FUCK fairy tales and your "one true love" fall in love 100 times over. Give yourself repeatedly until there is no more of you to give. Open yourself up to the universe and receive what it gives. Take that blind leap of faith into the unknown - you've known you're known - and where has that brought you? Live for yourself. Quit your job and move to Italy. Quit your job and work your passion. Talk to strangers as if you've known them for years - most of them are not so strange. Tell your kids you love them and they can do whatever they want in the world - because you do, and they can. Give money to a homeless person, but look them in the eye when you do it. You may be surprised what's worth more. Listen to that little, nagging, voice coming from deep within, that is your soul telling you what you want. Regress to your childhood. Throw a tantrum - it's the most natural form of frustration. Laugh it off. There's no point in holding onto something that is not holding on to you. Open yourself up to anything. Money is not a bubble. It will not protect you from death. It will protect you from living. Don't be angry at other people when you are really only angry at yourself. Keep yourself up at night worrying that you are wrong and nothing is connected and we're all just floating. Ask yourself WHAT IS THIS? Tell yourself THE OTHER HALF OF THIS. Be Free. Be You.
}{
the good and the bad
the evil and the vulnerable
we all meet for coffee
on las ramblas
}{
i like walking las ramblas
to blend into existence
it doesn't matter where i am from
or where i am going
i am there
we are here
}{
you know more than you care to let on
turning a cold shoulder to those in the shade
i believe you are as fragile as an uncooked egg
crack.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
how sweet it is to be loved, by me.
what i wonder is why webdings is an option for a font on blogspot. talk about a confusing blog... well, i'll give it my best shot... in letters.
(it's an artistic choice to use all lower case.)
so here we are again. me at my computer, you at yours. a battle of wits... shall we begin?
age is just a number. to all, to some... no matter, we all have one. a number that hangs over us almost like a cheap form of identification. where to start, where to start?? ah, here...
laura, manuele's girlfriend, lives here at the hostel. she is american and she has been here for 10 months (this trip). she teaches english at several schools, has studied abroad at the university of foreigners (i swear to god that's the name of it) here when at university and has her life here with manuele. she also has a life in america, in pennsylvania, family and friends and a job to go back to. upon my arrival she burst into the room and had with her this energy of power, and strength. i was, in fact, in awe and intimidated by this woman. i thought "wow, she has her shit together." she has this really cool life in italy, she has her direction, she has her path. i walked behind her hoping to pick up any scraps of advice or pieces of life's certainty she may be finished with and leave for me to pick dry. we have talked about her decisions to come in life. for instance, should she go to graduate school or stay in italy longer. all these things i have to look forward to, in time.
jump to jen. an australian woman, a nurse, on holiday, paid by the state of australia for 3 months time for her 10 years of dedication as a nurse. travelling throughout the 3 months, she left her mortgage for a trip to europe. a self proclaimed oldest-person-here she set herself aside for the night. when the coversation hit a lull she would spark it up by re-living that "one time she was so wasted and she was dancing on the table tops in turkey, making out with the bartender, having only slept 5 hours in 3 days and so on.." needless to say that story put me to shame, because i have not had a story like that on my own trip to europe (so far ;))
and then there was shimi, an israeli, in italy for a month. he was a woofer which is something to the effect of world-organization-of-organic-farmers-or something. he quit after the first week. he said he wanted to come to italy to work with goats, or pick olives and make olive oil. the farm he was at assigned him to shoveling donkey shit. he said "i don't need a lesson in learning how to shovel donkey shit. so i left." he was not a big drinker. we ended up playing a game of " i never" which is basically the quickest way to get drunk. he got sick and passed out, woke up hungover the next morning. he is on his way back to israel to finish his medical degree, he will be a vetrinarian. he will probably get married after he finishes his degree.
then there was the scotish lass, also in italy for a month. we spent the whole day together chatting it away. we knew all about eachother... and quite a bit about eachothers past before we went to dinner. we walked the 20 minute walk to the restaurant, struggled through the italian menu and my italian order, settled on a bottle of wine and the question came to light. "oh by the way... what are your names?"
and then i found out
laura is 22
that "one time in turkey" was last week.
that was the drunkest shimi had ever been, and will ever be, he assured us.
her name is alexis.
i used to be so good at calling peoples age. in travelling it means nothing. the one thing about travellers is we all share a spirit. of adventure, of uncertainty, of new-ness, of open-ness with a serving of vulnerability to wash it down with. you don't need to know a persons name to share an unforgettable experience (like me with the crowd of people and cheap bottle of wine we sat at the trevi fountain with), you don't need to know their age. now, when i share my life expereinces with guests and they ask my age, i laugh to myself at the novice question. they're comparing themselves to me... where they've been and where they're going. i recognize it - i did it, too, then... when i was their age.
(it's an artistic choice to use all lower case.)
so here we are again. me at my computer, you at yours. a battle of wits... shall we begin?
age is just a number. to all, to some... no matter, we all have one. a number that hangs over us almost like a cheap form of identification. where to start, where to start?? ah, here...
laura, manuele's girlfriend, lives here at the hostel. she is american and she has been here for 10 months (this trip). she teaches english at several schools, has studied abroad at the university of foreigners (i swear to god that's the name of it) here when at university and has her life here with manuele. she also has a life in america, in pennsylvania, family and friends and a job to go back to. upon my arrival she burst into the room and had with her this energy of power, and strength. i was, in fact, in awe and intimidated by this woman. i thought "wow, she has her shit together." she has this really cool life in italy, she has her direction, she has her path. i walked behind her hoping to pick up any scraps of advice or pieces of life's certainty she may be finished with and leave for me to pick dry. we have talked about her decisions to come in life. for instance, should she go to graduate school or stay in italy longer. all these things i have to look forward to, in time.
jump to jen. an australian woman, a nurse, on holiday, paid by the state of australia for 3 months time for her 10 years of dedication as a nurse. travelling throughout the 3 months, she left her mortgage for a trip to europe. a self proclaimed oldest-person-here she set herself aside for the night. when the coversation hit a lull she would spark it up by re-living that "one time she was so wasted and she was dancing on the table tops in turkey, making out with the bartender, having only slept 5 hours in 3 days and so on.." needless to say that story put me to shame, because i have not had a story like that on my own trip to europe (so far ;))
and then there was shimi, an israeli, in italy for a month. he was a woofer which is something to the effect of world-organization-of-organic-farmers-or something. he quit after the first week. he said he wanted to come to italy to work with goats, or pick olives and make olive oil. the farm he was at assigned him to shoveling donkey shit. he said "i don't need a lesson in learning how to shovel donkey shit. so i left." he was not a big drinker. we ended up playing a game of " i never" which is basically the quickest way to get drunk. he got sick and passed out, woke up hungover the next morning. he is on his way back to israel to finish his medical degree, he will be a vetrinarian. he will probably get married after he finishes his degree.
then there was the scotish lass, also in italy for a month. we spent the whole day together chatting it away. we knew all about eachother... and quite a bit about eachothers past before we went to dinner. we walked the 20 minute walk to the restaurant, struggled through the italian menu and my italian order, settled on a bottle of wine and the question came to light. "oh by the way... what are your names?"
and then i found out
laura is 22
that "one time in turkey" was last week.
that was the drunkest shimi had ever been, and will ever be, he assured us.
her name is alexis.
i used to be so good at calling peoples age. in travelling it means nothing. the one thing about travellers is we all share a spirit. of adventure, of uncertainty, of new-ness, of open-ness with a serving of vulnerability to wash it down with. you don't need to know a persons name to share an unforgettable experience (like me with the crowd of people and cheap bottle of wine we sat at the trevi fountain with), you don't need to know their age. now, when i share my life expereinces with guests and they ask my age, i laugh to myself at the novice question. they're comparing themselves to me... where they've been and where they're going. i recognize it - i did it, too, then... when i was their age.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Always one foot on the ground.
By day is one entirely different thing than by night. I awake in a strange place, a stranger's place every morning. A souless room filled with a weary, recycled sense of wonder. I get up when I wake up and take my time getting out the door. Once I am out the door I am owned by the city, inch by inch for a set amount of days. The feeling of sight seeing greediness sets in. I have to see it all or it doesn't count. The exhausting day haults in the middle at a point of a complete listless malaise. Wandering around, alone, with my thoughts lets my mind explore parts it wouldn't normally if I were to be preoccupied by bills, reservations, saturday night plans or any type of future arrangements. I'm living my dream - I should be skipping through Rome, looking at amazement at everything. Closing my eyes to smell the smell of the Romans, feeling the feel of the Romans... instead caught in this crossfire of doubt, guilt and worry. What is stems from I can not be sure. What is grows into - well, that's the power I hold over myself - a yet-to-be-determined future. Oy, the pressure!
The dusk flows through the sky. Is this day over yet? I settle back into the state of disposable freedom in the hostel room and get ready for another solitare night of a cold shower and a few chapters of East of Eden. Inattentively making small talk with my roommates. The question is posed - What are you going to do tonight, do you want to come out with us? The toss up... The answer.. of course I'll go.
By night and the first bottle of finished wine the fog has completely rolled out my body and there is nothing but this bright light shining through. To me, from them, from me to them... we're all having the time of our lives. These are the moments we came to travel for. This is why we're here. If you were to blind fold me I wouldn't be able to tell what city I was in. With the mix of Australians, Germans, Canadians, Brazillians, Italians surrounding me I could just as well be at the Manhattan Inn on 30th St. and 8th ave. I know I am not though, because there is this underlying feeling of uncomfortableness because I am not in my safety bubble. There is no shield. Here it is... here is the world.
What has sent us on our travels varies, story to story. Some of them are just checking things out, studying, visiting someone or other and then there's the rest of us with no return ticket. We know why we left but as Joel, my finnish friend pointed out we travel to find a reason to go back.
The dusk flows through the sky. Is this day over yet? I settle back into the state of disposable freedom in the hostel room and get ready for another solitare night of a cold shower and a few chapters of East of Eden. Inattentively making small talk with my roommates. The question is posed - What are you going to do tonight, do you want to come out with us? The toss up... The answer.. of course I'll go.
By night and the first bottle of finished wine the fog has completely rolled out my body and there is nothing but this bright light shining through. To me, from them, from me to them... we're all having the time of our lives. These are the moments we came to travel for. This is why we're here. If you were to blind fold me I wouldn't be able to tell what city I was in. With the mix of Australians, Germans, Canadians, Brazillians, Italians surrounding me I could just as well be at the Manhattan Inn on 30th St. and 8th ave. I know I am not though, because there is this underlying feeling of uncomfortableness because I am not in my safety bubble. There is no shield. Here it is... here is the world.
What has sent us on our travels varies, story to story. Some of them are just checking things out, studying, visiting someone or other and then there's the rest of us with no return ticket. We know why we left but as Joel, my finnish friend pointed out we travel to find a reason to go back.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Follow the yellow brick road.
What happens when you are in the act of travelling is you find every step a little heavier. You continue walking, you know you're headed somewhere and if it's a foot more, a meter more or a country more - you'll get there - it exists. You have an aim, but (sometimes) more important a target. You know where you'll land. The 20 kilos (40lbs.) on your back seems to know the closer you get to take on last minute "water weight." The sweat starts d r i p p i n g down you face, your lips become the most chapped they've ever been, your pants are slipping under the muffin top, your hair falls out of it's pony tail, the strap on your purse breaks, there's a rock in your shoe and you have to pee- but you don't stop. Around this corner? Is this the street? What's it called again? Is that it? There it is!
Your pack is lopped to the ground and you yourself lop on the closest bed. It isn't a full minute even until you're in the bathroom adjusting those hairs and emptying that bladder. Ready. And there it is... a new city. What happend 10, 20 minutes before is nothing but a memory. This is Amsterdam.
Your pack is lopped to the ground and you yourself lop on the closest bed. It isn't a full minute even until you're in the bathroom adjusting those hairs and emptying that bladder. Ready. And there it is... a new city. What happend 10, 20 minutes before is nothing but a memory. This is Amsterdam.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Getting there.
I took the bus from NY to DC. A lovely farewell including Mikey and Lauren seeing me off at the corner of 34th and 8th. Naturally I was 'running late' and therefore had no time for an emotional goodbye. Just a hug and a kiss and I'm on my way. Got to DC and took the train to Virginia to be picked up by Max! I had a wonderful stay at her house, inclusive of breakfast for dinner as well as free internet access, laundry and shuttle service to the airpot! Unbeatable.... I say.
She dropped me at Dulles the next afternoon, since it seemed I had my choice of departure times to Frankfurt I took my time with the final pack. Still neglecting to go to the store to pick up - what turned out to be - essential travelling items. We went to the airport, nervous as hell since I was still unsure if there was going to be a seat on any flight. I was there at 4pm and the next flight was at 5:23. I insisted to the lady that the next one was fine, partly not ready to face my dream and partly not wanting to reenact the Duffy-Airport scenes which without fail always has me running, breathless to catch the flight. The woman said, no you go now. Ok, I go now. Here I go.... run run run run run. Security! Shit! Of course, with out fail, I was "randomly picked" to have them sort through all of my stuff. It's ok I thought... just breathe. That finished... run run run.. Shuttle to gate b? Ok... Got to the gate and the plane was half boarded! Shit! I have to pee.. I haven't talked to anyone... I go to the payphone, I don't have any quarters. Shit! I dig and I dig and I dig. I found some.. I call my Dad.. no one picks up.. Shit! I call Annine and she picks up - thank god- I'M GOING! I blurted. "What? Are you serious? Oh my gosh... Call me when you can... " Then I ran to the bathroom and made it back in time to be the last one to board the plane. Whew!
We're sitting on the runway waiting to leave and I have to talk to at least one of my parents so I call my mother - she answers - we share a cry of relief - a cry of this is totally happening, everything that has been leading up to this no longer matters, here I am on the way to Europe. Call my brother for a quick WOOO and off I go...
Sitting between two very nice people. Both middle aged Americans. The woman to my right can't help but overhear my tears with my Mom and asks if this was my first time in Europe - I explain - the man to my left chirps in with his opinion. We chat through take off. It wasn't even before the beverage service that the woman turned to me and asked "What will you do about voting?!" The man explained to me that I can go to an embassay and ask to vote from there... Or see if they can point me in the right direction. Until well after beverage service we chat about Obama. Yes, we're all for obama. Other Americans chime in and here we are... talking politics.
I slept for MAYBE an hour on the plane (can you blame me?) and next thing I know it's a foggy morning in Frankfurt. I get off the plane in an unreal state and follow the crowd to customs and make my way to the train. The train machine was in German ...and only German. Now what? So with my pack big and strong on my back I turn to the man behind me and modestly ask for help. He helped. And a minute later I was on the train headed to the main station. From there I got my DB train ticket to Paris and was on my way within a matter of 20 minutes. I grabbed a quick pretzel for breakfast and cozied in on the train.
4 hours later arrived in an almost unbarably humid Paris. Got my pack down from storage and set off into the city to find the Metro. There were armed guards at the train, which was at first frightening and intimidating but they were really nice since they noticed I was lost and being pushed to the ground by the bag on my back. The pointed me to the Sortie (exit). I found the Metro and figured out where I needed to be and what trains to connect to. That was no problem - now the ticket machine. In french? Shit! Luckily it was exact change only so I didn't feel bad breaking my €10 with the attendant. Off to the hostel.
She dropped me at Dulles the next afternoon, since it seemed I had my choice of departure times to Frankfurt I took my time with the final pack. Still neglecting to go to the store to pick up - what turned out to be - essential travelling items. We went to the airport, nervous as hell since I was still unsure if there was going to be a seat on any flight. I was there at 4pm and the next flight was at 5:23. I insisted to the lady that the next one was fine, partly not ready to face my dream and partly not wanting to reenact the Duffy-Airport scenes which without fail always has me running, breathless to catch the flight. The woman said, no you go now. Ok, I go now. Here I go.... run run run run run. Security! Shit! Of course, with out fail, I was "randomly picked" to have them sort through all of my stuff. It's ok I thought... just breathe. That finished... run run run.. Shuttle to gate b? Ok... Got to the gate and the plane was half boarded! Shit! I have to pee.. I haven't talked to anyone... I go to the payphone, I don't have any quarters. Shit! I dig and I dig and I dig. I found some.. I call my Dad.. no one picks up.. Shit! I call Annine and she picks up - thank god- I'M GOING! I blurted. "What? Are you serious? Oh my gosh... Call me when you can... " Then I ran to the bathroom and made it back in time to be the last one to board the plane. Whew!
We're sitting on the runway waiting to leave and I have to talk to at least one of my parents so I call my mother - she answers - we share a cry of relief - a cry of this is totally happening, everything that has been leading up to this no longer matters, here I am on the way to Europe. Call my brother for a quick WOOO and off I go...
Sitting between two very nice people. Both middle aged Americans. The woman to my right can't help but overhear my tears with my Mom and asks if this was my first time in Europe - I explain - the man to my left chirps in with his opinion. We chat through take off. It wasn't even before the beverage service that the woman turned to me and asked "What will you do about voting?!" The man explained to me that I can go to an embassay and ask to vote from there... Or see if they can point me in the right direction. Until well after beverage service we chat about Obama. Yes, we're all for obama. Other Americans chime in and here we are... talking politics.
I slept for MAYBE an hour on the plane (can you blame me?) and next thing I know it's a foggy morning in Frankfurt. I get off the plane in an unreal state and follow the crowd to customs and make my way to the train. The train machine was in German ...and only German. Now what? So with my pack big and strong on my back I turn to the man behind me and modestly ask for help. He helped. And a minute later I was on the train headed to the main station. From there I got my DB train ticket to Paris and was on my way within a matter of 20 minutes. I grabbed a quick pretzel for breakfast and cozied in on the train.
4 hours later arrived in an almost unbarably humid Paris. Got my pack down from storage and set off into the city to find the Metro. There were armed guards at the train, which was at first frightening and intimidating but they were really nice since they noticed I was lost and being pushed to the ground by the bag on my back. The pointed me to the Sortie (exit). I found the Metro and figured out where I needed to be and what trains to connect to. That was no problem - now the ticket machine. In french? Shit! Luckily it was exact change only so I didn't feel bad breaking my €10 with the attendant. Off to the hostel.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
I know what it means to walk the lonely street of dreams... and here I go again on my own.
Greetings from New York!
The decision has been made, the travel guide bought, the facebook messages sent: I'm going to Europe! For those of you interested in how this all came to pass, I'll have you know it began with a dream and a copy of THE DRIFTERS.
Though life is nothing but sugar fairies and rainbows and the occasional eviction in New York, I've decided to leave it all on a whim to see a different side of the world. With no real plan, or idea of what I'm going for I embark happily and wholeheartedly with a knapsack and an endless supply of faith. Don't let my dazzling words fool you - I am scared sh!tless. I am not fooling myself into believing this will be an endless vacation. I'm ready for hard times, struggle, starving days, sleepless nights, idle time, lots of confusion and times of complete and utter despair. In contrast to the priceless and reconfirming moments of arriving at the beach in Malaga or meeting friends for a beer at Oktoberfest and settling into the Kibbutz in Israel, I think I can handle it and frankly, I can't wait!!
My tenative departure date is the first week of September. This last month of American life will be filled with a lot of running around, a wedding in california, a few grand birthday party celebrations, last minute New York thrills (including Mets Games, Broadway shows and a trip to the Bronx Zoo) and tying up loose ends. I will be out of my apartment by September. (Anyone looking to move to Queens?)
I hope you will share my excitement with me as I take this brave step into the unknown. As the poets of Whitesnake so greatly sang: I know what it means to walk the lonely street of dreams so here I go again on my own. Walking down the only road I've ever know. Like a drifter I was born to walk alone. Here I go. Here I go again. {haha}
Fear not the dissapearance of my physical pressence.. I am with you in spirit and internet. I will try to be as up to date with my emailing, myspacing, facebooking and blogging as possible. As soon as I get to Europe and pick a "home town" I will get a mobile phone and pass on that information.
With love, peace and light,
classy (a)broad.
aloneinmyprinciples@gmail.com
The decision has been made, the travel guide bought, the facebook messages sent: I'm going to Europe! For those of you interested in how this all came to pass, I'll have you know it began with a dream and a copy of THE DRIFTERS.
Though life is nothing but sugar fairies and rainbows and the occasional eviction in New York, I've decided to leave it all on a whim to see a different side of the world. With no real plan, or idea of what I'm going for I embark happily and wholeheartedly with a knapsack and an endless supply of faith. Don't let my dazzling words fool you - I am scared sh!tless. I am not fooling myself into believing this will be an endless vacation. I'm ready for hard times, struggle, starving days, sleepless nights, idle time, lots of confusion and times of complete and utter despair. In contrast to the priceless and reconfirming moments of arriving at the beach in Malaga or meeting friends for a beer at Oktoberfest and settling into the Kibbutz in Israel, I think I can handle it and frankly, I can't wait!!
My tenative departure date is the first week of September. This last month of American life will be filled with a lot of running around, a wedding in california, a few grand birthday party celebrations, last minute New York thrills (including Mets Games, Broadway shows and a trip to the Bronx Zoo) and tying up loose ends. I will be out of my apartment by September. (Anyone looking to move to Queens?)
I hope you will share my excitement with me as I take this brave step into the unknown. As the poets of Whitesnake so greatly sang: I know what it means to walk the lonely street of dreams so here I go again on my own. Walking down the only road I've ever know. Like a drifter I was born to walk alone. Here I go. Here I go again. {haha}
Fear not the dissapearance of my physical pressence.. I am with you in spirit and internet. I will try to be as up to date with my emailing, myspacing, facebooking and blogging as possible. As soon as I get to Europe and pick a "home town" I will get a mobile phone and pass on that information.
With love, peace and light,
classy (a)broad.
aloneinmyprinciples@gmail.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)