Moving On

Three years ago, almost exactly, I taught a writing lesson to my 2nd/3rd grade class within the context of life goals. As one of my examples, I used my goal of going to Rwanda to see the world's last remaining mountain gorillas. After the lesson, one of my favorite students, Luis, asked me when I was actually planning on going. I told him that it was only an example and that the reality of going half-way around the world to see these animals was just a dream. "But Miss Shea, you said we have the ability to make our goals come true. You have to go. You need to see the gorillas before they're all gone." I brushed off what he said, but for the next couple days I really did think about Luis's words. Then the next week I received a new volunteer in my classroom and soon after introductions, we learned that she had recently returned from seeing the mountain gorillas in Rwanda. Luis shot me a look and I could read his mind: "This is a sign."  So I applied for and received my one-year sabbatical from my teaching job in order to travel with the intention that I'd return as a less stressed, rejuvenated, Spanish-speaking teacher. But instead, I never returned. And these last three years have been the best of my life. Truly the best. But reality is knocking on my door and it's time to move on from all this wandering and get a bit more focused. 

Praying & making an offering
 to Saint Maximon

One of my goals that first year was to go to Guatemala, which didn't actually come to fruition until just recently. My first week in the country was kind of unsettling...The roads were scary and everything was a little less comfortable than in Mexico.  But its charm and quirks slowly grew on me. Life in Guatemala is harder, but it seems more beautiful for some reason. It's full of bright colors, religious processions, natural wonders, chaotic markets, machismo men, indigenous women dressed in traditional clothing, countless street dogs, babies on motorcycles, Mayans who only speak their native language, child vendors, plantains prepared every which way, political and social injustice, "chicken buses", beautiful handmade textiles, litter, coffee farms, volcanoes galore, lots of used clothing from the U.S.A., sacred customs, fruit you've never seen before, and happy people who work harder than you could ever imagine just to barely survive. 

Friday night graduation at PLQ
(I went to 11 of these!)

Quetzaltenango was my home for almost three months. Xela ("shay-la") for short, it's Guatemala's second largest city but one that's often overlooked by tourists.  Xela's not the prettiest town, nor the cleanest, but I liked it.  Maybe because of the influx of Spanish students, it's actually got plenty of cafes with generous pours of cheap red wine to make gringos like me feel right at home. Most importantly, the best Spanish school in all of Guatemala is there. Proyecto Linguistico Quetzalteco (PLQ) has been around for 25 years and unlike most other language schools, the teachers are paid well, receive benefits, and have many years experience. Even more, PLQ is the type of school that makes you realize how little you know about so many important things, like human rights abuses, social injustices of women and indigenous groups, political corruption, and American involvement in some pretty horrific things. I attended one-on-one classes for eleven weeks and loved just about every minute of it.

Our dysfunctional family portrait.
(Mom was taking the pic.)

Everyone says that to learn another language, you should immerse yourself fully by living with a host family. So that's what I did. I stepped WAY outside of my comfort zone and moved into the home of a random Guatemalan family. For my first two weeks in Xela, I lived with a woman who is just a little older than me and her two sons, ages 9 and 13. They all slept in the same bedroom, while I stayed in my own doorless room above them. If I had to describe the experience in one word I would say, uncomfortable. I was suddenly in the personal space of a family I didn't know and hardly understood. It was so weird. We all shared a bathroom...and sometimes the uncle, the niece, or the grandma came over to use the shower too. The bed was hard as a rock.  After my first night's "sleep" in the freezing cold room, I was sure we had quite a few earthquakes throughout the night, but when I asked my family about the "tremblors" they looked at me like I was crazy. Turns out, it was just my room shaking every time a car drove by.  In an anthropological sort of way, I enjoyed the experience...but after those two weeks, I moved into a great little hostel where I had a private bedroom that didn't shake, my own bathroom, and the ability to cook whatever I wanted whenever I wanted...all for $7/night. And ironically, I got more practice speaking Spanish in the hostel than I did with my host family. 

My Guatemalteca mom cooking
something wonderful for me

But I really wanted that "authentic" feeling once more, so for my last three weeks in Xela I lived with Maria Teresa, a traditional, super independent woman who runs a cantina out of the front of her home, has a guard dog named Fido, and blasts marimba music all day.  Fortunately for me, she's an incredible cook who was willing to share many of her recipes with me. I learned as much as I could about la comida tipica and much to her amusement, took pictures of just about every meal she prepared for me. We celebrated Mother's Day together by making a big lasagna (my recipe) and having a special lunch with her closest friends. Since she lost her only child at a young age, this was an especially significant day for her and I was honored to be a part of it. She became the best Guatemalan mom a 38 year old gringa could ever imagine and I can't wait to visit her again.

One can't talk about Guatemala without mentioning its main mode of transportation, the camionetas. Otherwise known as "chicken buses", these privately owned retired school buses from the USA are painted and decorated with religious sayings and images of Jesus Christ and the Virgin Mary (probably as a way to protect them while driving so fast).  They're often so packed that riders must sit three to a seat and stand in the aisle pressed up to one another. The man that collects the money, the "ayudante", doesn't get paid much, but has an incredibly difficult job that often resembles Spiderman. He'll climb over the seats, one foot on each backrest, to collect fares from all the riders. Or he'll climb on top of the bus while it's moving, pulling himself up from the main entrance, only to reappear a few minutes later via the emergency exit in back. Sometimes there are armed robberies on these buses. Sometimes the drivers are murdered because they don't pay their bribes to the local gangs. Sometimes these buses go off the side of a windy mountain road. But usually they are safe and efficient and make for wonderful people watching.

With Maria in her home. 
(She's standing.)

I had to take a few different chicken buses to get to Maria's village. She is just one of many lovely people I met while in Xela, but there's something really special about her that will stick with me forever. Unmarried and without children, her means of supporting herself is selling textiles on the sidewalk outside of PLQ a couple times a week. Although from what I can tell, she usually doesn't sell much. She invited me and another student to her home for what I thought would be a trip to see more of her products, since she can only carry so much each time she makes the 1.5 hour trek to Xela from her village. But as it turned out, she didn't have anything to sell us. It was just a friendly visit to see her home and meet her family. Rest assured, I ended up buying many of her things the following week when I saw her outside the school.

During my entire time in Guatemala (90 days exactly), I had constant mild anxiety about my forthcoming need to make money. The necessity for a job was constantly on the horizon. Not just any job, but a job that felt right, a job that was in a Spanish-speaking country so I could continue to improve my language skills, a job that paid a living wage, and a job that was somehow related to education. During the weekends, instead of studying Spanish, I often idled away the hours wasting time on job search sites, which always left me a little more anxious and pessimistic. I applied to a few jobs, but only felt enthusiastic about one.  For the sake of full disclosure, I also applied for this same job last October, but after a lengthy interview process lost the job to a bilingual candidate. My initial disappointment didn't last long because I knew it didn't feel right at that time. It felt forced and rushed and it gave me anxiety. Not getting the job because I wasn't bilingual, though, was the motivation I needed to go improve my Spanish. And that motivation led to an amazing adventure through southern Mexico, parts of Guatemala, and a much greater understanding of the Spanish language. But anyways, they posted that same position again recently. So I reapplied. And guess what? This time I got it! And this time it feels right! After three years away from elementary school teaching, I'll be returning to Guatemala in late August as the fourth grade teacher at  LIFE School, which is located in Panajachel on Lake Atitlan. 

I received the job offer on my last day in the country, which made saying goodbye to the folks in Xela much easier. Although Xela is a very comfortable city in which to live for awhile, I felt like it was the right time to go. It was nice, though, that I could say "nos vemos" instead of adios forever, since Xela is only a two hour chicken bus ride away from the lake.  

Saying goodbye to something that is almost perfect but not quite, whether it's a job, a relationship, a city or whatever, is so difficult because we know that perfection doesn't exist. But there's a fine line between accepting a situation with its flaws and settling for something that doesn't feel right. With all its problems and craziness, Guatemala still feels right to me and I'm beyond excited to move there in August for this job. I'm excited to actually live someplace for longer than a few months. And I'm excited for the next chapter of my life, whatever it may hold. Even though I'm a little nervous about returning to the classroom and relocating to Panajachel (a city I've never visited), I know I'll be happy because if there's one thing I've learned for certain over the last three years it's that I can be happy anywhere (or unhappy). It's totally up to me. 

I've also learned that my intuition is pretty amazing. If I continue to trust it, I think everything will continue to fall into place for me. And if it doesn't, I know that I'm in control of making the change I need to create peace and happiness in my life. It's really that simple. Three years ago when I made that difficult decision to leave my dream job, I trusted in my gut.  Too many of us stay stuck in situations that don't feel quite right, but I was very lucky to have met Luis and the many others who helped me with the courage I needed to leave my comfort zone and live my life differently. Hopefully that's how I'll continue to live from this point on. 

This was my last blog entry. Mostly because I'm feeling a bit oversaturated with blogs and conversations about traveling, adventuring and soul searching. Also because I am so over writing about myself, at least publicly.  It's time to move on, in more ways than one. 

Lake Atitlan, my future home

Searching for Authenticity in Southern Mexico

Maize: the staple of Mexican cuisine

I love Mexico. I love food. And I especially love Mexican food. Growing up so close to the border, it's always been a part of my life and it's usually what I miss most when I travel abroad (or to Massachusetts). Not surpringly, food has been the main focus of my trip so far as I've travelled through new areas of Mexico. Nothing fancy, just lots of budget-friendly food that's as regionally authentic as possible.

Late night tacos al pastor in DF

Mexico City has everything. Finding it, though, is the trick.  The easiest (and cheapest) way to fill your belly with good food while in DF is to find the street vendors with the most clientele. In doing so, I ate freshly made blue corn tortilla quesadillas filled with huitlacoche (a delicious corn fungus) and cheese, tortas that were near perfection, and of course...tacos al pastor.  



perfect carnitas tacos

Heart - Snout - Brain tacos, anyone??

In the city's mercados, with countless food stalls that are run like mini restaurants,  I found my favorite foods of the trip.  The most memorable was a crazy carnitas stall named "Carnitas Paty" where they use every part of the pig for tacos. We had front row seats for the chopping block and I was amazed by how many people will voluntarily eat heart/lung/snout tacos.  Tepache, a delicious drink made of fermented pineapple, seemed to be the drink of choice there.

Also inside the Jamaica Mercado, known mostly for all its fresh flowers and floral arrangements, I had my first (but hopefuly not last) huarache. Dished with a side of grilled cebollitas, nopales and avocado, it's a large mound of masa flattened out, shaped into the same size as the sandal with the same name, and stuffed with beans before being fried and topped with salsa verde, meat and cheese. I loved it. I guess there are lots of variations and even though they originate in Mexico City, rumor has it that you can get some pretty good huaraches stateside these days. 
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The main reason I went to Puebla was to try authentic mole poblano, the pride of this town, which is also famous for the Battle of Puebla (the reason we celebrate Cinco de Mayo). I sought out many reviews and finally decided on a proper restaurant that would provide me with the meal I had been dreaming of for weeks. As we all know, though, when one's expectations are too high, one is often disappointed. It was too sweet and quite honestly, not very good. So now I am totally and completly over my mole poblano obsession..and sticking with street food and market stalls for authentic food experiences.

A surprising find in Puebla, though, was a rich raisin liquor called "pasita" that was reminicsent of something one would find in the countryside of Italy. It was served with a cube of goat cheese on a toothpick, topped off with a raisin, by a man who looked liked he'd been making this stuff for about fifty years.
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My tastebuds were on high alert entering Oaxaca since so many people claim that it's the food capital of Mexico.  Perhaps once again my expectations were too high! (When will I learn?)

The people of Oaxaca are crazy over tlayudas. The Mexican version of a pizza, it's basically a large flour tortilla crisped over flames or coals and topped with a smear of asiento (lard), refried beans, strands of quesillo, some lettuce, avocado, slices of tomato, and choice of meat, such as tasajo. They're tasty, but I don't get what all they hype is about.  I also had my first memela, which is basically a tostada, but with a freshly cooked crispy tortilla. I think that's the only difference. Pre-cooked tortilla vs. freshly cooked? 
 

Drinking tejate and
remembering my past life 
as a Zapotec princess.

 Tejate, on the other hand, made my tastebuds jump for joy! Once the drink of choice by Zapotec royalty, it is now found mostly in the market stalls in and around Oaxaca. The  watery, often sweetened ancient beverage is made from a base of fermented cacao beans, toasted maize and flor de cacao, the last of which forms the fantastic froth that floats on top. I know it doesn't sound delicious...but you've got to just trust me on this one. I don't think you can find it anywhere but here, and since it's now my new favorite thing, I'll obviously need to return to Oaxaca to drink more tejate in the future. 




I tried chapulines, crunchy fried grasshoppers, which are by far the most famous snack food in Oaxaca and come in a variety of sizes (the large ones must be de-legged before swallowing). They're usually beautifully displayed in big baskets by the indigenous women who sell them at markets. Harvest season starts in May and lasts through fall, but I guess you can find them year-round. This little creature is a hugely important part of the cuisine and, like tejate, dates back to pre-columbian times.


I've always wanted to love tamales, but I've never had one that really stood out as something I'd want to eat again. Until Oaxaca. Here, it comes wrapped in banana leaves and the filling usually includes chicken and mole. It's moist and flavorful...and I want another one. 

Tlayudas & Quesadillas

The village of Tlacolula is about a thirty minute bus ride outside of Oaxaca. It's easy to lose oneself in the chaos of its Sunday market, one of the oldest in all of Mesoamerica. Live chickens and turkeys, piles of fruit and vegetables, the sound of Mayan languages, baskets of dried peppers, tejate (yay!), pulque (a fermented drink made from agave), freshly cooked goat barbacoa, grasshopper flavored salt, beautifully carved mangos on a stick, and of course tlayudas galore. 

Natcho is obsessed with Mezcal, a smokey agave-based liquor often compared to tequila, so I accompanied him on many mezcal hunts around the city and in local villages. The highlight of these was at the headquarters for Oaxaca's pulque workers union, where we learned about and tasted varieties ranging from herbal, apple to pechuga (made with a raw chicken breast). 

A comida corrida is an economical way to have a proper lunch, since it includes a soup or salad starter, main course (usually you have a few choices), fruit water, and often a little dessert all at a set price. I tried a few of these in hopes that the comedor would be serving one of Oaxaca's famous moles (there are seven in total). No such luck, though. Finally, on my last day in Oaxaca City, I gave one more comida corrida a try...and miraculously they had exactly what I wanted on the menu of the day: sopa de guia (a traditional squash blossom soup)...and a red mole dish that was delicious.  I left Oaxaca satisfied, even though I still don't quite understand why it's considered the food mecca of Mexico.  But maybe that's because I still have six more moles to try on my next visit.
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Zipolite, the beach town along the Pacific Coast of Oaxaca, is better known for its nudity than its cuisine (unless you count the "magic" cookies made and sold by local hippies).  However, we did manage to find some great fresh fish sandwiches at a hut on the sand, as well as a fantastic whole fish in the neighboring town of Puerto Angel. Mostly, though, we just drank beer. 
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Best comida corrida yet, starting 
off with fresh cream of squash soup!

There's something so ironic about being in Mexico and craving its traditional food, but encountering endless non-Mexican options, like hot dogs, hamburgers, crepes, falafels, pizzas, etc. This assortment of international fast food appears in every town with tourists, but is especially prominent in the center of San Cristobal de las Casas. At first I was a little put off because I've been on such a food stall / cheap comedor kick, but then I started to really warm up to all the food available here. This may or may not have been a result of the food poisoning I got after eating cheap tacos in a random Mexican food eatery, but it happened. Afterward, I realized I can stop being the traveler in search of "authentic food experiences" and instead, just embrace all the choices available to me at any given time. There's an amazing French bakery here, Italian restaurants that make their own pasta, Napoli style pizza, and the falafel place is so good I've been there twice. 

My time here has reminded me of how silly a traveler's search for authentic experiences can be. Regardless of the "locals only" street vendor or the off-the-beaten-path village market one may find, the truth is that travelers are a privileged group.  We're here by choice, with money in our pockets and comfortable shoes on our feet. Here in San Cristobal, while tourists eat their French pastries or sip their slow roasted organic coffee, young Mayan children roam the center begging for money and scraps of food. It's the paradox of the tourist to be wanting and seeking a genuine experience, while constantly being confronted with one's own privilege.

I'm sadly leaving Mexico tomorrow morning, but excited about what I will experience in Guatemala..."authentic" or otherwise. 

Choose Your Own Adventure

Since I've been back from Italy, I've been trying to figure out my next step and basically,...my entire life's purpose. No pressure.

I've had quite a few tentative plans and ideas that seemed great, but then something would happen and the Universe would say, "Ha Ha, fooled ya! Try again." 

Over the last six months, I've gone from thinking I'd get an ordinary job and settle back in San Diego, to almost applying to graduate school, to job hunting in Central America, to making the decision I finally made. It's amazing how a plan can go from feeling completely perfect to feeling completely wrong overnight. Things can change quickly. I've learned, though, that pangs of disappointment are often a precursor for feelings of relief; and how you respond to letdown and change determines your path. 

When I was a preteen my favorite books were those in the Choose Your Own Adventure series....the ones where you face a few options at the end of a section, each of which takes you to various scenarios and more options...and then leads you to one of many possible endings. The reader is completely in control of her own destiny...sort of. There are only so many possibilities, but if you don't like how the story is going you get the recurring opportunity to make a change. Flip to a different page. Take another path. These Choose Your Own Adventure books are how we're all living to some extent.

But sometimes you just don't know which path to take next. I'm assuming we all will feel this way at some point in our lives, right? That crossroads where your life can go in a hundred different ways.  I've written before about my obsession with limitless choices, indecision and possible "signs," all of which contribute to the clutter in one's mind when feeling a bit lost.  This is usually the time when your friends and family tell you to "just follow your gut," like it's the easiest thing in the world to do. Like you hadn't already tried a million times to figure out what your gut is telling you to do next. I guess knowing how to follow your instinct comes naturally for some people; but for others, like me, it's an acquired skill that you get from reflection and "ah ha" moments. It's a constant mind vs. gut game that eventually ends with a huge sigh of relief when we finally feel the "right" choice. It's the not-so-right choices that mess with our minds and make us feel off track.

Without fear of sounding cliche, when we feel lost, we're usually right where we're supposed to be. And I think I've been exactly where I was supposed to be these last six months; doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing.  Being away from family, friends, and familiarity for an extended period of time can make one feel a little off balance.  Surrounding oneself with one's comfort zone is an excellent way to recharge and prepare for the next step. (It just took a bit longer than I had thought.) I assumed the next step for my life would be here in San Diego, but the more I looked and pushed, the less it felt right. Just because I've decided to leave again doesn't mean I don't love it here because I do. Being in San Diego has meant lounging around the house without a care in the world, meeting my grandpa for lunch, connecting with friends, walking around the neighborhood I've known my whole life, watching Masterpiece Theatre with my mom, volunteering with refugees who remind me of how lucky I am to have been born in America, getting to know my one year old niece, becoming friends with my five year old niece, cooking to my heart's desire, and just spending some nice time with my loved ones. I was here during my stepdad's heart surgery and recovery, Thanksgiving, Christmas & New Year's. It's all been so perfect.

When I first made the decision to leave my teaching position in San Diego, the one that I loved dearly, I never really thought about the consequences of not having a solid job with health benefits, a pension plan, or an automatic monthly deposit into my bank account. All I knew was that I had quite a bit of money saved up and that I was sure it was enough. And I was right...my funds got me through four months in Africa, a Spanish program in Mexico, a TEFL course in Florence, and even supplemented my tiny teaching paycheck while I lived in Verona.  That was July of 2010. And now...two and a half years later, my savings account is practically gone and I haven't a clue as to my future financial security...but for some reason I'm not really worried.  I used to be so preoccupied with planning for the future, wondering about the future, stressing about the future...and now I'm much more open to different paths. I know I'll be happy with whichever ones(s) I choose to take...and it's ok that I don't even know which future paths exist. However, you can't sit around waiting for a magical rainbow to open up before your eyes and lead you into your destiny. Sometimes you have to scout possibilities to see if they feel right...you need to have your heart set on something that might not work out...and you need to make decisions that scare you. There's just no way around that one. Fear is the ultimate obstacle to any big, life altering decision that may or may not potentially lead one to their karmic destination.

On January 17th I have a one-way ticket to Mexico City, the starting point of a journey that will end in Quetzaltenango, Guatemala. The need for Spanish fluency keeps recurring in my life and on many recent speaking attempts, I realized that the little Italian I know has hijacked much of my Spanish. Since my number one goal is to improve, I'm heading south of the border to take classes and immerse myself for awhile...and then, who knows! I trust everything will work out and I'm pretty sure I'll meet people along the way who somehow benefit my existence and who might just lead me onto yet another path.

Tick Tock

I'm typing most of this entry from 38,000 feet above the ground...on a flight back to reality. Summer is over. And according to my self-imposed timeline, I'm supposed to have a plan by now...but I don't. I kind of thought that everything would just come together for me, like it always does...There'd be obvious signs and open doors leading me in the right direction. I'd be lying if I said I'm not concerned by my lack of a plan. I'd also be lying if I said this summer is ending the way I had hoped. Sometimes things just don't go as expected. Sometimes making a big decision is too scary when there aren't any signs telling you to make it. And sometimes there are just too many choices.

So the main problem I'm having is that my ideas are all over the place...and my mind gets distracted so easily. (I think I might have ADD.) In a typical morning, I'll be researching jobs in San Diego when I'll get sidetracked by the idea of teaching English abroad again...and then before I know it, I'm searching for jobs in Rwanda or Mexico or Thailand. Sometimes I even apply!  Then I'll go back to my original search, fixate on something that isn't even a good fit for me, and then before I know it...it's time for a nap. Then I'll spend the rest of the day pretending like I won't need a job. Ever. 

Here I am on Lake Tahoe feeling
very worried about my future.  :) 

There's always a dichotomy to the decision making. I'm torn between my grand visions of moving abroad again and the reality of what it would actually entail. I'd love to go back to Africa to teach those who would benefit most from learning English. But then I think about the discomfort, the money, the loneliness, the mosquitoes. Fantasy versus reality. Wanderlust vs. nesting. Spending time exploring vs. spending time with loved ones. 

You've heard the saying that not making a decision is actually making a decision? Well, I think my lack of a plan is actually forcing me to implement my default plan, which is to stay in San Diego. Nesting here feels about 90% right. Mostly because I want to take my cookware collection out of storage; I want to hang up my photos and art; I want to be close to my little nieces and my family; I want to go to dinner with my friends; and after two years of mostly being away, I want to be "home" for awhile. But still, there's a voice in my head that's a little worried that I might make the wrong decision.

My Aunt Rita, our family matriarch,
on her 87th birthday, and my Uncle Jim,
one of the greatest men ever created.

Like I aleady mentioned, I'm currently on a plane (increasing my carbon footprint and drinking cheap wine) back to San Diego. I'm returning from Rhode Island, where I spent the last five days with relatives from my mother's side of the family. We were celebrating the life of my grandma (who we lost one year ago) and the birthday of her younger sister, my Aunt Rita, who just turned 87. When I say I was with my relatives, I'm talking about aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, third cousins, and friends of family members who we've "adopted" into our crazy group. There's the stereotypcial drinking, storytelling and miscommunication you'd expect from a big Irish Catholic family...lots of confusion, but never a dull moment.  As one aunt said, "we put the fun in dysfunctional."  Our gatherings are like a strong medicine, best taken in small doses. I need them for my survival...but an overdose would probably kill me (or at least zap me of ALL my energy). We may be crazy, but at our core we're full of love for one another...and we're all connected by a strong bond and a mutual appreciation for the inspirational matriarchs of the family who have modeled how to truly enjoy life.

Rewinding to how I enjoyed life last month...a distant relative from my father's lineage made the trip of her lifetime (with some coaxing by yours truly) to come visit me in California. Despite being nervous to travel alone to a new country, Tatiana made the solo trip via (scary) JFK Airport and into Los Angeles. Her visit gave me a chance to reciprocate the tour guiding she did for me during my time in her country. Turns out, this also was an opportunity for my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder to return. I had forgotten what a weirdo I am with schedules and planning itineraries. I just wanted everything to be absolutely perfect for her, so Krazy Kristin emerged and micromanaged every single detail of the trip. Poor Tatiana got to see the neurotic side of me while we were together 24/7 for three weeks. I ran a tight program that included many firsts for her and that I think gave her a nice overview of life in Southern California. I tried my best to debunk the Italian myth that American food sucks. And since much of Californian culture is about freedom and non-conformity, I think she discovered that not having rules tied to all parts of daily life can be kind of liberating. (You can eat what you want, when you want, where you want, with whomever you want. Yay!) Here are some of my favorite photos from her time here...

Padres baseball game (thanks Chuck!)

Southern California livin' - Cocktails in the pool

Big Sur - on our way to San Francisco

Newport Beach...Tatiana's last night. (I miss her.)

In the process of being tour guide for Tatiana, I fell in love with my home state and more specifically, my hometown. I guess this is another reason why staying here feels (90%) right. I love the diversity of the city; its proximity to the ocean, mountains, desert, and Mexico; the countless 24 hours/day drive-thru taco shops; and the relaxed San Diego culture. Of course there's also traffic, a high cost of living, and too many shopping malls...but overall, it's pretty awesome. And showing it to someone from another country made me really appreciate it.

Before Tatiana's visit, I was in southeast Alaska visiting Natcho during his brief break from the wilderness. Like most of our reunions, the time was just long enough to reconnect before it was time to separate again. But whether or not we realized it at the time, there was more at stake during this visit. I finally saw the town he calls home in the summertime...the town he's raved about for years. And I liked it, but I definitely felt like a foreigner in a strange land. I could never live in Alaska....or in a super small town...or without plumbing, for that matter. Also, our "see you in a few months" pattern has finally reached its breaking point (with me). Sadly, I'm conditioned to live without him in my day-to-day life and therefore, living without him feels more normal than living with him. For the last nine years (!!!) I've held on to a hope that we'd be able to figure out a way to have a more traditional lifestyle and relationship, but now I don't see a solution...except to accept that there isn't one. 

We've put it into an avian metaphor: I want to build a nest...and so does Natcho, but unfortunately, we're two different types of birds. You see, he's an extreme long distance migratory bird, like the Arctic Tern. Whereas I'm more like the Brown Pelican, which likes hanging out at the beach and only traveling up the coast to see friends or to grab a bite to eat. I don't need to travel for survival. Migratory birds, on the other hand, need to be on the move...or they die. He's tried to convince me otherwise, but I don't believe him...I guess only time will tell.

Wildflower walk in Gustavus

Finally saw a bear on my last day in Haines!

Speaking of time, I have a love hate relationship with it. Maybe everyone does. It's either moving too slowly, like when we're waiting for something to happen; or it's moving too quickly, like when we're wishing for something not to end. Slow time can be fantastic, like when you're savoring something special. But often it's difficult, almost painful...like when you're waiting for a long flight to end, or waiting to see that special someone again, or waiting for a sign from the universe to show you what to do with your life. But in general, I think time is slipping past us without most of even noticing...Until we're on the other end of it, looking back and wondering where it went. 

How we spend our time is an indicator of what's most important to us. Why don't we spend more time with the people who we'll miss most when there isn't any time left? Why do we choose to spend time with people who don't bring out the best in us? Why do so many people (myself included) waste so much time on things that pull them away from productivity? Why do people spend their workdays doing something they don't even enjoy? How we spend our time is how we spend our life. Our one life! 

Hopefully by the next time I write (although maybe this is my last entry):

- I'll have found a job that makes me happy, but doesn't stress me out. 

- I'll be making enough money to live, eat and travel. Living simply. 

- I'll be spending more time with the people I enjoy and love. 

- I'll be using my time in a more productive way to make myself a better person, thus spreading happiness.

Wish me luck!

p.s. Check this out: Timelapse Video of Earth 
(It reminds me of how quickly we're all moving in our little lives while our planet spins and rotates around the Sun.)

Letter to Verona (City of Love)

Dear Verona, 


You probably won't even realize I'm gone, but I want you to know that I'm going to miss you. A lot. Considering our rocky start, this might come as a surprise to you. I won't bring up all the problems we had at the beginning of our relationship, but I think you know as well I as I do that you could have been a little nicer to me. In the end, though, you made up for it. (Thank you.)


Oh, the memories... Remember that time I accidentally crashed my bike into a high-heeled Italian goddess? That was actually kind of funny. Or when Corso Milano started to become my "comfort zone"? (Not so funny.)  I didn't have a place to live, friends to eat with, or a sense of direction in this small city. Thank God that transition period didn't become my Veronese reality. I found an apartment. I made friends. I learned how to get around town without getting lost. I'm still running into pedestrians (and other cyclists), but that can't be helped. 


Speaking of our early days, I actually owe you an apology for my behavior. I'm sorry for judging you, for talking behind your back, and for threatening to not return after the holidays.  In hindsight, I see how ridiculous I was being. (It's not like you even cared if I returned or not. Duh.) 


As you probably know, I chose you so I could become better connected to my distant relatives in Olfino. The plan actually worked better than expected. Not only have my great-grandfather's relatives become my real family, but his birthplace is now my second home. And something even more amazing happened...my countryside acquaintances became my friends for life. They are the truest of true friends, and leaving them is maybe the hardest part of leaving you. 


I was reminded of some valuable lessons while living here: 

• Language is powerful. It can bring people together or it can divide them...and sometimes it can isolate them. But really, you only need eye contact and a smile to connect with another person.
• Take a chance. Don't wait. Time is precious...and it disappears quickly. 
• Open yourself up to new people and things. (This is especially good advice for you, the Capital of Closed People.) 
• Be patient. With everyone. Especially yourself.
• Don't think too much. (A 90 year old man in Cinque Terre kept telling me this.)
• Life is too short to spend time with boring people. Find the interesting ones.
• Wear high heels every once and awhile. Discomfort is part of life. Embrace it.  
• Keep smiling. (Even when you're alone.) 

For many months I didn't understand why you called yourself the "City of Love" because love was the last thing I felt here. But during the last couple months, things started to change. Good thing I'm patient because the real Verona was worth waiting for. I'm leaving here full of love for you and for those I met along the way: my students, my new friends, my colleagues, the produce man, the girl who works at the enoteca downstairs, the security guards at the barracks, that older woman on bus #12 every Thursday at noon, the barista in the cafe across from my school, and even the mean woman next door. All these people, put together, were the puzzle pieces to my little existence here.


A quote by Tennessee Williams that pretty much sums up how I'm feeling: "There is a time for departure even when there's no certain place to go."  The anxiety I feel from not knowing my next steps doesn't mean I'm supposed to stay here (although part of me would love to). Even though I'm sad to leave, it feels right. 


I'm no stranger to goodbyes, but this one is especially bittersweet. How do you say goodbye to people who you care deeply for, but who you'll probably never see again??? I'm pretty much an expert at it. So here's the secret: Pretend like you will. 


Ci vediamo...until we meet again...hopefully soon. 


With Love,
Kristin

Decisions

Life is full of decisions...some small, some big.  While some decisions are obviously life altering, others are secretly life altering. (Did you ever see that movie "Sliding Doors"?) I've always had trouble making decisions. I tend to overthink things, maybe because I'm fearful of having any regret. Even on the smallest level, like at a sandwich shop, it sometimes takes me forever to make up my mind. And then afterward, I'm like, "Damn, I should've gotten it toasted." So on a bigger level, it's often extra hard for me to make a decision. And then it feels impossible when you don't even know what your choices are!  I'm once again at this crossroads where I can go in just about any direction, but nothing feels right. I feel pressure to do something grand, something with passion, something that makes the world a better place...but what?

To add to this confusion in my head, I've really grown to like it here. I'd be quite happy living here longer, but I have this nagging feeling to do something more meaningful with my existence. (Something other than eat gelato, teach English to the privileged, and expand my knowledge of Italian wine.) Should I move back to the States? Find a job; settle down. Move to a different country? Find a purposeful job; create another temporary home. Return to Italy? Eat more gelato. 

Just as I was feeling really unsure about everything, I received a message from the Universe that read like this:

A Universal Rule on Decision Making...

Don't make them, Kristin, until it's time to make them.

Unless you already know what you want, in which case, however, there is no decision to be made.

OK, so decisions don't need to be made until it's time to make them. Got it. If you know what you want, then it's not technically "a decision." Got it. But what if you're like me, for example, and you're 37 years old and need a job after this job and a place to live after this place? Then what? Then I think it's time to make a decision. Or is it???? 

Why did he choose the middle doorway?
Why not the left? Or the right?
They lead to the same place....Or do they?

During the last two months, I've traveled just about every weekend and seen some more of what makes Italy so special. The best part was sharing part of it with my mom and aunts, who were here for ten days last month. 

Me & my mom in Florence!!!!!!!!!!!!! (pinch.)

Then a weekend in Cinque Terre was the best possible way to spend Natcho's last few days in Italy. 

Our hike down to Corniglia, through vineyards and wild flowers

Feeling a bit sad that my loved ones had all left, I realized I have loved ones here too! So Tatiana and I planned a road trip down south to a region I had never even heard of before: Marche. 

It's hard to say which region is the most beautiful, but Marche definitely comes in at the top. 

Despite feeling like I need a grand plan, I'm going to put my soulsearching on the back burner for now. With just five weeks remaining, my main focus is on spending more time with my favorite Italians, both my distant family and my new friends, who I know I'll miss deeply after I leave. And the other focus is to just enjoy each day. Sometimes the biggest decisions we make are to just get out of bed, go outside, be present, smile, experience & enjoy the little moments, and be kind to every single person we encounter. And for me, right now, that's enough.