My December

It's sunday night and the soulful sounds of Ed Sheeran fill the living room... Christmas lights twinkling in the corner from the small artificial tree, the first non-real tree I've ever purchased in fact, a corona sits in on the edge of my coffee table next to my propped up feet and I am ready to delve into my second post of this blog.  As I sit here surrounded by the modern conveniences of my Los Angeles apartment, music pouring out of my new bluetooth wireless speaker, my boyfriend singing along while he plays with his new ipad mini it's almost hard to believe that no more than two days ago I was trekking through the countryside of Taiwan and a week before that I was wandering through the land of smiles.  I've realized that traveling is a really surreal experience in this regard. It seems that no matter how much I try to stop and really take in the reality and consciously enjoy every moment and experience abroad, as soon a return home it feels like a dream that almost never happened.  Yet of course, I know...and have hundreds of photos...to prove otherwise.  I'm not sure if everyone experiences this type of wrinkle in time effect or if it's just my brain's interpretation of my travels but it causes me to stop and smell the roses as they say while wandering the street markets or watching the sun set behind distant mountains.  Though regardless of how many times I tell myself to pause and truly experience the moment, once I'm home it all feels like a lovely distant past life.  A life I wish I could capture and live in forever...but until I strike it rich and win the lotto, dreams they will remain.  Yet even dreams can have a profound impact on your life.

They aways say traveling is the best way to gain a new perspective.  I think that is very true, to gain...or rediscover, traveling abroad is something that not enough people take stock in.  Americans are the worst, because most of us will complain that we don't have the means to travel...but really, we just don't make it a priority.  Leaving our job or dreams of a house or family on hold for a few weeks scare us and we'd rather invest in a big screen TV or new phone or car than invest in ourselves and our cultural awareness.  There are people in many countries who would love to travel but truly don't have the means...we have the means, just choose to use them elsewhere.  It's sad really...this vacuum/bubble we live in, it's not the same in Europe where traveling is a way of life, a right of passage even.  Regardless, even I find I end up buying into the American mentality the longer it's been since I've escaped it's boarders.  Just before my trip I could feel myself becoming ungrateful, complacent, and unsatisfied with what I had and where my life was.  I just turned 31 and what did I have to show for it?  I haven't gotten married or started a family, my career was no further than it was four years ago, there's no way I'm even thinking of buying a house, and I hated when people asked me how my life was going because I felt I didn't have much to say.  Perfect timing for a trip, I told myself.

This year's dream consisted of two wonderful weeks in Thailand and one in Taiwan, my Christmas present to myself, the holidays abroad.  My favorite time of year.  Unfortunately, the holidays in Asia are really not the holidays at all, being primarily a buddhist part of the world, hence why the little fake Christmas tree I left my boyfriend still sits proudly in the corner twinkling away.  End of the year, the beginning of 31, a fresh new prospective, an escape before barreling into 2015 full masts and dreams ablaze.  So here I sit...three weeks of adventure behind me, staring the last few days of 2014 square in the eyes seemingly no more ready to face the challenges of the new year as I was a month ago.  But no more dragging my feet...if there's anything I've found it's you're never "ready" to make the necessary changes, until you simply do it.  What I will take from the trip however, is a greater understanding of myself, the way I work, the way I like to travel, what truly excites and inspires me, and how hard I'll fight to make it a constant way of life.  This trip I relaxed on island beaches, let the salt water and sand between my toes, danced barefoot and played with fire, froze my bootie off riding a motorbike up a mountain to see the evening light play off the roofs of a shrine, rediscovered my love of the spanish language (long story), haggled with locals, enjoyed the local street fare, discovered a new country, stayed at 5 star hotels, enjoyed luxurious 10 course dinners, slept in prayer rooms on tatamis, saw old friends, and made new.  In the end I'm left with 5 pairs of jelly shoes, two pairs of cheap sunglasses, two new skirts, twenty pairs of false eyelashes, twenty something face masks, countless cheap bracelets, four necklaces, and two rings, three lanterns made out of old tin cans, tons of little asian cakes and snacks, a cell phone case that resembles a strawberry, a vibrant and permanent piece of art beneath the skin of my forearm, a greatly depleted bank account, hundreds of photographs and a collection of lovely distant memories and knowing myself just a little bit better.  All in all, I think I made out like a bandit.

I suppose it should be more of a culture shock, returning to my somewhat cluttered very american sized apartment full of electronics and carpet, a soft bed and shoes and clothes galore but it's not this time.  Perhaps I've traveled enough now to not be fazed by it...or maybe Taiwan was modernized enough to bridge the gap between Thailand and the US.  What I do know is that I am ready to once again go through my belongings and initiate yet another purge.  If I lived out of a small suitcase for three weeks then surely I don't need two closets worth of clothing.  Also, I realize that I am blessed to live in such a country where my day to day isn't limited to working long hours making just enough to survive.  Yes, I do believe that the simpler life has it's advantages...that if I lived in a country like Thailand I could be happy selling noodle soup on the corner or selling art at the night markets and living a very modest life, but I was lucky enough to be born here, in this first world country to parents who worked hard to give me this very "cushy" in comparison life.  I'm blessed to have the choice to be a "struggling artist" and to work a job that allows me to follow the silver screen dreams as well as pay my bills, and travel abroad.  Yes I was born into a society where we are taught never to be satisfied with simply living life, where we measure success by the amount of materialistic items we posses or power we feel we have, where we work too much and often forget how to enjoy the simpler things, where we are often forgetting to live "in the moment" and are always looking to better ourselves.  It's a rat race till the end and many Americans get stuck in it...but it too has it's advantages.  As long as I don't let myself forget what is truly important, what truly inspires me, the way the sunlight slants through the trees in the morning or the way it illuminates the mountains in the evening.  The feeling of the wind against my face as I speed down a busy street on a motor bike or the excitement and buzz of a night market, and at the same time remember how amazing it is that I can have those memories, live those experiences and follow my dream of being what essentially can be called a giant kid who's job is to play make believe...then...well, then I'm ready for 2015...and I'm starting to realize that I can't loose.

That's why I like writing.  Whether or not you enjoy reading it, well...in the end I guess that's not important.  I'm starting to realize that the best thing about traveling is that it is humbling.  I know I've come to this conclusion before; every time I return from a trip abroad in fact, yet each time I forget...just in time to go abroad again.  I'm humbled and grateful, for I truly live a life of luxury, sure I may not be making 6 figures, and may not have an impressive job that pays my bills, or a loving husband and kids...but I have so much.  I am rich beyond belief.  My worldly possessions are more than I need to live a happy and humble life, and my adventures are more than most of my fellow Americans have experienced, and yes...I love living the life I have, bring it on 2015!  Let's see what adventures await...

Introductions all around

Sitting here sipping my green tea out of my Starbucks Barcelona mug, bacon crackling on the pan behind me in the kitchen filling the apartment with the delicious smell of roasting fat with a million things on my to-do list this lazy fall morning, the clock steadily inching it's way towards afternoon, I can't help to think this is the perfect time to start a new blog. Practical right? But inspiration is never convenient, and always fleeting, so when it comes I've learned to reach out and grab hold of it with both hands and wrestle it to the ground keeping it prisoner for as long as humanly possible.

It's a fall day in Los Angles. The sun is shining and there's a warmth in the air but inside my little one bedroom apartment there's still enough chill from the night for me to be sitting in sweats and a sweater with my sheep skin slippers comfortably sipping on my hot tea. It's fall, and I love it. Another thing that I've noticed is fleeting here in LA, so I'll enjoy every moment of the cool weather and hope it sticks around for a little longer this year. 

I stare at the black keys of my laptop, bold against their silver background and smile. Pandora plays in the background, it's my "Colbie Colet" station...with many different artists and genres mixed in. I've struggled to find an uplifting station on Pandora, so I've made my own, slowly accumulating songs and artists who, for the most part, make me smile and feel warm fuzzies and today is apparently a day for warm fuzzies. I glance back at my mug. Barcelona. The second city I fell in love with. A flood of memories rush back in an instant: the long noisy metro rides, the crowded streets bustling with life, the old stone buildings, the narrow alleys, the hot sticky days and warm nights, dirty feet and no screens on the windows, fanta and jamon. Sangria and life. My 20's. The mug itself isn't from my first over sea exploration, but from a more recent trip my parents made after hearing me go on and on about the city I spent a post college summer in for years. A city where I vowed to return...someday.

The funny thing is Barcelona is not the reason my heart skips a beat when I see fantastic travel photos from gorgeous exotic places around the world. It wasn't the start of my ever growing list of "to see" places tattooed on my heart, nor was it the first place I dreamed of exploring. But it will always be my fabulous first adventure in a long line of adventures. I hear about people being "bitten by the travel bug" after a great trip (my boyfriend being one of those after our trip to Thailand last year)...but me...I truly believe I was born with it. Born with this inexplicable desire to spread my wings and see the world, to break out of the every day monotony and throw caution to the wind, hop on a plane and just LIVE. 

Or maybe it's hereditary. Passed down the generations like a recessive gene, popping out here and there unexpectedly. It wouldn't surprise me, after all I have an aunt who met her partner of more than thirty years backpacking through Europe and who for as long as I remember I've been compared to, quite possibly because of my love to travel.

Either way, I can remember realizing there was more out there I wanted to see, to know really early on. Middle school is when I first started fantasizing about travel. I saved and cataloged every dollar I earned, every birthday gift, every allowance, every babysitting job rolled into a tight little wad of bills hidden in a box of memorabilia in the bottom drawer of my dresser. It was my box of Ireland, and it was my dream to go see the rolling green hills and grey skies for myself. Ireland because I was 1/16th Irish and because of a movie I had seen about two neighboring Irish villages and the rivalry between the children in these villages. I dreamed of living in that movie, of the simple modest living and the imaginary wars. By the time I was in High School my little wad of cash was growing substantial...at least enough to purchase a round trip airfare...but although I was still stashing away the cash out of habit my focus had shifted from dreaming of thick Irish accents and the countryside to homecoming dances and high school boys, my first love, and leaving home for college.

Not to say my hunger for adventure and travel wasn't still present, it was ever evident but in different ways. I chose to transfer to a different High School so I could be exposed to different people than the ones I had grown up with, applied to almost all out of state schools for college, chose to major in International Studies with an initial minor in Spanish (which I later dropped and replaced with a double major in Politics), and was adamant about studying abroad at least once in college which is how I ended up making it to Barcelona...and later, almost moving to Washington DC (city number three I've fallen in love with).

Also, in High School my parents started taking my brother and me on family trips, my mom always using the excuse that this year might be the last chance they get to have us all take a trip together. We went to Jamaica, Ixtapa Mexico, and later when I was in College; island hopping in Hawaii. I think it was the first time my parents really allowed themselves to travel, having started our family so young. I loved every one of those trips, and feel blessed that my mom urged our family to take so many "last family trips" over those years, feeding my appetite for new experiences.

I didn't move to DC after all...and never got that job that required me to travel around the world like I thought I would. Sometimes I wonder who I'd be now if I had followed that dream. I surely wouldn't be sitting here on the West coast planning my second trip to Thailand in as many years starting a blog about having the travel gene...or would I? Perhaps I would have made it to Ireland by now, maybe living as a diplomat in a foreign country, as an activist or reporter hiding behind enemy lines, or maybe just settled down with kids, a husband, and a dog. Who knows what my path may have been like, but here I am. Another early thirties writer in LA starting yet another travel blog, because...why not?

And of course, I still have that box, complete with the wad of rolled up ones and five and the little checkbook with every dollar and where it came from written in it. It's still stashed back at my parents waiting patiently till the day Ireland becomes next on my list, which may be sooner than later. Though now I have quite a bigger box, a box that grows quite a bit faster. A box I suggest everyone have. I'm not a rich girl, I don't have a lot but every time I work put away a little bit, a $20 every shift that I forget I even made. And when I'm feeling antsy, when my feet want to sprint out that door and leave all the day to day behind, when I think I can't take another day of the same thing, when my mind dreams of selling all my worldly possessions and disappearing into the vast world I pull out that box and book a ticket. Some people have a "rainy day fund," I have a "travel fund." 

Here's to the "rainy day travel adventures" with none other than me.