If You Think My Life Is As Pretty As These Sunsets

Dec. 19, 2013

It is easy to feel energies. I just woke up. I am barely awake. I'm lying in bed at sunrise and I feel more alone than ever. The day has not even started.

I slide the lock to the left, open the door to my apartment and step warily onto my balcony. It is easy to feel the emptiness that surrounds. I cross the corridor that overlooks the unused pool and walk down a few stairs. I look to my left. The doors are closed and the curtains are pulled tight. 

The trees sway lightly with the breeze.

Just enough to show that they are alive. Not enough to create sound.

It is quiet.

My heart beats slow.

But loud. 

I look around. The sky is painted with early morning colors. The yard is a green wave of fresh rolling hills. The windmills are spinning atop mountains in the distance. 

I smile sincerely and warmly.

But it fades quickly.

The guayaba tree is bare. 

There is no reason to cross the green hills to walk to school.

And no music is playing from any of my apartment-mates' rooms. 

I turn around and walk back up the stairs.

I make a pot of coffee that I bought from Don Pupo, a local farmer in the area. As it brews, I smell his finca. I open the fridge and reach for some things to make a smoothie, but the combinations don't make sense to me. 

Oh well.

Did I say that? 

I know those 2 words. My Mom says them.

I close the refrigerator door, grab my towel and walk into my bathroom.

I leave my clothes in a lump on the floor. They pile limp and carelessly.

I pull the shower curtain across and the metal rings screech as they slide across the rod. 

Is that sound my only companion? 

It rips at my heart. 

Dec. 23, 2013

The numbers say something to me, but I can't make sense of them.

19…22…23….

The calendar says it is Christmas time.

I close my eyes and I try to feel the crisp weather on my skin. I breathe in deep and try to smell apple crisp in the oven. I begin to hum and try to recreate Winter Wonderland. 

But there are no sleigh bills ringing. 

The air is warm and humid and the ground below me is laid with sand and not snow. 

The sound of the sea is beautiful, but it is a lull that drowns my heart and it is not the sound of my sisters' voices that dances in my soul. 

There is nothing easy about traveling. My life is in a backpack and I have to choose what it holds. 

There are things I left behind that I long for, that I wish I packed… yet I know there is never enough room for the things I need most. 

I wake up and the bed is not my own. I've come to know these sheets, but I know deep down it is just a lie to make it more comfortable. She knows, too, as she cradles me. She knows this is just temporary. That I will not stay for long and soon she will host another body from another foreign land and they, too, will lie together. 

I fumble with the lock to a unfamiliar door and I step outside. 

The first instant is overwhelming. The smell of the salty sea, the sound of waves crashing, the colors that reach far beyond a rainbow. 

I smile sincerely in deep gratitude. 

What have I done for Mother Earth to love me so much? Every day she opens up a gift that is much too beautiful for mankind to capture, and she hands it to us. It is deep greens and vibrant reds. It is the smell of lilies. It is the sound of birds singing and the touch of fresh snow. It is sunsets and sunrises. Do I give this gift back? Or do I just keep taking? 

I reach back inside and grab a sheet off my bed. Still in my night clothes, I come outside and climb into the hammock, wrapping the sheet around me and I wait for the colors to come across the horizon. 

There is nothing easy about traveling.

There is nothing easy about the choices I have made.

There is nothing easy about being me. 

Cradled in my hammock. Alone. Silent. I look out at the horizon and wonder many things. My past flashes before me. My future is a mystery. My present is painted with dark smudges that I don't remember holding the brush to and I often try to erase them, but they don't go anywhere and I often tell myself to just accept them, but I don't want to. And it hurts. 

But if I just lift my head up in my hammock, I can see the colors as they start to creep out from beneath the clouds. 

'Cause I can hold onto those dark smudges (and sometimes I do) and they can start to grow and take over the whole picture and before I know it I can't see any colors at all. 

Or, I can keep seeing and I keep painting. Because sometimes the colors are there before me and sometimes it is I that creates them, but either way, they are there. And I know that is true. And I know the colors and I co-exist and co-create together. Sometimes, you just don't see them and sometimes you forget and sometimes, maybe, you just let the dark smudges take over. 

There is nothing easy about traveling. 

I can't lie about the beauty that I have come to see by taking my feet to faraway places. I can't lie about the blessings that the world has given to me. I can't lie about the wealth I have accumulated through the meals, and smiles and conversations and stories that I have shared with people across the planet. 

But, it is not easy. 

Sometimes, I paint a picture that it is…easy…

That it's all beautiful…

Through my photos.

My messages.

My one-sided-story posts. 

Because maybe that's what I need to do. For me. 

Because I don't need to tell you that you can't have up without down. Good without bad. Right without wrong. 

But it serves me no good to focus on the dark smudges.

Because the truth is, when you travel, you can feel really, really freaking alone...

And it's exhausting. And my clothes are old and stained and I usually wear them multiple times without washing them, so maybe they kinda smell. And I don't have the freedom to always choose the best food and sometimes I really just want organic almond milk and raw honey and blueberries and I have to eat greasy rice and beans. And my legs are covered in mosquito bites and you can tell me not to scratch them but I will because it feels so freaking good and I know that I will get an infection, but I will do it anyways and the hospitals suck in faraway places but I have to go there anyways and its my own fault. 

And those are just the small things. 

And the big ones are much more painful. 

The big ones are the dark smudges on my painting and I think only my good friends and family knows what they look like and how impossible they are to erase. 

But that's my painting.

And, I'd rather tell you about the colors. 

Because maybe you'll start to paint with me.

And I know that when we can see the colors of the world we can create more. And that is what I have learned to do for me and my own wellbeing. And you don't have to do it and you don't have to like it, but for me it works.

And if you think my painting is perfect that I am sorry for misleading you. 

We are all human beings and each one of us has a story that most of the world probably does not know about. 

I ask for help every morning to treat everyone with kindness. No matter how they treat me. Because I don't know their story. And they don't know mine. 

But, I can look for the colors (that exist in everyone and everywhere). And that makes it easier. And I feel less alone. And, I can smile. And, sometimes, I make them smile too.

If you think my life is as easy as these sunsets, it's not. But I choose to paint the colors I see because it makes life a bit easier. 

Inside A Prison Cell

I’m not sure I want to see it, but I stand there engulfed.

I know I am in a chicken farm, but I feel I am witnessing a holocaust as I stare down the long corridor.

I am the only free person in this room.

Yet, I am trapped.

And it is shameful. 

And it hurts. 

In a space of about 8 square inches, sometimes up to 4 chicken are crammed. Squeezed together. For their entire lifespan. The will never walk on the grass that is their home. 

These barracks are their jail cells. 

Shackles for crimes they never committed. 

6,000 of them.

This is a small-scale farm. They are antibiotic free. Their owner is trying the best she can, in her own eyes.

I met her. And she is sweet. And she works hard. And I sympathize with her. 

I cannot begin to imagine the magnitude of what goes on in the US Industrial Farms...

Individually, each chicken is unique and evokes a sweetness. If you stand close, they look up at you. 

There are so many questions. There is such confusion. There are feelings.

I am not sure if it is my mind or theirs that is speaking.

Small-Scale Chicken Farm
Santa Ana, Costa Rica, Dec. 10 2013

They walk but a few steps.

They scream in each other’s ears.

They peck at each other’s feathers.

I’ve seen it in the documentaries. I’ve read about it in the books.

This is the first time I am living it.

I peer down the long corridor and I fear if I stay too much longer they will need to call for help.

The smell burns.

Or maybe it’s the sight.

I think maybe the sound of their monotonous calls is even worse than the way they look at me.

I want it to stop.

But I stand there and the movie plays backwards in my head.

This is our reality. We created this. You and I. And every time we buy an egg or grab a bag of packaged chicken without reading the label we are giving them the power to do this.

Sometimes, though, you cannot even trust the label anymore.

Sometimes, it takes work to learn.

Sometimes, there is no easy or no ‘good’ solution.

Because our system has allowed this to be the only way.

...Maybe not.

There are free-range chickens.

Can’t they all be this way? I’m not so sure anymore... 

Land tenure.

Soil fertility.

Markets.

Access.

Urbanization.

Competition.

Corporate Control.

How did we get here?

We are so

Modernized.

Industrialized.

Developed.

Advanced.

We are human beings. We think we are so powerful. We assume control over every path we walk.

I can’t help but feel we’ve made a mistake.

I can’t help but wonder how this is a sign of and advanced, developed human race.

 6,000 chickens in 1 room
Santa Ana, Costa Rica, 2013

Yet, we are powerful.

So why don’t we use it for something good?

Because there are farmers, like this man from Costa Rica, who works really, really freaking hard to produce good food. He recycles all his plastics. He buys only what he needs. He has an organic compost of his home waste. He uses worms. He sells locally.

Don Geraldo and Nina Liliam, Sarapique, Costa Rica

He uses only organic fertilizers. He builds his own tools. He talks to his plants. 

And he smiles, a lot. 

And, yes, his prices are a bit higher.

And I am happy about it. Because it means his food has nutrients.

It means, I don’t have to worry about a factory.

A factory that has become synonymous with both our animal and plant "food".

The solutions are still hard to envision.

But I will continue to dream.

Because I do not believe in settling for a world where our basic necessity of life challenges our entire ecosystem and livelihoods.

We are powerful, compassionate, strong human beings.

Let us start acting that way.

In a way that makes us proud.

Kids Yoga, El Rodeo, Costa Rica

Run Free

The curtains blow flagrantly across my room and the bright rising sun pulls down my bed sheets with both the force of its visual energy and warmth of its fiery soul. There are mornings where it is easier to get out of bed than others. 

This breeze is my best friend.

There’s an open mason jar of warm water on my counter. I lift it and peer inside, checking for gecko ordure. Looks safe. I used to like fresh, crisp, ice cold agua. Now I welcome the gentle stream of warm vitality that moistens my dry morning throat.

Seven gulps.

Exhalation.

Sigh.

Cleansed. Awakened. Alive.  

I get glimpses of the garden, the turquoise pool water, the humming-bird-bush, with every flutter of the curtains as the breeze tantalizes my five senses.

My pink sneakers lay begging like a dog besides my door frame.

Sparkly clean.

Mud and thatch washed away from recent hikes.

4-months-virgin to a heart-pounding run.

I look at them and I feel.

Bitter the cold of autumn in New York. Sweet the sensations of Fall on my skin.

My mouth waters.

Pounding the music in my ears. Asking my feet to be light on the pavement.

I bound down the sidewalks.

The headlights of cars are my friends.

The cracks in the pavement are stories.

The breeze in my face is love. Encouragement. Tantalization.

The curtain blows up again and reaches for me.

The map on my wall says I’m in Costa Rica.

The colors in my front yard tell me it doesn’t matter what you call it.

I come to the curtains. I put on a good song. The music awakens me a bit more and I feel my desires come alive.

I pull on the sweet memories of my past and I tie the laces of miles of freedom together and I stand tall.

I hit play and I walk out.

For a mile or two I run to the music of 2006. My iPod stays trapped in time. It easily transports me. I can be here or there in an instant. Time is an elusion. Maps create lines which insinuate destinations. Boundaries. Separations. Limitations.

A few minutes in my sneakers and I realize it’s all a lie.

I can be anywhere I want to be. 

I can be anyone I want to be.

“If one of us aint free then we all to blame.”

Keep running.

I am in Gainesville, Florida. Passing the alligator infested ponds. The O’Dome. The Swamp. The Orange-and-Blue. I am young and easily swayed to choose a path that has been laid before me. I don't stop to wonder if it is the one I want to choose. 

I am running uphill in Rye, New York. The purple “Team in Training” shirts surround me. There are survivors, fighters. There are friends who let go. My sister is somewhere. Her hair falls long when she removes her swim cap that reads “Leukemia & Lymphoma”. A cap that just looks like the turban she wore at five when there was no hair to create warmth. Protection. Immunity. Life force. Freedom. 

She knows what it means to live. I wonder if she knows how often I still run with her. Because of her.

I am in Vietnam and we are crossing a bridge. Training for a race of which we’ll never make it to. Lost passports. What border? What boundaries?

I am in El Salvador. It hurts. The dust in my eyes. The piropos. The stray dogs, begging for a piece of flesh. A peace. Acknowledgement. Nourishment of any form. It's not just the dogs that I run from. Run with. Running. 

My music shuts off. I look down over my left shoulder. Battery low.

I look up. Jue Pucha. Que belleza. 

I hear. I feel. I smile. I breathe. I taste.

What a world before me. It is so f*cking beautiful. Do you see it?

I am in Costa Rica.

Maybe.

If I want to be. 

I see a beak. I recognize those colors. He flies into another tree and I follow him with my eyes. He invites me. His movements mimic my morning curtains. Side to side. Asking you to come, but leaving the choice up to you. Giving you a taste of what is out there. Inviting, but not begging.

“Follow me,” he says. But don’t hold on too long.

I love his beak in all it’s colors. I watch it. Side-to-side.

Suddenly, the beak multiples. One-by-one. Each leading me to the next.

A tree of tucans. Sitting on branches. Singing about life. Or maybe sorrows.

Songs of love. Or maybe sadness.

“What a joy it is to be alive. To get another chance.”

One by one they take off. I count them. 8.

8 tucans.

I am mesmerized. 

The world, the breeze, the colors, the sounds of the world are a violin that I don’t know how to play anymore.

But it sounds just as sweet.

Everyday is a new song.

I let go of the birds and I smile and my eyes well up and I laugh at myself.

I turn around and begin the journey home.

The leaves of trees rustle. I feel snakes by the roadside, crawling with venom. Peaceful by nature, poisonous when provoked.

I see the windmills turning silently atop the mountains that I call my neighbors.

Empty houses sit behind gated walls and I wonder what lies on the table inside.

Sometimes I kick a rock, avoid a dip in the road.

I hear my breath and the clapping sound of the soles of my feet dancing on the soul of the Earth.

I smile again. Not just in my mind. But deep in my heart and childlishly on my face.

The run home is faster than the run away.

“None but ourselves can free our minds.”

"Laying in Fall"
New York. 2012. 

Life Beneath Geckos

A tiny piece of poop lands on my keyboard. I look up at the gecko on my ceiling and I smile.

Sometimes, even the sh*ttiest things can be a blessing.

A week alone in my Costa Rican apartment focused on writing a paper and I am having flashbacks of a former life. In my former life, I live alone. I am the only US citizen; the only "outsider" in a new culture and community. My bathing area is outdoors and while I absolutely love the cold, invigorating bucket baths underneath the mango tree, I still feel uncomfortable showing my breasts to the world. I did not do that regularly at home. I walk outside to use my outhouse, something I formerly considered private and rather secretive, and nowI feel 1000 eyes look at me over fences in deep analysis. Children, farmers, even the cows are considering, "What will she do in there? Does she use toilet paper?" I scamper back inside, careful to avoid eye contact, shameful of my contribution to environmental degradation in the form of six sheets of Scott. I arrive back inside my lonely home, painfully aware of my state of confinement and the symbolic separation of my four grey walls. I am alone.

But that was a former life.

I am in Costa Rica now and geckos are pooping on my laptop.

I am not alone. My friends are right next door and below me and it is a bit easier to feel connected in this life. I love my new friends. I feel we all new each other before. Our souls are deeply intertwined. You can tell by the way they say things I am feeling, before my slow and limited mind gets to articulate itself properly. You can tell by the way our smiles are so epidemically contagious.

I wonder why I felt so alone in my former life. Surely, something was pooping on my laptop there, too.

Why and when and where and how do we lose this connection with each other? Does it happen overtime? Are we born with it? How do we awaken it again?

I feel grateful for my former life and I feel grateful for where I walk today. I think I was very close to have fallen into a deep sleep, easily, but I now I feel so awake. I cannot lie, though. It is easier to sleep. Sometimes, I do get back in bed. Sometimes, I even pull the covers up and I ask for my former life. They say "the more you see, the less you know". It is true. And it is scary. But it is also really beautiful, too. You know you cannot have one without the other, right? I have to remind myself of that often. And if I start to forget, or if I want to crawl back underneath the covers, something is sure to poop on me. And I know that is a sign- no matter how challenging it gets- I am on the right path.

I am so in love with the people here. (I love you people, too, out there).

Sometimes, when I look into someone's eyes, I can instantly feel and connect with their soul. I have flashes of stories and I thank the world for conspiring to place our physical bodies before each other.

My cells began to dance during lunch yesterday. I cannot really explain the feeling any better than that. You know, when you get all tingly inside and you just want to smile forever and ever?

My friend and I were sitting across a table from each other eating lunch. There were people all around us chatting, searching for a place to sit or shoo-ing the dogs out of the school cafeteria. But I was walking in Kenya.

The story was long and beautiful and I was there for every minute of it. I wished for a moment, to share it with the world. I longed to capture it all in writing or words, but I wondered how much of the genuine love from his mouth would have been lost or distorted through my own interpretation. That is when I just let it all go and realized it was just meant for me to appreciate in that moment.

But I want to share one bit with you because maybe it will encourage you to experience the dancing of your cells. Sometimes, you know, we get so caught up with these externalities that we forget to feel. And I, myself, too suffer from this silly little thing called a mind- which is quite useless (if you think about it) without heart. But then again, that requires thinking about it, so forget it.

Feel.

The most poignant memories of my life all come with feelings. Those are the things we remember. The breeze on my face and the misty splashing of salt water on my feet as I dangle on the front of my father's boat. The impossible resistance to laughter as I stand beneath a waterfall with my friends. The tears that drained my soul when I missed my family. Feeling reminds us what is more important about living.

So, my friend is there, sitting across from me, telling me more stories about his life in Kenya. He talks about how blessed he feels to be where we are today at UPEACE. He talks about his childhood growing up in a nomadic community, then working in Nairobi, then here in Costa Rica. He works hard for his children back at home. He cares deeply for people all over the world. He wants to help ease inter-tribal violence in his home town. He has started an organization. He works in an international community full of people with unique perspectives. He faces deep challenges on a daily basis. But he talks in a slow and peaceful and loving manner. His words are easy to appreciate, full of passion and emotion. There is a little bit of sadness, some frustration, but more love and faith and compassion than anything else. His journey has been a long one.

He stops for a minute and his face becomes reflective. He looks at me and says, "You know, my mother is 84. She has maybe never left our home town. She has never been to Nairobi. And she is happy!" He smiles wide and I cannot help but join in the laughter because I feel the love emitted from his soul and there are either tears in his eyes or I see the reflection of my own.

Sometimes, the more we see, we wish we hadn't seen.

The world can be a scary and intimidating place. The more we dream the more we get outside of our comfort zone and the more we realize is not as we have been taught. We question everything, we begin to doubt and then wonder.

It is not important how far you go or how big you dream, necessarily. It is how you live each day...each moment of your life. I think it is important to be conscious of our choices, yes, but I think it is more important to be in tune with our values. Then it becomes a more natural way of living. We live more from our heart and our mind is there for guidance.

How do we know our values? I think we feel them in our gut or our cells or our heart- somewhere inside of us. We feel them during great moments or great challenges. We even feel them when a gecko poops on our laptop.

Last week I feared loneliness and today I feel love. This is part of life's journey. I try to cling, often, to the feeling of happiness, but sometimes it eludes me. And why shouldn't it? For I could never know one without the other: The paradox of life that our silly minds sometimes try to decipher.

I feel grateful for the abundance of love and interconnectedness that is shown to me everyday. Without it, I would feel alone and I know that is the biggest deception and worst hunger of the world.

I ask for more support in the ability to see love in the most trying times. Because I know it is always there.

Now, where have you gone little gecko?

_____________
Thank you old friends, new friends, family and geckos who continue to love and support me along my mysterious journey. You know who you are and I have you each in my mind and more importantly in my heart.

What She Said and What She Didn't Say

Before we tear her apart, let's take a closer look at ourselves.

It is easy to forget that each and everyone of us walks through life wearing a thick pair of glasses and a heavy set of blinders.

We each have our own story. We each have had life experiences that have brought us to the place we are standing today.

Broken families, lost loved ones, discrimination.

Ignorance, anger, loneliness.

Passion, love, determination.

There is no doubt that we often wish we could erase some of those dreadful memories from our minds. But if we did, we would not be where we stand today.

There is also a reason we stand here today- because we care. We have felt these feelings of grief and we want to be the ones who do something about it.

Her Excellency Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, first elected female head of state of Africa, Nobel Peace Prize Winner and current President of Liberia visited campus (University for Peace, El Rodeo, Costa Rica) today.

Like at any political appearance, the room was full of curious eyes and vigilant ears.  At a University mandated by the United Nations, with passionate students from 47 different countries around the world, the playing field intensifies.

When you listen to someone speak, anyone speak, you often forget to take off your glasses. Subconsciously, memories are conjured up from your past- experiences that have marked your life, as the limits of the human mind desperately try to grasp what the speaker is saying and make sense of it all. You don't even know it is happening. But, suddenly, you have an opinion based on what you think you heard and how it relates to your life.

Fortunately, you are not alone. We all suffer from these unfortunate human tendencies. We have been so diligently trained to think with our minds and not with our hearts.

There was much that can be analyzed that went wrong today...as with everyday...

Personally, I had a really moving experience. And, while sometimes I would like to have felt otherwise, it would be silly for me not to be completely honest with my own personal experience.

At first, I enjoyed the President's speech. I felt that she spoke from a place in her heart. I felt her words were a reflection of her life experiences and personal truths.

Her Excellency spoke of the importance to demonstrate confidence in oneself. And with that comes strength and courage. Courage to sustain the course that one believes in...so that every obstacle becomes a stepping stone to move onto the next level of success. She asked us to be strong in our convictions.

She told us she was a Grandma.

She also poked fun at the US, saying that Africa and other nations have lead the way for female leaders, "now we're just waiting on the US". She joked that women need to be equal "and greater" than men. And she opinionated that "the greater comes in that we surpass the men in kindness and compassion- maybe, because we are mothers..."I think it is important to not take life so seriously all the time...

Her Excellency asked that we search for inner peace.

As she reflected on moments in her life where she was held captive, she reminded us that the human to human connection is the most important of all.

I felt moved by her words. I could not relate to each and everything she said, but I felt her strong will and her passion and above all, I felt her strength. I felt her inviting us to find our path and walk it: fearlessly.

Some of my classmates had different experiences.

It is very unique to be able to experience such a passionate speech in a room of such intimacy, diverse backgrounds and passionate souls.

I watched classmates who were proud and intrigued to be in such close presence with the President of their own country. I watched females connecting and smiling. I felt students from Costa Rica and from parts of Africa sharing pride over accomplishments.

I also saw sadness and disappointment over awkward silence and direct avoidance. I watched frustration and even the seeds of anger being planted.

My inspiration quickly turned into compassion...and then confusion.

I started writing this note right now, because I felt I needed to be with my feelings. I know they are trying to tell me something.

I realize that the second I take off my glasses, the story in front of me changes. I can easily put on a few different pairs, too. I can put on a pair of LGBT glasses. I can put on a pair of female glasses. I can put on a pair of male glasses. I can put on a pair of African Union glasses. I can put on a pair of Grandma glasses. And the story is suddenly completely different.

I am so grateful to be where I am right here today. And to share in an experience where there can be so much story-sharing and so much growth.

It can also be a little scary. Because suddenly the truth as I know it, as I think it has been, may not actually be the truth at all.

And I wonder how many people out there will actually ever consider removing their glasses at all.

I guess we're all human beings, huh? And we all make mistakes. We all have histories. We all have past conditionings.

Her Excellency is a Grandma.

I spoke with my Grandma yesterday. She makes a lot of mistakes. She says things that embarrass me. She offends people. She is 94. She has lived a life that I know nothing of. She also loves me and teaches me in a way that no one else has the ability to. She is my Grandma. She has her strengths and weaknesses; she, too, is a human being. I learn from the way she loves me and I also learn from the ways things have changed over time.


I could be wrong, but I think sometimes we see people as their positions, and not as another human being. We have those thick glasses on and we forget that the President before us is also a Grandma. I am not defending her or her words. I am just trying to see a bit more of the picture.

There was a point today, where I was upset by what happened. But before I got angry, I started to ask myself some questions.

If anger arises, we can be with it for a moment, because I am sure it is trying to tell us something. But I don't think it is saying "stay angry for long" because I'm sure you will get a belly ache. Picking up a hot coal to throw at someone, you will surely burn yourself first.

I'm not sure judgment is the way to go either, because I have learned from my own past that every time I point a finger at someone, one is pointing back at me.

Figuratively, I think about Her Excellency and I: Let us remove our glasses and take a minute to walk together. We each have our own story, but we all belong to the same humanity. I suppose there are many things we would not agree on. But I am sure I can learn from her story. She may do many things wrong, but she may have done a lot of right along the way also. That does not mean we have to support the wrong. But we can ask ourselves, letting go of the anger "what can I do?"

We can use those feelings, of being angry, or upset, or confused, to compel us to move forward on our path. Use the obstacles as stepping stones towards transformation.

Just don't cling to the anger or judgment for long...

Let us make change from a place of peace.

I Love My Grandma

“I’m right here sitting on my @$$ where the hell do you think I am?”

That was my Grandma in the background of the Skype session I was having with my older sister today.

At one point, she fell asleep sitting up. She does that sometimes. But don’t let her fool you. If you challenge her to a game of shuffle board, ping pong, arm wrestling or Rummi Kub- she is likely to kick your asno (that’s Spanish for a bad word).

And I’m not kidding either. She legitimately beat me in all of those games last summer. I miss her. A lot.

While I was Skyping with my sister and Grams, they were doing an art project. My Grandma used to be a fashion designer. She’s still an artist and if you give her a pencil at the dinner table she will draw you up a nice little sketch on a white napkin. Doesn’t matter if it’s those fancy cloth napkins either- she will curse the waiter right outta there. (unless, of course, he is young and cute and can dance).

Danielle said maybe Grandma was tired today because they went mini-golfing in the morning. Perhaps there’s a bit of short-term memory loss, because Grandma insisted they had only done 2 holes by the time the sign said 18, so, Danielle quickly purchased another round.

Grandma has been golfing for years.

And I mean years. She is 94. I write/talk about her a lot. Actually, I brag. Because she is awesome and she inspires me everyday. More importantly, she makes me smile and laugh until I am crying and she also loves me even in spite of the fact that I do not yet have a rich, cute Italian man.

I’ve been travelling a lot the past few years, so I wondered if Grandma knew where I was this time.

She said, “Sure I do. But where the hell is Cambodia anyways?”

I lived for 2 years in El Salvador and she used to ask me how Guatemala and Africa were all the time. It took until I moved back to NYC for her to ask me if I was still in El Salvador. Oh well. You win some, you lose some.

Danielle and I keep talking. I watch them sitting around my Aunt’s pretty backyard, painting peacefully.

I hear Grandma in the background. “This dog’s face looks like someone I know.”

She was the one who

painted the dog.

I wonder who she had in mind.

Danielle says that she still has the photo-card that I made for her five years ago posted on her wall downstairs.

That makes me smile.