdown. 

I’ve discovered that when I am in a fog, unfocused, irritable or stressed, a walk outside is a cure all. And yet still I find I can get to the end of the day having not left the house (in winter, sometimes for several days straight). When we don’t go outside I think there is a stagnancy which builds up inside of us - for me it feel as if I am going stale alongside the air trapped at home around me.  This is a truth I will stand by: bodies and brains must be aired out. Get outside. 

But the truth is getting outside goes beyond the circulation of fresh air and hits - if you let it - even deeper, but only if you take the time to pay attention and actually notice your surroundings.  Each flower, brick and human is a tiny miracle. I’ve seen the most astonishing things while on my walks, the littlest, tiniest things that became sparks of light and joy I could hold onto: The sparkle of moonlight on the water, a puppy learning to swim, the smell of freesia on a warm summer day, a couple drinking wine on their patio talking with friends, snow falling…  It’s easy to find joy, and miracles surround us every moment of every day, you only need to pay attention to it.  Getting outside helps. 

Lesson 4: To ask for help 

I think this is a hard thing to do for a lot of people. 

This year I realized that the reason I don’t ask for help is usually one of two things: 

• I don’t want to be seen as incompetent or naive

• I fear I don’t posses anything sufficient or of enough value to give back in return for their help or kindness. 

So I don’t ask.

But this year, by accident and in a few big ways, I asked for help. And to my surprise help was given, without expectation or need of reciprocity. All I had to offer in return for this help was my ongoing friendship or, occasionally, beers and pizza. 

And because I asked for help I now have a better understanding and more control over my personal finances. I feel more confident with the language of 401ks and IRAs and ETFs. Something I would have been too afraid of to ever approach on my own. 

When my anxiety left my in a crumpled tangled mess of tears and fears on the floor of my closet I was offered help. I was also encouraged, gently, to seek help. Assured I did not need to feel these feelings in isolation that I might be loved and lovable anyway. That I had people who wanted to help. But I had to ask for it, and I had to allow it. 

What I’ve learned is that asking for help is not a form of incompetence, that it is actually a power move. This is hard to let sink in, and if I’m hones a lesson I still struggle with and am working on. But the help I’ve been given this year has empowered me and shown me that I do not need to knuckle down and do things on my own.  Asking for help has got me places faster and easier than if I’d tried to get through alone.

Lesson 5:  Get rid of To-Do lists

I have decided to give up on to do lists. 

This has been nothing short of absolutely fucking transformative. 

I am a list-er. Compulsively so. I will even add my leisure time to do lists: “to do - sleep”. Meaning that every moment of every day begins to feel like a chore. These lists, without fail, always become too long, bleeding into things that could not possibly happen in a single day and ultimately leave me so overwhelmed that I either panic and do nothing at all, OR, my day becomes so tightly scheduled that there is no room for joy or imagination. All of which inevitably leads to disappointment in myself and a Costco sized pack of anxiety left on my doorstep. 

So during the week between Christmas and New Year, possessed of a rare sense of self awareness, I decided to give up on lists all together.  More as an act of desperation than as any type of New Year resolution. 

I vowed to myself to only do each day what I either wanted to do or those things which absolutely had to be done that day. No more life dictating lists telling me what could or should be done. 

As a result a magical thing happened: my days started to flow. They felt natural and unforced. With no agenda I was free to imagine what my day might look like, what I might choose to do with it. I started writing again, I did dishes and chores without the begrudging hate I usually felt at having to do them. Life felt smooth. And at the end of each day, I felt accomplished.

The last several weeks of this experiment has yielded a much less anxious person. And also, ironically, a more productive one. Whereas living by the list left me leaving each day feeling angry at myself for not accomplishing it all, not having a list has actually meant that the priority things - the true priority things - actually get done, and I leave each day (well, most days) with a sense of satisfaction for having lived it. 

In lieu of lists I have developed weekly goals - never more than three. They are not on my daily agenda, they are simply three things I want to be sure to do. Perhaps I’ll write more about these at another point, but I’ll be damned if I ever make another to do list again. 

Lesson 6: To just DO something. anything. 

This one is simple, but can be incredibly challenging, and sometimes takes incredible courage.

In my darkest moments, when melancholy catches me and I am completely engulfed by fear and the dark emptiness, doing anything - getting out of bed, sending an email - can feel like moving a mountain. As if you are running straight up a hill with a boulder on your back. This immobility is a spell which can only be broken by doing something, anything. Throwing off the covers, sitting up in bed, doing a single dish, brushing your teeth, watering a plant… by doing something momentum builds and you are able to do more. And doing more may only mean that you were not in bed all day, but it is a start. It grows from there. 

Lesson 7: To Write 

There are two things in my life that are air for my being (my soul, if you like) and these are; exploring new places and writing. Without them I suffocate, shrivel, become less me.

Since we move to Seattle in January of 2019 I have not written (and finished) a single piece of writing outside of my journal. This piece here will be my very first. And it was not until I read “If you want to write” by Brenda Ueland this summer that connected the downward spiral my mental health has been on since we left New York to my lack of writing. In her book Brenda says that writing is a healing of the body and soul - that when you are sick you should write and watch the illness leave you. I think, on a very profound and real level, that Brenda is right. And not just about writing, but about whatever creative pursuit drives you. 

In November I began writing again. And what I have noticed (so far) is that even after a bad day of writing or a day where very little is written at all, I still feel as if I have been injected with happy drugs. I feel lighter - physically, mentally. I breathe easier. Writing is my oxygen. Without writing the thoughts swirling around my brain become tumorous, a cancer of thought, making me sick. As I write it is as if this tumor untangles itself. It is a medicine for the soul, a detox for the mind, a breath for my lungs. 

A note on Courage: 

I do not think I have fully understood what it means to like a life with courage until this year. And that is not to say that I have been living courageously - the opposite, actually. I have been living in fear, but I would like to spend more of my time in courage. 

Yes, I have read all of the Brene Brown’s books about courage and vulnerability. But I realized this year that I have never actually - fully - understood them. However after this year I know that I no longer want to be afraid of my own life - I want to choose my life, not let it simply happen. So maybe that is what courage is: choosing. 

And the reason I bring up courage is because I think the 7 lessons above can be wrapped up into this single word. That I must run from melancholy and to do so requires courage.  Courage to do a thing badly, courage to get outside, courage to ask for help, courage to get rid of to do lists, courage to do - anything so as to keep moving forward, and courage to write. 

These lessons have empowered me, they have become tools to help me live well.  I feel I have more agency over my life (and a better sense of my own anxiety) and I hope this continues, and I also hope that maybe - if you need them - these lessons might help you too. 

A second year in New York City

Originally published June 2014

This is my second summer in this vibrant city.

And New York is much the same. Same in its fluidity, same in its noise.

In the city that constantly changes the one constant is that the city beats on. Nothing stops it, nothing defeats it and you either march along side her, trying to keep up, or get trampled. It seems that the people who win in New York City are either those who can  afford to keep up with its beat - throwing money at problems -  or are strong enough to create their own rhythm and courageous enough to defy the unending push to be more, try more, do more...

Most of my time in this city feels as if it was, is, all a dream. As if it is not happening or was never supposed to. As if New York is not my reality.... and because of this, all the things I do and experiences I have seem as though they never actually happened.

Since this time last year, I have been to London five times, France twice, Russia, Spokane, Alabama, Rhode Island, California, Chicago, St. Louis, Boston (too many times to count), Florida, Canada and Costa Rica... and as soon as I landed began planning the next round...

But perhaps that is why New York feels less like a reality. In a year I only spend about half my time here, half my time wondering. I read somewhere that loneliness is the destiny of the wonderer. I imagine that is true.

When I first moved to the city it felt like love at first sight. I found community, friends, and I was fascinated by everything. It was all exciting. I lived like a tourist daily. New experiences, new food, new neighborhoods....

And yet, a year in, I still I feel as if I still don't know this city  - and I certainly feel unknown by it.

It is difficult to strike a balance in NYC and I don't know if I ever will. And I don't know if routine is something I should strive for or if I should simply enjoy the ride, figuring it out as I go along... the way I have always done throughout my life in a series of blind leaps of faith. Sometimes I feel like I am still falling, or still driving towards and unknown destination along sometimes bumpy, and rarely, smooth roads. Great time, good times, bad times and awkward ones.

When I was in Costa Rica I learned to surf from a man named 'Peace'. It was actually Alex, but few in the small town of Puerto Viejo new his first name and he was widely known as 'Peace'. When teaching me, at one point he said, "I live my life the way I surf, I feel the Ocean and take it as it comes." Perhaps living like a surfer is the key to life, the key to New York life. And perhaps there is more to surfing than tanned bodies and blonde minds.

Over a year in New York and I still feel like a toddler on this big kids playground, this urban jungle.

In a year, here are the things I've learned:

Its useless.

I don't know what i've learned.

This city is mad. That is what I've learned.

But against my better judgement and despite an intense hatred for a lot of what happens here... I love New York. I love it. It has ruined me for living anywhere else. I can fool myself that I desire quiet surfing towns on the Caribbean, or the slower pace of life on the West Coast, but everywhere else I go feels like too small a town. Everywhere I go feels less ambitious, everywhere I go feels like it has been left behind or hasn't quite caught up. The city has become my blinders.

And while, despite everything and knowing that I won't be here forever - I don't know how long - I feel caught in this love-hate relationship. Like a bad marriage, no, more like an arranged one. Love may eventually be the prime emotion. But I didn't choose this city, it was chosen for me and my life here is a determination in learning to love it and remembering, no, realizing it's greatness and enjoying all the things that make it so wonderful, so addicting.

More than that, living here is a lesson in self discipline. Because anything is possible and because you can come here to do or become anything - a success, or worse than it's opposite - you have to learn to be the master of your own desires in this city. It is as carnal - more so - than it is cerebral. The now is often more powerful an emotion than the next and so one must always be on their guard, always sure to keep an eye to the future and not let this city bleed you - take your money and your self-esteem. And until you can master it, this city is more like a drug than an antidote.

But the apartment jazz parties, 5am drinking sessions, galas, art openings, movies in the park, overly enthusiastic exercise instructors; the talent, drive, ambition; and the consistent openness and execution of the new, the exciting and the dramatic make it a place hard to leave. All these make New York City one of the most unique places in the world. A place so many people want to be, desire to be.

And here I still am.

That one time, on the subway

(First written January 10th 2015)

People aren't born crazy.  At least, I like to believe they are not.

There are some moments you never forget.  For this one, I was on the subway (where many New York 'moments' occur, I'm sure). I can no longer tell you where I was going or what brought me to take the subway this week. Perhaps work? Friends? It really doesn't matter. It was rush hour and we (the mass of humans with an agenda) all pushed our way into the car.

As I made space for myself and my belongings, typical New York noises carried on in the background:

"...and then she was like -- and I was like --... I mean who does that?..."

"REALLY?!?! REALLY!??! - get the hell out of my way! Oh, now you're going to trip me?! Huh!?! NICE ONE!..."

...music plays from someones small headphones for the entire care to hear...

...The smell of marijuana takes over the entire subway car when a single individual steps on...

And as I kept shuffling, I moved towards the back of the car where there appeared to be space. I get settled, with room to spare, for only one hot second when - all of a sudden - my entire body is thrown forward into the laps of those sitting down in front of me.  Shock.  Wait what? Had I really just been SHOVED AND KICKED in the back??

Yup. I had.

"GET YOUR ASS OUT OF MY WAY! DON'T F**KING COME NEAR ME!" and elderly, disheveled, dirty, woman sitting down and surrounded by trash bags screams at me.

I go from initially fuming to slightly freaked out, but, with my brain automatically assessing this woman as crazy, I try my best at using the politeness my parents taught me (and in hopes of placating her?), say "Sorry" while quickly shuffling a little further away - or as far away as I can possibly get in the subway at rush hour.

To no avail.

She continued to scream  - scream - expletives at me and curse the very core of my being for a solid minute as the train sped towards its next stop.

I'm not gonna lie, I was hurt. Both emotionally and physically. But then, something else came over me - the more powerful emotion of deep sadness and sorrow - on her behalf. She wasn't born this way. The intention of her life was never to become the crazy lady on the subway who assaults people. I began to wonder how God saw her - how would he treat her? What would he do? What could I do? What could I do that wouldn't involve me getting kicked again?

People aren't born crazy. I think that is why I find it so sad - no, frustrating (in an angry at society, type of frustrating way) when I see people so deeply broken in New York.  But then again, I'm part of this broken society. I'm part of what propels people into this state.

This has been weighing on me since it happened. I may not be able to help that woman. I may never even come across her again. But what can I do in my everyday interactions with people - those I know and those I don't - to show care and concern and love and kindness... so that they, we, anyone doesn't end up in they type of broken state that none of us were created for?  

I have a few 'goals' this new year. But the one I keep circling back to is relational. It is to be people focused. To build key relationships in my life. Sharing life with others. Showing kindness to others and making this year one about putting others first.  I'll fail many times.  I'm sure I will because the truth is that I am a selfish being constantly at odds with herself trying to be better. But my idealist hope and prayer is that the Kingdom Comes and that no one be so bereft of friendship or kindness that they lose hope and turn inwards on themselves, ending up in a lonely and broken state.  I don't want to be part of the 'breaking' of people anymore. I want to be part of the healing.

Saying goodbye to London

(Orginally published July 2014)

Its a strange thing, to leave home. Its even stranger when the home is an adopted one. In leaving London I felt/feel as if I’ve lost a part of myself, while simultaneously feeling ridiculous for feeling this way (lots of feelings happening here) because the truth is – London, the UK, never really was my home. I’m an American. I should feel most comfortable here, among peers who understand my culture and accent. However, I am an American who has always felt more at home anywhere but here.

I still remember the first time I went to the UK and my immediate love for it. It was the first time, at the age of 16 I'd ever travelled internationally and almost immediately it was as if I had arrived home – rather than leaving it. I had entered my comfort zone. 

There have been a few articles bouncing around my social feed lately about ‘what it feels like to leave london’. I associate with them, I agree with them, and it is only upon seeing these and watching/hearing about other friends leaving that city that I realized, finally - after a year and a half - that I’ve done the same thing. I left London. London is in my past. Although my gut reaction when anyone asks me where I am from is to say 'London', that is no longer true (and really never has been). And that is heartbreaking.  It is with great effort that the words 'Washington. State.' form on my lips when approached with this question.

London may yet still be in my future – I hope so – because the thought of London being something that I did when I was young, an anecdote that I tell my children or future friends feels foreign, seem strange, not right.  My mind can't shake the fact that I am a Londoner even if my reality is long past this.  

This city on the other hand. New York. Few I know who leave it then long for it back. Stories here are of burnout, of maturity. Of too much, too fast and now ready for a change . New York is a beast. Some people take pride in surviving it. Some, I’m sure would even say they are thriving on it. But it seems, to me, something  instead to be managed for a time. A stepping stone, akin to getting a college degree. The city is fun while it it lasts and then we move on. New York becomes the thing you check off your list, something you conquer and then leave in pursuit of a quite, more manageable, more quality life. Of course, it could just be me. There is a lot of back and forth, a lot of love and hate with any big city. And I’ve had no shortage of great moments in New York nor miserable ones in London. But I’ve never felt a longing for a place (or even person) as much as I have for London.

This blog is no stranger to it – I imagine most are so used to my posts on this topic since I’ve left the UK that I’ve lost many a follower. I even considered not putting this post up. Keeping it personal, private, simply using it as a means to put my thoughts to paper and release them from my ever spinning, thinking mind. And then, almost simultaneously, I decided to post it and that this would be the last of its kind. It would be the last comparison, the last public longing for a place I have willingly left behind. I’ve made my bed, so I will live in it. New York is not bad a place to choose. I will keep my longing to my journal – where such things belong. And instead, take a stab at positive reinforcement. Blogging about the things, the times, the moments that make this city interesting and keep us all intrigued –whether for good or bad. Even those who hate the city or don’t understand it are intrigued as to the ‘why’. Why we bother. So its time to explore and find the answer to this, the 'Why'.

So here we go. Lets start again. Next Post coming soon.

Hello September, I've missed you

(First Written September 2014)

I hesitate to write these words as I know that in a short amount of time I may soon regret them. I will be eating them, so to speak. 

It's autumn - or, almost autumn - and to be frank, I'm ready for it. I'm ready for cooler days, the sweaters, trousers, boots and many layers. I'm looking forward to changing leaves and rainy afternoons. Days spent in cozy cafes watching the world go by. 

I'm ready for indoor activities - museums, listening to jazz in basement bars, brickwork, candle light and warm, comforting food. I'm ready for apple and pumpkin everything; I'm ready for afternoons spent baking and just generally reflecting on the year that has been so far. 

September is when, while the earth is dying - or going to sleep rather - I awaken. It is a time when I re-energize and re-direct my priorities; examining how far I've come and where I would like to venture next. 

September is like a pressure release valve as the days darken and daily routines begin again. No more long lists of to do items to tick off while the sun is out and weather good. No more summer guilt on sunny days when all I want to do is watch a movie or hide inside in the cool and dark of my apartment. No more forcing myself outside in 100% humidity and pretending to be happy. No more body guilt or bikini fears. In September I can breathe easily again, autumn has arrived.

Autumn is my time. I've always felt this way. As if God made autumn just for me. Knowing that without the autumn, without the cooling days and cooling social calendar I would go mad. As if He knew that the burnt colors of the season refresh and inspire me more than the purples and greens of any summer day. Comfort and calm in the colors of the Autumn. 

Yes, school starts up and the office reignites as people return from summer holidays, deadlines loom and the end of financial year is scarily in sight. But there is a focus that the rain and the changing leaves bring. And while we live in the knowledge that winter is coming - a scary fact we chose to ignore in the moment - the autumn does not leave the same sense of compression, the trapped feeling that comes with the cold and the snow. And so we enjoy it for now. Watching the world change before our eyes. Perhaps I've lived too long in the rainy and mild weather of the United Kingdom. But regardless, I am ready. 

Today I baked. Well, I stress baked today. As a distraction from work, from writers block, when I turned up the oven and grabbed the butter I have never been so thankful for clouds and rain. There is something in the methodical stirring, pouring, sifting and perfect timing of pulling brownies out of the oven that I find therapeutic. Little else can focus and calm me like baking.

It felt wonderful. Like saying hello to an old friend. If I am counting right, today is the third, no fourth, time I've baked since living in New York. That is 4 times in 16 months. If that were a batting average, I'd already be kicked off the team. 

So, on reflection, I'd like to keep things simple this autumn. Forget the lists or the check ins with resolutions for 2014, my goal for the rest of this year is this -  bake more. Take the time, have the patience and bake. And then maybe, perhaps, all the other chaos will fall into place. So long as I just take the time to cream the butter with the sugar, crack the eggs, sift the flour and pre-heat the oven. 

Chile & Argentina

(originally published in 2014)

There are so many, many things to say. So many, many angles to take; so many ways to tell the story of my recent adventure through Chile and Argentina... I'm not quite sure where to begin.

This trip was rife with expectation - I was expecting it to fix my life.

I was expecting this trip to bring me clarity. To provide answers to all the questions that had been swirling around my head about work and relationships. To give me healthy habits back. To show me the value of time, of relaxation, of taking it easy. I expected to come back having found grace for my crazy landlord. This trip was going to sort me out.

This trip also worried the hell out of me. I legitimately thought I was going to die. That my plane would fall out of the sky, I would be hit by a car in a freak accident, I'd fall off the edge of a cliff, or that some dormant, terminal, disease would rear its head and appear in my body at just the point I was in the most remote parts of Chile. I was so worried that I purchased all the different travel insurances, looked up what happens to the possessions of 28 year old women without wills upon death. I connected my emergency contacts to each other - brought together lines of communications in case the worst happened.  I have no explanation for why I felt this way - it is certainly not a type of anxiety I had ever felt before regarding travel, but from the moment I purchased the ticket, I thought I was going to die.

Spoiler alert - I didn't die and this trip didn't fix my life.

My life is still as messy as ever. I still go to Starbucks and order a latte with a piece of pumpkin loaf and feel guilty about it on multiple levels - from my personal dollars supporting big corporations to consuming all those wonderfully tasty useless calories that will likely give me cancer one day.  I still worry about paying the bills, about the loans. I still have a crazy landlady and very little grace to deal with it. I still, on occasion, drink too much.  Work is still both exciting and boring and I'm starting to believe that there is just nothing one can do about the boring moments... I am still in that 20's state of mind that occasionally has me wonder what is next, if what I am doing is what I am supposed to be doing and if it - any of it - whatever 'it' is - is really worth it.  I still dream about falling in love with a boy and meeting in one of those crazy romantic ways that one only sees in Rom Com movies about the holidays (only to be supremely disappointed with each passing day that this doesn't happen). And I still dream about having one of those 'life-changing' New York moments when you meet someone on the street and they have the power to fulfil your dreams and change your life forever, introducing you to a new passion or pulling a talent out of you you didn't know you had (I probably watch too many movies). I still make stupid mistakes, say things I shouldn't and do mean things to people I love for not very good reasons. I am still a mess.

So, no, this trip didn't fix my life - I am no wiser nor better. But, while on this trip, my attitude toward life changed. And I feel different for it. I feel new.

Amid all of life's noise - the crazy landladies, the little and big things that go wrong on an almost daily basis, the messy relationships and bad decisions, I feel anchored. Something in me has shifted, in a way that feels permanent. In a way that I have never felt before. I can neither fully explain it or even understand where it came from and why it has suddenly appeared. Perhaps it was the wonder of experiencing a new culture or the magnificence of nature's beauty; Perhaps it was weathering the storms of cancelled flights, closed airports, language barriers and things just generally not going as planned - almost never - on our trip.  Perhaps it was conversations I had or tears I cried. Perhaps it wasn't the trip at all. Perhaps this is a moment all 28 year olds have.

Whatever it was, when I landed at New York's La Guardia airport at 9am on a Wednesday morning, for the first time - ever -  since moving to this city (with all the various trips and travel I have done since living in the city),  landing here, in New York, filled me with genuine joy. I wasn't giving myself a pep-talk to 'just get through it', I didn't land looking forward to the next plane that would take me away, I didn't land with regret or with tears in my eyes... I was glad to be back. And more than just glad to be back on American soil, but glad to back in the City specifically - happy to be 'home' and excited to face the adventures and trials that were and are to come.  When I realized how foreign this feeling was, it stopped me in my tracks - literally, I just stopped (and got yelled at by the guy walking behind me...). It stopped me because it was a new feeling, one which surprised me, but one that I liked and because at that moment I knew something was different in me; that something had changed.

I feel a new ownership of life. A new security and confidence in me as a person, in who I am and what I have to offer (however big or little) to those in the world around me. I feel a little more in control - of my moods, my words, my actions - and less as if I am living at the whims of the circumstances around me.

And so, yes, life is still messy. Work can still be boring. I should not have had that final cocktail last night... but, but that is okay because those things don't define me and I am finally starting to realize it.

So how was Chile? Argentina? How was my adventure to South America? It was good. Great even.  And because I am still not above showing off - I will post photos and blog about the things people are probably more interested in hearing about; things such as the majesty of the mountains in Patagonia, the intensity of the sunset in the Chilean desert, the blueness of glacier ice when it has aged thousands of years, the steak, the Malbec, the Chilean hiking guides who thought my companion and I were 'not normal' girls (we think it was a compliment) or when upon learning my name, one guide immediately burst into fits of laughter as if I had just said the most hilarious joke (this one, we think, wasn't a compliment)... those stories too are worth telling. But, for me, the most important story of this trip is the one I've just laid out above.

So, I thought I was going to die. And, in a way, I suppose I did.

Out of the darkness, there came the light

(Originally published March 2014)

This was a dark winter. For both the seasoned and unseasoned New Yorker alike.

"Winter is Coming" was no joke.

If only we had listened and been prepared.

With the Christmas lights gone and glitter from the new year swept away, New York City plunged into a cold, dark winter.

And took me with it.

As one friend put it, "...the second week in January came and punched everyone in the face. It knocked us all out, took us all down..."

The City, which had so inspired and fascinated me 8 months prior - with such wonder and anticipation to write this - was the same city which I grew to despise, and even resent, from the moment I landed in the middle of a snow storm on January 2nd. Into the unending winter.

2014, it seemed, was not the year I had hoped it would be. The light in me began to slowly fade and I began to believe that Aslan would never come, that the white witch would keep the city in her grasp forever. I had eaten the Turkish Delight she offered and resigned myself to unrestful, cold nights; forced friendliness and emptiness. I attempted to find a glimpse of hope and fun and forgetfulness - the way many (of us weak humans) do when faced with such situations - in the emptiness of late nights at bars and cocktails.

I bought vitamins - Vitamin D supplements, specifically - anything to bring a little sunshine in my life.

The despair grew worse.

Life felt like too much. Get up in the morning? No thanks. Do the dishes? You might as well make me run a marathon. Every task felt like moving a mountain. Many outside factors contributed, things that shake your stability and crack the foundations you feel you had, falsely, made. Which didn't help. But the truth remained, very little made me truly happy. Made me truly feel like me. The joy in my life had been sapped and sapped so quickly.

The breaking point came in the form of peanut butter and banana toast. I was in the middle of making - possibly the best snack/meal ever known to man -  when, out of nowhere, on my own, I broke down. Crying. Finally realizing that, despite the deliciousness before me, despite all the other amazing things happening in my life, I was deeply sad. Why? Life is, for me, technically going so, so well at the moment.  I didn't understand. I don't understand. Why don't I feel like me?

But even in laughter the heart may ache.

However, the Ides of March have come and gone. The weather remains cold, but the sun is shining again and springs pushes through on the odd occasion to give us, if only a glimpse, of hope. Aslan has returned after all.

While in my darkest of places I've found the best of friends. I've finally realized that New York carries within it, not only; unique, crazy, strong willed and creative individuals, but also people whom I can call friend -  apparently I hadn't left them all behind in London.

It took me 9 months to show my weaknesses, to hope for acceptance in this crowd of exceptional, but when I broke down and could not longer stand on my own - they held me up. Through my whining and tears, through my cruel words about this City, they kept bringing in light. Showing me the good and the great so that I could handle, in equal measure, the bad.

And so, thanks to lots of prayer and all of these friends, today I began exploring again. Singing joy into every step (literally, singing). I'm still trying to renew my faith in this City and love it again, I'm not quite there yet. But today was a good day. A God day. A first step.

I know I'm not through with New York City yet as there are plenty of stories still to come. And so many anecdotes still to tell  - I have a (legitimately) crazy landlady  -  Warning: this blog may soon become "The Landlady Diaries".  But they are stories nonetheless, stories of life in this mad town. Because, you have to be slightly crazy to live in New York City.

But 8 million of us do it, everyday.

A Practice of Confidence

(Originally published November 2013)

As happens in America  -  or indeed anywhere, but particularly within these 50 States  -  a friend of a friend knows someone who does something or owns something which equals free fun for all of their acquaintances, acquaintances.

Through such a connection - a London connection, surprisingly - I was invited to the grand opening of a French restaurant in New York City, just off of Union Square.

And, as things also happen, it was a last minute invite given on the night of the party itself. A party on the very same evening that I had planned, no decided, to stay in, be responsible and do adult-like things. Things like life organization. Things such as laundry and cleaning and dishes and catching up on the latest episode of New Girl...

So. My decision was between free French food, free wine and a party in New York city orrrrr a mop, Zoe Deschanel and an early night. Touch choice.

What else could I do? I started texting; I started face-booking; I even started calling potential 'dates'. After texting everyone I know, and I mean everyone - to the pont of desperation that I even reached out to people so new in connection they didn't know who was contacting them and even those who were on prescription drugs and gluten free (you know, the typically obvious choice for a party with canapes and alcohol) - no one was available. Nada. I realized I was on my own. I would either need to man up and get comfortable being the girl without a date, or spend the rest of my evening watching other (fake) people live their lives on my television while alone in my room.

So I threw on my fancy shoes (ignoring my healing sprained ankle), put on some red lipstick and, after a quick self pep-talk, strided out the door as if I were Julia Roberts or Taylor Swift or some sort of exotic model living in the city. Tonight, I thought, will be a practice in confidence and a practice in courage.

I walked in to the restaurant and immediately wanted to turn around and run the other direction. There were 'Beautiful' people everywhere. Instead, I clumsily took off my 3 layers of clothing and awkwardly handed them to the hostess. I walked into the room thinking I would get myself one free drink and maybe one of those goat cheese canapes (very yummy looking things) and then leave. I decided I would run away and then compliment the host the next day on what a lovely party it had been and thank them for inviting me.

But, before I could even get to the bar to order my drink, at my left, a tiny and slightly round woman (who, by the time I arrived had already had far too much to drink) looks up at me and almost yells, "ARE YOU RUSSIAN?"

Um. Right. Good Start.

Me: uh, me? uh, what? Am I?  Could you say that again, I think I missed it.

The gentleman next to her apologized on her behalf and asked me my name, politely starting conversation. So for me, the night had officially begun.

However, the small lady would not go away. She ended up being my constant companion the entire evening. After I finally answered her question about my heritage (No, I'm not, sorry) and she learned to remember my name, she promptly introduced me to every good looking man in the room - married or no.

Not that I am complaining, but she made no secret of the reasons she wanted me to meet these men. At one point even interrupting a conversation I was having to ask me/us "Are you two going to get together after this?! Because you should." Awkward.

Me: Whoa! Well, thank you K for that. We'll think about it.

And despite K's inebriation from the word "Go", It was because of her that I had such a wonderful evening. I even met some people without the need of an introduction from her. I also met a boy.

I spent most of my evening sitting at the bar talking travel with a very handsome man in the business of real estate. I thought it was all going so well.  So well, until... Until he told me that when he travels his two requirements, with few exceptions, are beaches and, hallucinogenic drugs.

Drugs.

Right.

Okay.

Have a good night, its time for me to leave now. I've had far too much red wine and not nearly enough canapes.

So my night had ended. It was a great night and I regret none of it. I am so glad I went - a practice in confidence indeed.

I've taken to another practice in confidence now as well. Going to restaurants on my own. Either for happy hour or a late meal after a long day at work. In fact, I am doing so now. Blogging from a happy hour in a West Village restaurant. And apparently... I  have caught someone's attention. I have just received/been delivered some posh turkey sausages as 'compliments of the chef'.

I wish I could say this is the first time a man has sent meat to my table as 'compliments'. Apparently I look like a meat eater because this is, in fact, the third time I have received meatballs, sausages, or meat in some from as a gift.

I'd much prefer red wine.

Send me a drink next time.

But thank you, I appreciate the gesture.

Sunrise on the Brooklyn Bridge: The 4th of July

Originally published July 5, 2013

Life is full of simple pleasures.

• Watching cream slowly cloud and envelop a mug of dark coffee.

• Summer thunderstorms.

• Fireworks.

• Sunrises. Sunrises on the Brooklyn Bridge.

• Movies. Free Movies. Free Movies in a park. Free Movies in a park in the middle of New York City.

Simple pleasures.

Its difficult to imagine  -  but thrilling to discover  -  that even in a place as vibrant, talented, over-worked/under-paid and expensive as New York City, simple - and cheap - pleasures abound.

The weekend America turned 237 years old was FULL of simple pleasures. And it was a pleasure to finally be residing in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave when she celebrated her birthday and independence, for the first time in several years.  

To Celebrate, BBQ's were attended, (Sea)food was eaten, picnics were had, fireworks Watched.

And when all the eating and drinking was finished two friends and I went on a journey across the city.  A journey which ended in one place, with one purpose  -  the Brooklyn Bridge, to watch the sunrise over the East River.

 The city at night is a crazy and wonderful place. Another world emerges. A lot happens between the hours of Midnight and 5am in New York City.

At 2am the streets are still filled with people - old people, young people, tourists, students, New Yorkers, night owls and those re-living their glory days. Time-square is still a buzz and so were we, thanks to some iced coffee and 24 hour Starbucks. God Bless Corporate America.

 At 3am the streets are a little quieter. Those who remain have holed up in a bar, waiting for the lights to come on or find someone to go home with. Others head to an all-night cafe or food truck for a late night meal to cap off their New York night.

 At 4am, its closing time. The bars open their doors and shut off the music. The street is flooded with the night's leftovers. Drunk people, sober people, happy people, sad people, lost people, sick people. The subway receives one last watershed from the night before, just before the movement for the day ahead begins. 

 At 5am the most amazing shift happens.  Almost seamlessly, as if planned or pre-ordained, right as the last of the night hawks disappear to bed, the early-risers  - those with a full day ahead in an office downtown and midtown  -  emerge. They emerge in their running shoes for an early morning workout, or on the streets in stilettos hailing a cab, or on the subway smelling of too much cologne with bags underneath their eyes. At 5am the city is alive and revives itself for another New York Day.

And then. Sunrise.

I lasted until the minute after the sun had risen. And then, my body shut down. The adrenaline that had kept me going all night tapped out. I was literally falling asleep while walking  -  such a strange sensation, to wake up and realize you are walking.

 And then to bed.

 I think it is when you are tired that you are more aware of life's simple pleasures.  It was when I was exhausted by an all-nighter, followed by a next day on 4 hours of sleep that I noticed the cream in the coffee, that I felt the thrill of riding a bike -  of the ride itself, but also the views of the city streets - and the pleasure (and indulgence) of a mid-afternoon nap while the sun is still shining.

A Wanderer's Heart

(Originally published September 2013)

It is not enough to simply wander through a city and feel inspired by its lights, cafes or the dreams of others. Walking through a city is not experiencing it. It is a watered down taste of a place - a flavor, but a weak one. One must actually dive in, take time and space. Think to dream and act to live. Put ideas to pen an then to plan. But it takes the combination dreaming and living, penning and planning. To live is not merely to act, but to do so purposefully. To make the jump from tourist, to traveler.

(I think I wrote that- I found it in a journal recently. I like it.)

Living and Loving. Can someone love a place as they love a person? I have a wanderer's heart. And I am constantly breaking it as I move and travel from place to place. Sometimes I fall in love at first sight, forever holding nostalgia in my heart for a moment in time when I was there. With other places its a deep love, one that builds slowly and the type of love that doesn't easily disappear, but lingers. As a first love does, these cities and places forever hold a piece of me. A piece barried in their streets, the cobblestones, the memories, the parks, the quiet lanes and cemetaries.

Certainly there is more to this love than geographical location, the love stems from experiences, meeting strangers who turn into friends, and the memories made - these places are so much more than a landmark, tourist attraction or an item to check off the bucket list.

As a traveler, cities turn into a lovers, ones that - you hope - will love you back the more you give and live. But as with relationships, the more you give the harder it is to leave. To separate feels like a dagger to the heart, or as if you have been punched repeatedly in the stomach... aren't these the same feelings of love? The same feelings humans, despite previous experiencce, subject themselves to everyday? Everyday in pursuit of love?

But as happens when people move apart or are taken in separate directions - even if for the better - it is the same with places. Leaveing a place, even if headed to bigger an better things, headed for a personal change or challenge which will grow you as a person, is as hard as breaking a relationship or  cutting a tie. Especially, when nothing is wrong, it is simply that fact that 'forever' was not a reality; change must happen.

Change, can be good. It grows you, you learn, you become a stronger person. But change is not easy. It hursts. It rips the roots from under you and to be replanted anew.

I feel this way for London. I said goodbye to the city on my last visit. Not a forever goodbye, I will certainly be back, but our relationship, my relationship to the city, will never quite be the same. The people will change, the experiences will become nostalgia and I will soon be a tourist in a city which was once my own.

I said goodbye, and, for the first time, was able to say out loud what I have been harboring in my heart since March  -  I'm not sure that I will be back. To be honest, I'm not sure I will stay in New York either, but it is what is for now.

And, as I'm about as good at seeing into the future as I am at arts and crafts or math, this could all be a load of crap. But, for the first time, I shed a tear for London. A tear of goodbye. And that I was not expecting (for those new to this blog, crying is not my thing).  The people walking by me as I stood on the Embankment blubbering to myself probably thought I had just been dumped (and they were nearly right - except that it was a city bringing me to tears and not a man). My heart was breaking as I allowed myself to 'break up' with the city I loved, and still love very dearly. I said goodbye knowing I would no longer be able to call it my own, no longer know its secrets, its side streets, it'a restaurants or quiet places. The best parks, pubs or spot to meet friends.

But this break up was necessary. Before I left I was abusing London, I had begun to ignore her, not appreciate her. And, unlike relationships, when, as a person, you grow stagnate with a place it is time for change. Because the truth is a place, a city, cannot love you back. You only get what you put in. A place changes with the tides of the people who ebb and flow on its streets, coming and going as they go through different eras of their life. And to build a relationship, a dependency, on a place is a dangerous thing.

When the only reason I am staying is because I don't want to become the person who 'lived there once', perhaps it is time to leave. I wanted her name (the exoticism to live in London) and not her. Perhaps after a break, after being away I will go running back. Because the truth is that the love is not gone. One week in London and it all comes back. I get into the habit again. But the habit is what I want to break, so it is back to NewYork I head. With an odd mix of excitement and sadness in my heart.

And when the jungle of the streets and buildings of New York - the ones that grow on top of and over each other, as if shooting up from the ground  -  when this begins to feel like home, as it is starting to now, I know I truly do have a wanderers heart -  perhaps I could call anyplace home. And when you can handle New York at her worst - traffic, crowds, long hours and extreme weather - and still harbor a bit of love, then you deserver New York at her best.  You deserve the moments when, through your ridiculously close windows, you see your neighbor - a grown man - playing (practicing?) with a glow in the dark light saber. And all of a sudden a smile flashes across your face. You enjoy the moment while simultaneously taking solace in the knowledge that you are not the only fool or weirdo or person with secret hobbies and ridiculousness that you don't want the world to see. But, then again, you've moved to New York. This city will expose you. Its a city that truly does "turn you inside out".