hell is so close and heaven's out of reach

cheers to a day when i didn't do anything i was suppose to get done. 

cheers to not thinking. 

cheers to a bottle of wine to drown lack of thinking and doing. 

to relaxing. 

to breathing. 

to figuring it out later. 

to the Crimson Tide.

to enjoying the moment. 

to being happy. 

to being thankful.

 to understanding that you don't understand. 

to adopting a lackadaisical attitude.

to grounding yourself by what you know beyond a doubt to be truth. 

to limiting yourself to 24 hours in one day because you have no other choice.

cheers to good music that soothes your soul. 

to experimenting with new words on your tongue for the first time. 

to having absolutely no idea what the future holds but swallowing that fact as something acceptable.

to 12 hours of sleep.

to a great dream.

to sharing a piece of yourself with someone new for the first time and discovering something about yourself as your share it. 

to adventures. 

to laughing. 

to falling in love all over again with a song you've already heard 118 times. 

to effective and pure communication. 

to reverie. 

to what-ifs. 

to brilliant ideas. 

to terrible ideas.

to not being sorry.

to an email that brightens my entire day.

to skype dates with dear friends. 

to dictating your own schedule. 

to doing something rewarding. 

to losing yourself in a book. 

to my list of daily blessings and gifts. 

to tomorrow being another day. 

tonight, on my ikea sofa-cama, i pour a third or fourth glass of wine to you.

"anywhere you go, anyone you meet, remember that your eyes can be your enemy.
i said, well, hell is so close and heaven's out of reach.
i ain't givin' up quite yet, i got too much to loose. 
hold me down, sweet and low, hold me down, and i'll carry you home.
the rain is gonna fall, the sun is gonna shine.
the wind is gonna blow, the water's gonna rise.
she said, when that day comes, look into my eyes.
no one's giving up quite yet, we got too much to loose.
and i'll carry you, always.
you say youre fine but you're still young and out of line.
all i need is to turn around, to make it last, to make it count.
im not gonna make the same mistakes that put my momma in her grave, i don't wanna be alone...
hold me down, sweet and low, hold me down. sweet and low, little girl. so hold me down, and i'll carry you home."
-Sweet and Low, Augustana

zebras don't exactly change their stripes

"with every sun that sets, I am feeling more like a stranger on a foreign shore with an eroding beach disappearing from under me... i always fall in love with an open door

with a horizon on an endless sea as i look around at the ones who are standing right in front of me. "

 -Death Cab for Cutie, My Mirror Speaks

Turned onto this amazing blog by a sorority sister, I have been enthralled with this random stranger's journey.
I cannot help but feel envy as I search the pages of photos and stories nor can I ignore the similarity between myself and this person who I will never meet. My lust for travel cannot be matched, must less understood by a majority of the people that I know. But it goes beyond that. It's not exactly something I can describe with the limiting conventions of language. I stumbled upon a page asking, "How do we know when it's time to go home?" And for a solid hour or two, I pondered this exact question.
The concept of home, however strange with an ever-changing location and perhaps evolving definition.
Where is my home? Is that where I am, home? In a large suburban house full of nothing except junk, antiques, multiple china patterns, stuff and lurking memories around every corner of tears, drunken escapades, hugs, conversations lasting until after sunrise, nights spent sound asleep and nights spent tossing and turning without sleep at all.
Surely, I am still in search of home. I could find and make home out of anywhere. Home is where the heart is and my heart is fractions across the entire world. Part of it is in Vienna. Part of it is in California. Part of it in Alabama. Part of it has to be saved for wherever I end up in the future. Won't where I attend law school, where I practice law, where I work, where I raise a family all be considered, "home"?
Or maybe, I am just confused and little do I know that my suitcase heart is just a girl waiting on a slow-pony home? Back to here.
It is my intention to spend the next year answering this question. When it is time to go home versus when you cannot take it with you. Although, I liked one response that said something along the lines of, it is time to go home when you are more inspired and thrilled at the thought of comfort and stability than of the next adventure or new experience. Will that sentiment ever fill my body? Certainly, at this moment, the opposite is true. And I suppose that is why I am on the front-end of a year of travel instead of on the other end.

As the day of my departure back to a country where I believe I left a small portion of my heart encroaches, more and more people are asking, "what are you afraid of?" or "are you starting to freak out?"
I could not answer it better than my new best friend, Daniel elegantly expressed here.
My favorite part highlighted in blue and Ctrl-C, Ctrl-V'ed below:

“Daniel, I’m so excited to see where you will go and who you’ll meet and what you will eat. But to be honest, I’m also really curious to hear about your fears. I want to know what they are and how you’ll navigate them.”

When it comes to questions posed to me about my trip, the popular inquiry is about my destinations or my trajectory, which makes perfect sense considering a travel-based project such as mine. But for Ashley, as she admittedly jostles with her own big life decisions, she simply wants a reference point from someone else who is in the flux of reconfiguring life.

                                                                             How does one deal with the fear of change?

There shall be no shame in asking this question.

he goes onto say this: 

There are certain fears that one might infer when pondering the idea of long-term international travel. Many of these fears I recognize, but for one reason or another do not resonate on any sort of debilitating level. For instance, I’m not specifically afraid of being lonely, for loneliness has been present when I was not traveling. I’m not afraid of having my camera or computer or personal items stolen, I have mentally prepared myself for this to occur at some point during the journey. I’m not afraid of being hungry or without shelter, as I have a general faith that my fellow humans will provide for me at my most vulnerable moments. I’m not afraid of being hijacked and murdered by disgruntled Columbian terrorists because, well, I’m not planning on going to Columbia. I generally believe that anything tragic that could happen to me on the road could also happen to me (in some form or another) crossing the street in my hometown.

So what are the fears?

My greatest concerns revolve more around what will happen to me after my travels. These fears are most relatable, I feel. Such as, how will I financially support myself in the future? Who will take care of me if I become permanently ill? Will I ever reestablish the wonderful and illusive trifecta of employment, apartment and friends I had somehow been fortunate to obtain in Montreal before leaving? How do I deal with all the unknowns of life?

I guess what I’m arriving to is the idea that travel is not that scary. But life is.

And if I am forced to really focus on travel-related fears, I suppose there is one great concern. It reads like this: In the “me-centric” pursuit of this dream, I fear the dynamics of my relationships with family and friends will change. I’m afraid that this absence is asking too much from them. 

then, he ends with this:

So, I move forward. Putting relationships to the test. Prioritizing “individual” over “community.” Wondering who will still be cheering me on after this journey. Breaking my mother’s heart, once again. Feeling intuitively guided, and making few apologies for my decisions.

And in my moments of self-doubt and wondering if I’m making the right life decisions, it helps to bring out the old “scale of life.” Each time I balance the concerns of leaving versus the potential personal profits, when I weigh the prospective gains against the conceivable costs, the scale keeps pointing to a simple (minimally fear-laced) sentiment:

Go. For. It.

and excitedly, this marks the end of my alphabet challenge. in case you missed it, the last 27 posts have begun with a letter of the alphabet starting with A and ending with this one, Z. it was not an easy task, but it was done. 

i count the steps from where i am to where i started

these empty halls held our disease before we caught it.

what a poetic way of putting it. i'm also a fan of the "slow dancing in a burning room" by John Mayer. i cannot stop listening to Andrew Belle. I thought maybe this obsession would pass, but it's just worsening. He needs a new album asap. I can let him have my journals to inspire some more lyrics that I feel like he writes intimately about my life. I love this guy. I'm serious. Okay, now to the post.

I was having an intellectual conversation with a dear friend from high school last weekend to satisfy a longing for one. I get these intellectual conversation itches that few people care to indulge me in. But, I am deeply grateful for those that do. When someone is up for one on the Holocaust, time and place I am there.
Anyway, we were talking about phases of life. It's odd how if a book ends poorly, it leaves a sour taste in your mouth for the entire book, regardless of how much you liked the majority of it. When one chapter ends unexpectedly, or not how you would prefer, that's when you have to remember that you are not the author but instead the reader. You have to pick it back up and keep reading. Eventually, you realize why that was written the way it was, and you're not upset about it anymore. As Death Cab puts it, "when memories of me seem more like bad dreams."

I am a pro memory-holder-onto-er. But in thinking about the importance and uniqueness of each "phase," event, memory, moment, I've made an outstanding distinction. No one particular event, person, tragedy, dramatic episode, accomplishment, test, disaster, hook up, break-up, embarrassing moment, group project or professor will stand out over another. All of these things have encompassed my collegiate experience, or as referred to by some, the "best four years of my life." However, I'd like to argue (as stated in my prophecy I do quite a bit of) that every phase of life is going to be sweet in its own way. Each letter forming words that create strings of sentences to slowly piece together a huge story. It's my job to make sure that story is one of love with no regrets.

I loved taking naps in kindergarten, but I'd really rather not go back to learning how to read. Talk about room for embarrassing moments! I thoroughly enjoyed the breathing exercise that we use to do as a cast before competition play practice or the massages after a long run-through. But if tomorrow, someone appeared with the option to go back to GAC uniforms, regulations, Dr. Morris and busy work, I would mull it over and kindly reply, "no that's okay. I'll stay right here." This is how I want to think about college. I am not terrified of this G-word, ggggradduatttion. I am thrilled for it. I worked too hard for that day to be filled with depressing terror of what's to come and that my world as I know it has ended. So, I'm done with feeling guilty.

Maybe cyncism has creeped in too deeply, and maybe I am just excited for change. Maybe I do love the idea of an "open door" a little too much and that my shaking for my running shoes is catching up with me with remarkably great timing (for once). But, there is no reason to fret. I remember thinking that fifth grade graduation was the end of the world as I bawled hysterically walking the halls of the elementary school. What a joke. At the time, I was legitimately concerned. The very idea of junior high was filled with unknowns and rumors that you had to write in cursive for each class. In retrospect, I don't think I have ever been forced to write in cursive, ever. In fact, much of the time it's the opposite.

I thought I would never speak to those friends again. Those friends that mattered then (actually mattered), still matter now. I don't just still talk to them, I love them even more now than ever. One of whom I called a hot crying mess a few days ago. He gave me a solution and said he'd have vodka waiting for me as soon as I entered Roswell.

I have great friends that have gotten me to this point, gotten me through all kinds of shit and will continue to be there. When they fade (if they do), new faces will surface to help hold me together. Thank you Facebook, blogspot, Twitter, Skype and the not-so-glorious "network" for reassuring me that whoever I want to stay in touch with that wants to stay in touch with me will have plenty of tools for doing so at their fingertips. Though, it is natural at an event as emotional as Senior chapter or intense questioning about post-graduation plans to have "back and forth and in between like my emotion" (Andrew Belle, Static Waves) I'm standing solidly on optimism. When my eyes scan the printed words of "Oh, The Places You'll Go!" I have by my mirror, I am reminded that I have great things waiting for me. Whatever the hell those may be. We ALL do. Regardless of what phase of life we are on. I can't wait to travel to Thailand, to live in Europe, to live in NY, to deposit my first 4 digit paycheck, to stand proudly as a bridesmaid in a dear friend's wedding, to frame my master's degree, to hold my father's shaking hand walking down an aisle of my own, to order business cards that have impressive credentials following my last name, to fall so deeply in love no words can describe the feelings, to win my first trial, to support Reggy and the shelter monthly, to have an excuse to eat cake nonstop all day long because I am pregnant, to run a complete mile without decrepitating exhaustion, to sign the line with my name signifying I own my own house, to look at my first born in a face that resembles my own...

Who knows which of those things will occur and in what order, perhaps all of them will. I refuse to be convinced that at 22, I have expended the best years of my life. Regardless of how wonderful those 22 years have been lived. As "I count the steps from where I am, to where I started" (Andrew Belle, Static Waves), what an insane journey its been. But I am leaving it, regardless of whose permission I have or have not received and going onto something equally great, just great in a different way.

All things are good in their own time. And for this, it is time. As I painted on a canvas as a gift for a friend freshman year, it's time to return to a bumper-sticker inspiration. In the next three weeks, I will live it up and drink it down. Laugh it off, avoid bull shit and take chances, without regrets because at one point, everything was exactly what I wanted.
What I really needed was to reminded last week that "I am the captain of this ship, curious hands and fingertips. It's for no one but me to say what direction I shall turn in now." (Dave Matthews, Captain)

so let the wind blow us to wherever it says we are suppose to go

Quito, Ecuador

Bocas del Toro, Panama

Cozumel, Mexico

Lagos, Portugal

Chefchaouen, Morocco

Travel is an intensified feeling—maximum thrills per minute and one of the last great sources of legal adventure. Travel is freedom. It’s recess and we need it… Connecting with people carbonates your experience. Extroverts have more fun. If your trip is low on magic moments, kick yourself and make things happen. If you don’t enjoy a place, maybe you don’t know enough about it.  Seek the truth. Recognize tourist traps. Give the culture the benefit of your open mind. See things as different, but not better or worse. Any culture has plenty to share. Of course, travel, like the world, is a series of hills and valleys. Be fanatically positive and militantly optimistic. If something’s not to your liking, change your liking. Travel can make you a happier American, as well as a citizen of the world. Our Earth is home to six and a half billion equally precious people. It’s humbling to travel and find that other people don’t have the “American Dream”—they have their own dreams. Europeans like us, but with all due respect, they wouldn’t trade passports. Thoughtful travel engages us with the world. In tough economic times, it reminds us what is truly important. By broadening perspectives, travel teaches new ways to measure quality of life. Globetrotting destroys ethnocentricity, helping us understand and appreciate other cultures. Rather than fear the diversity on this planet, celebrate it. Among your most prized souvenirs will be the strands of different cultures you choose to knit into your own character. The world is a cultural yarn shop, and Back Door travelers are weaving the tapestry. Join in! –Rick Steves, Europe Through the Back Door

Kiev, Ukraine

Venice, Italy

Bavaria, Germany (Neuschwanstein)

Innsbruck, Austria

Zurich, Switzerland

Toledo, Spain

"I wait for something under a streetlight. It won't be long because it's dark, it's cold, it's one of those nights where something out there keeps me alive. But I don't know where to go. So I think I'll sit and stay here a while til I figure it out. So, let the wind blow us to wherever it says we are suppose to go. 

When you WANT something but can't name it.. it's something you've never seen before- OPEN THE DOOR! It's something you've always been afraid of.. and now all you want is more." -Joshua Radin

"With every sun that sets, I am feeling more like a stranger on a foreign shore with an eroding beach disappearing from underneath. 'Cause I'm a man that hides from all that binds in a mess of fading lines. I always fall in love with an open door with a horizon on an endless shore as I look around at the ones standing right in front of me. And then my mirror speaks with irreverence like a soldier I can't command that sees a frightened child in the body of a full grown man." -Death Cab For Cutie

I should know who I am by now.

Joshua Radin, Winter

i just love that. mistakes need not be fatal. 

mistakes need not be fatal.

hm... sounds like something I've mentioned before...

the next few weeks, i will dedicate to reminding myself of these things.

hello 2011

well, it's been a while, but i am back. and its Sunday, so you know what that means.

the buzz of "best of 2010" lists and pressure to make some resolutions has gone completely unnoticed to me because i've been reading, traveling and watching mad men like the three are my fulltime job. i've reached the point where answering, "oh, you're graduating in may? what are your plans?" really makes me want to punch people. a few weeks ago the question was obnoxious, now it stimulates violent thoughts. so my resolutions are to figure that out and to keep all the other resolutions that i have every year- those i stick to and those i don't succeed in at all. most importantly, LOVE. above everything else. 

keep my priorities in line.

make myself proud and those around me proud as well.

remember that it's okay to cry and to not know and to be confused.

breathe.

pray.

visit a gym.

take care of those i love.

make the most of every second and live with no regrets.

travel.

read books and the news daily.

journal.

learn from myself and others.

do something extraordinary. something new. something that makes a difference.

estos son mis deseos para el año nuevo and praise God its a new year.

save ourselves and start again.

"california, california

know i love you california..." 

ahhh! finally a decision. one decision down 2990 more to go. but plane tickets are booked. ill be in the great LA for nine days. anddddd i just want it to be december 21. all things are suppose to be good in their time, but i really just want to be in california. meanwhile, i'll be drowning here in the south, in indecision and anticipation.

so california, won't you save a place for me?