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About author

To the world I am a hobbyist blogger, but behind the scenes I am a newly single mother of two awesome kids, a loyal coworker, a sympathetic friend and an unrelenting individual. I enjoy laughing until my belly hurts, making lists, riding Jet Skis, jumping on trampolines, completing tasks, swinging in hammocks, singing with reckless abandon, and writing good material. I appreciate efficiency, accountability, hard work, good humor and forgiveness. I mostly admire my mother and Mary Poppins.

moxie

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My mom used to always say I had moxie. She was a wordsmith, that one. For those of you lacking similar confidence in the English language, moxie can mean any of the following: energy, pep, courage, determination, know-how. I like to think of it as energetic determination. In most cases this quality has served me well in life – I see something I want and I don’t just go after it, I take it. In fact if it’s something I can’t have right this second then I probably don’t want it in the first place. This makes me really good at my transactional sales job and at planning last-minute trips to Bali. It also means I’m pretty fearless in most situations (exceptions: life-threatening and/or financial investment situations) because, quite frankly, I just don’t give a f**k. I suppose there was a time in my youth when I actually cared what other people thought about me and my choices, but those days are long gone. Ever seen When Harry Met Sally? Like Sally, it may just take me an hour and a half to order a sandwich. Don’t care. Someone disagrees with my self-preservation approach to parenting? Don’t care. Despite having a closet full of appropriate outfits, I will think nothing of strolling through the lobby of a Ritz-Carlton in a tank top, yoga pants and snow boots. Don’t care. I was probably two-thirds of the way through my daily checklist (or on the way to the bar) and didn’t see the point in stopping to think about impressing anyone. Fabulous way to live, right?

Except when it’s not. Except when I find it nearly impossible to meet anyone whose energy for making things happen and getting shit done can match my own. When you’re the person who is always making the moves and executing the plan (you know, the one you put together in 5 minutes flat), you quickly realize that most people are all talk. Most people live in a self-created world of fantasy and disillusion because they are busy with thinking and not busy with acting. When you act and create your way through life, you leave little room for long-term disappointments because there’s no time for dwelling. There is nothing more frustrating to someone like me than listening to someone else’s “It would be nice…” and “What if…” stories when they’ve got no plans to actually do anything about those ideas. As people close to me know, I’m not the one you call and vent to if that’s all you need is to vent. I’m the one you call when you need to get shit done and maybe I can help you put together the plan to deal with said shit. Part of me misses being in my home sales office in Chicago, surrounded by other Type-A’s, but even there only a fraction of the people have energetic determination. Only a few live one day to the next on momentum. Not surprisingly, most of them are women, masters of multi-tasking that we are. But seriously…where are all the go-getters of the world? Where are all the non-talkers of the world, the do-ers, the non-f**k-giving, you-get-one-lifers??

I know it’s been a while…did you miss me?? I’m not checking my moxie at the door as you can see.

addicted to no

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Saying yes is hard. Really hard. It’s no wonder that “no” is one of the first words spouted by infants everywhere because it’s literally all they ever hear. Sure, many of the “no’s” we as parents are throwing around have more to do with fostering a safe, injury-free environment for our youngsters than with our general closed-mindedness, but the negativity flourishes even in our rare child-free hours as I will soon exhibit.

In my nearly two weeks of experimenting with saying yes I’ve done little more than create a heightened awareness of all my nay-saying. I can think of only one specific case where I turned a “no” into a “yes” and it was at the suggestion that we take our kids to a (gasp!) public restaurant for dinner. A sit-down restaurant, with real servers and lots of other grown-ups (read: not McDonald’s Play Place). Sean has a much greater tolerance for putting our children in front of the world at large than I do. I prefer to keep them confined to our home or at least to a park where there is certain to be one other child behaving more irrationally than mine. My first response was, of course, “no,” but with a smirk and an eyebrow raise from Sean I quickly recovered and flipped that “no” on its head and into a convincing “okay…um, sure…really?…alright, fine, let’s do it.” And that’s how I ended up at the Texas Roadhouse with my entire flock (Stop judging, Chicagoans, these are the dining options I’m faced with in Colorado Springs, okay? Also the ribs are amazing and you know it.). I’m happy to report that K & K put my negativity to shame! Granted they were stunned into submission at the fact that they were allowed and even encouraged to throw peanut shells on the floor, but nonetheless it was a family breakthrough in the dining out department. Dare I say, I actually enjoyed myself.

Where I find myself struggling the most is not in agreeing to things I would otherwise have disagreed with, but in my overall resistance to and judgment of people, places and experiences. I tend to create snap judgments and find myself unable to back up and reassess the situation more openly. This is especially true when it comes to people that I just don’t like. For example, I’m currently signed up for a 5-week yogi training that has about 15 students and 3 coaches in the group. Due to the negative judgments I’ve made about a particular individual in my class, I now find myself unable to learn from and collaborate with this person. In fact, the judgments keep piling up. The irony of this as it relates to “the path of a yogi” is not lost on me. A part of me knows that the answer to my dilemma lies in powering through the negativity and getting to know this person on a deeper level so that I can better relate to them or at least be able to approach the relationship from a more compassionate place. Uh huh. The bigger part of me still thinks this sounds like a pretty shitty idea. Do I have to like everyone? Does my personality have to “say yes” to every other personality out there? What if the person, in addition to sucking overall, has toxic breath? Do I get a pass then? Ugh…I knew this was going to be way harder than going phone-free.

I’m nowhere closer to letting go of my expectations of how things should go either. This became evident over Mother’s Day weekend. After having corrective eye surgery on Friday, I expected to be mostly blind and bedridden for the majority of the weekend, thus having no real plans in place. As it turned out, I was more than a little bit functional post-op and this completely threw me for a loop. Most of you are probably out there going, “but your surgery went better than expected, isn’t that a good thing?” Not when you have a crippling addiction to making and having plans. And when Plan B involving a babysitter on Saturday night fell apart due to the weather, you can imagine what that did to my mindset. I actually lost my mind altogether, and by Sunday was either crying or in a sleeping pill-induced coma. Happy Mother’s Day! By Monday I had realized what an insane person I was and would now like to publicly apologize to my husband and children. That being said, I’m not even sure how I begin to change the part of myself that doesn’t like to roll with the punches. How do I say yes to unexpected change? Or at the very least, not let it ruin my weekend? Some people, even some mothers I dare say, embrace changes to their best laid plans gracefully. If anyone out there has a 12-step program for my special type of addiction, or hell, even an article you think I should read, bring it on.

Here’s to the next two weeks of saying no…I mean, yes. 🙂

day one with my phone

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And already, by tonight, all of my Iphone anxiety is back in full force. I had big hopes for a gradual re-entry into it, but no. I consumed every opportunity I had to look at it with relish. Yes, even while driving. I arrived at my 4:30 yoga class sickened by my obsession, but very aware of it. So that’s the silver lining, I suppose. I’ve cultivated a hyper-sensitivity to my own addiction which, one would hope, can only help in my continued quest to kick it. Appropriately, my teacher played this song for our savasana today (that’s the part at the end of a yoga class where you just lie down and rest – truly, the best part). I can’t think of a better way to describe the dysfunctional relationship I have with this evil little device:

milk and cookies

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It’s 7pm on April 30th and I’m approaching the end of my iPhone detox. Surely you’ve all been waiting with bated breath for the results of such a ludicrous experiment. I gotta say, not such a big deal really. Even Sean adapted quicker than I would have expected and had a mostly alright attitude about it the whole time. I did take a 3-day hiatus mid-month when Sean threw his back out, but other than that I stayed the course and resisted the temptations of that evil temptress, Siri. I was grateful to not be tied to work 24/7, that’s for sure, and I certainly don’t think I lost any sales from not responding to customer emails in my normal turnaround time of two and a half minutes. I quite liked not being reachable by anyone at times and while at first I felt some guilt at this, I really embraced it by the second or third week. Imagine going on a hike for two hours without feeling the nagging anxiety over a missed text or email – amazing! I felt more connected to my children as well and didn’t mind their endless questions and chatter nearly as much because I wasn’t being pulled away by something or someone I perceived as more pressing. That being said, to anyone considering a tech detox of their own, be warned: you will instantly start hating everyone else around you who’s using a cell phone. It was exactly like when I quit smoking. One day I was outside 2-3 times a day getting my fix and the next my inner dialogue sounded more like this: “I cannot believe someone would even think about smoking a cigarette this early in the morning. I mean, does this guy not realize that other people have to share the sidewalk on their walk to work and maybe I don’t particularly feel like breathing and smelling his Camel Light right now??” Such is what it’s like to put down your cell phone for an extended period of time. It’s a bit disconcerting to feel suddenly like no one is paying any attention to you (or to anyone else for that matter). Just because I put my phone away doesn’t mean anyone else did. On the other hand, since April was also my birthday month, it’s important to note that a few friends went out of their way to reach me sans phone by sending cards or flowers – thank you, lovelies! All in all, it was a good run. I enjoyed feeling like I had some privacy back that I had been missing for years, but I certainly missed things like Google Maps, ITunes and my CorePower yoga app. Oh, and of course I was a much safer driver. That is one thing I’m really going to put my best foot forward on by keeping my phone out of reach while driving.

A new idea that came to me during this month of no IPhone was turning this one-time, month-long experiment into something I could prolong into more and more blog fodder. Maybe not every single month (because I have to leave myself a way out), but at least here and there I thought it might be fun to play around with other month-long experiments. Not only would these exercises in discipline give me writing material, but they could also help me learn and grow as a person (and keep me from getting bored, which I do easily). The idea I came up with for May came straight out of a book I’m reading right now called “The Buddha Walks Into A Bar” which is a modern day “guide” for anyone interested in more mindful living. One of the suggestions the author gives for bringing the practice of meditation into your life outside of sitting down and actually meditating is by following a practice he refers to as “not saying no.” As I’ve said in an earlier post, while I understand and admire the benefits of actual meditation, I’m not ready for it yet. But alternatives like yoga (often referred to as moving meditation) and now this interesting (and horrifyingly scary) idea are intriguing. The problem, and therefore the need for a month-long dedication to such a practice, is that I say no all the time. It’s kind of my thing. Just ask my husband. Generally, I’m not good at taking risks, I need to have my expectations managed at all times and I am a control freak. Oh, and I have naughty kids. All of this equals a lot of “no.” In addition to saying no all the time, I can also be very closed-minded through my lack of action. I resist new experiences (exception: travel) at every turn and am often regretful after the fact. I have a comfort zone that is very…well, comfy. And so I’m proposing a month of not saying no and of not resisting new experiences. This one is going to be much more challenging for me than the phone detox, so I’ve already started practicing a little bit in the last week. In just a few days I’ve already learned that by simply letting go of the rules I have in place for myself and others, life gets better. Somewhere along the way I made up a rule that there would be no more drinks in bed for the kids. Why? I have no idea. I probably got tired of washing sippy cups. But lately the whole bedtime routine has been hellacious from start to finish. So I let up on my rule and now we let Kathryn have milk at bedtime every night. Problem solved! 45 minutes of demands and tears gone!  Today at the park, Kellan was throwing an epic tantrum about the particular park I chose to take them to. So Sean gave him a cookie. Tantrum over! Magic! I know, I know, I know. No, I’m not advocating for rewarding children for asshole behavior; I’m just lightening up a bit. Or opening up a bit. Or maybe I’m just saying “fuck it” for a month. Why not?

2015 tribute to my offspring

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In October of 2013 I dedicated one of my blog posts to the two most dynamic people in my life – Kellan Robert and Kathryn Blake O’Malley. My intent was to write a similar post once a year so that I (and they) can reflect back on the immense changes in their lives and personalities over the span of their adolescence. Just the other day I realized I had completely forgotten to write one in 2014. Well ironically enough, I blame it on the fact that I am a mother of two toddlers. ‘Nuff said.

In the last year and a half, K & K have completely dis-proven the theory of the “Terrible Twos.” It was instead right at that 3-year mark when each child in his or her own right brought forth the hell fire that now has us questioning on a semi-regular basis what on Earth we were thinking when we decided to become parents. Except for when they aren’t in the room and both parents are drinking – then we might briefly go down that “what about just one more? wouldn’t it be nice to have more grand-children?” road. Inevitably, though, one or both children reenter the scene, a shit storm ensues and the conversation turns instead toward vasectomies. Kellan’s third year was a shock to our system – he was stubborn, aggressive and irrationally emotional. I’m sure to more seasoned parents out there these traits seem par for the course, but I assure you he put us through the wringer, so much so that even his preschool called us numerous times over his “age inappropriate behavior.” One of his teachers described a typical day with Kellan: “Kellan likes to control the classroom and when he doesn’t have control (or loses it), then he becomes enraged and might stomp on a friend’s toy (or the friend himself).” Well, well, well…a control freak with a temper, you say??? Now where in the world might he have ended up with that set of chromosomes??? Cue the visit with the child psychologist, followed by an observation day at Kellan’s school, followed by a brilliantly well-behaved Kellan, followed by an annoying bill for $200, followed by two parents throwing their arms up in exhaustion and self-pity, plus the simple gut feeling that he would work things out. And he did, with the help of a little thing we like to call consistent discipline, something that was all but missing from our chaotic home (and from preschool, it would seem). Oh, and the whole turning 4 thing. Kellan has at a very young age taught us the importance of parental accountability – he is a mirror of our emotions and the more we react, the more he reacts. I have had some very shameful moments as a parent in my relatively short tenure and most of them have been a result of letting my emotions (anger, frustration, impatience) get the best of me. And when you have a child who is as wickedly smart as Kellan is, it can be difficult not to treat them like mini adults, expecting them to act always with kindness, compassion and reason. Fortunately, on the cusp of his 5th birthday, we have seen a truly delightful transformation. He is gifted in so many ways – he is a great thinker, a quick learner (both in academics and in sports) and a truly compassionate little soul. Yesterday he was devastated that Sean cut down a small tree in our yard to make room for my garden because, not only was it apparently his favorite tree, but he was upset that it hadn’t grown up yet like the bigger trees. “Only the big trees have to die, Mommy,” he said through his tears. And last week when I was explaining that we needed to tell our gatekeeper Jasmin how sorry we were for her because her mommy had just died, Kellan replied, “Your mommy died too, so we are really sorry for you too, Mommy.” These are the moments that wipe away any recollection of tantrums or being told “I hate you” (or worse, in my son’s case). These are the moments when as a mother I can sit and say to myself, “Yes, you are doing this right. Have faith in yourself.”

Kathryn. Kathryn, Kathryn, Kathryn. She’s three. I should just end it there given what you’ve read so far. What a little pistol. She’s always been a little pistol, but now there is a whole lot of shrieking involved. Miraculously, unlike her older brother, she manages to mostly keep herself in check at school, but man, oh man does she test the limits at home. That girl literally wakes up crying and goes to bed crying every single day. Admittedly it’s easier to discipline Kellan than our beautiful little girl, but her beauty has just about reached its limits for manipulation and she is now (finally) starting to get the same strict discipline that her brother gets. Not that we’ve seen any improvements in her behavior because of this (and this is how I now know that age plays a huge factor in toddler behavior). Speaking of her beauty, she’s apparently well-aware of it and a huge fan. Her favorite past-time is staring at herself in the mirror, making all manner of faces. Several times I’ve caught her watching herself cry in the mirror. I’ve also seen her pick her nose in the mirror. Yep, she’s also disgusting. Eats boogers and pees her pants with reckless abandon. These particularly charming aspects of her personality do little to temper the fact that she is 100% boy crazy. I don’t know if she could name a single girl in her own preschool class, but she knows every single boy from age 3 and up, including the older boys from the after school program. Sean is cleaning his gun as we speak. She’s also built like a brick shithouse and if it weren’t for the fact that her head is always in the clouds, she’s definitely got some serious athletic potential. ADD and boy crazy? Again, those genes…where ever did they come from??

Right now we are just trying to hold down the fort until we have a 5-year old and a 4-year old to contend with, holding tight to that naivete that a glorious period of perfect little ladies and gentlemen is waiting just around the corner…

april fool?

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Perhaps. Some might say (and have said as much already), “HELL YES!”  You see, I have decided to put down my Iphone for the month of April. And when I say put down, I mean put down. I don’t mean Instagram abstinence or a (necessary) refrain from texting while driving. What I mean is that my phone is currently turned off and locked up in my glove compartment. It was actually in a drawer in my house until I had the sense to take Murphy’s Law into consideration and the guaranteed emergency roadside situation that would ensue had I left it in said drawer. But beyond an unforeseen and very real crisis, I will not so much as look at it for the next thirty days. I’ve shared my plans with a few close family members and friends, plus key acquaintances like our babysitter and the kids’ preschool. The responses have ranged from “wow, that’s brave” to “good luck” to “wait, no cell phone?!” My personal favorite so far is my dear, supportive husband’s: “Do not go turning into some crazy hippie. If this starts messing up my life, I’m going to be really mad.” To be sure, we do lead busy lives, we do have children, blah blah blah. But thirty days isn’t going to kill anyone.

The truth is, I am a bit of a hippie. But the bigger truth is that I have an Iphone problem, probably not unlike the majority of my entitled American peers. I do text, email and Google while driving. I do work at all hours of the day due to easy access to my email. I do not walk past my phone without checking things out. If I pick it up and there is no missed text, call or email, then I don’t put it down until I make that phone my bitch. I will order that candle I desperately need on my Amazon app, I will Google “how many carbs can I eat per day and still lose weight” (oh for the love of God, yes, I’ve given up carbs for April too), I’ll do a quick scroll through Instagram or I will simply email myself a reminder to do something at some later point in life. Often enough while I’m obsessing over these insanely pointless activities, my children are asking me questions about Inspector Gadget, my husband is trying to tell me about his day and my poor dog just wants a little butt scratch action. And I am ignoring all of them. Real life, real moments are happening all around me and I am missing so many of them because of this seemingly perfect little piece of technology. Don’t get me wrong, I love technology. My career depends on it, for one thing, and there is an infinite number of positive uses for technology in our lives. This blog, for example. I don’t have to be a published author in order for people to enjoy my writing. My dogs never go hungry because I have their food arriving on a very specific Amazon Subscribe and Save shipment schedule. I will never be lost again unless my Iphone dies and I forget the charger (hmmmm….). You get the point. What I’d like to see come out of this cold turkey experiment is just a more moderated version of my Iphone-loving self, not a “crazy hippie.” As I’ve already made clear to so many of my near and dear and most certainly to my husband, I’m saving that phase for retirement.

I’ll keep you all posted…

friend for life?

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Depending on how closely you’ve been paying attention, you might have noticed that one of the intentions I set for 2015 (blogging) was apparently set with little or no momentum behind it. While my yogi life is in full swing, and I’m very proud of that fact, I do wish I was putting the same amount of effort into my writing. Time is not the issue as I have such a flexible work schedule most days that I can certainly squeeze in blocks here and there. I just don’t. The truth is, I spend more time keeping up with the Kardashians on Instagram than I do keeping up with my blog (don’t be alarmed, I counteract the Kardashian sisters and “Lord” Scott Disick with a good amount of the Deepak Chopras and Elizabeth Gilberts of the world as well). What I am is not strapped for time, but strapped for inspiration. I haven’t yet figured out if I want a blog that is more like a diary of my life (and therefore only appealing to my nearest and dearest, if even them), a commentary on society or a little bit of both. So in recent days I’ve asked a few of my readers for ideas on what they might like my thoughts on. Frankly, it would seem that most of them are equally uninspired these days. My friend (and also one of my most loyal subscribers), Kasia, on the other hand, had two worthy topics at her disposal, one of which I will focus on today – the evolution of friendships.

Since despite my best attempts I still don’t have a shred of comprehension around male friendships (and quite honestly question their authenticity altogether), consider my expertise here specific to the female-on-female variety. Kasia asked if I’d given much thought to the way our relationships with our friends change over time and also how the way we invite new friendships into our lives changes as we age. This is a topic I have, in fact, given an almost unhealthy amount of thought to in recent years and it’s shocking that I haven’t already ruminated on the subject. I suppose it’s because with my family life at the center of nearly everything I do nowadays, I often have those moments where I go “how the hell did I get here?” and along with those moments comes the flood of memories from a time when my friendships were at the center of everything I did. If you spent the majority of your 20’s as a singleton and put the brakes on marriage and kids like I did, then transitioning into a role (see: wife/mother/professional) where you almost have to be selective with your friendships can be quite a bit more painful than if, say, you got married and started a family right out of college. Every year at Christmas card time I review my address list with sadness and a little bit of disgust, actually. These people were at my wedding for crying out loud, and they haven’t called, texted, emailed or so much as liked one of my fucking Instagram pictures in three years!! Yes, I have these thoughts, but then I quickly realize that I haven’t exactly kept up with any of them either, although I would argue that I am better at the random acts of friendship than most. I never, ever wish a good friend happy birthday through Facebook (a call, or at the very least a warm and personal text), even if that’s how I found out it was their birthday in the first place. I love surprising friends I haven’t talked to in months (or years) with an unexpected card or email. And I write some of the best damn thank you cards you’ve ever read. Because I consider myself a thoughtful friend, and with limited time and energy to spend on these relationships, I realize that thoughtfulness is the key to a lasting friendship in adulthood. And let’s be clear, you’re not an adult until you’re at least 30 (men, sit back down until you’re checking the 40+ box). It doesn’t take getting married and having kids to understand the idea of quality over quantity when it comes to friendships either. What it does take is growing into the person you are and although we are ever-evolving human beings, I feel like we have most of the kinks worked out by a certain point and we just know who we are.

Oftentimes who we are is not who we were 20, 10 or even 2 years ago, so why hold ourselves hostage to friendships that no longer apply to the current version of ourselves? As I’ve assessed my current and past friendships I know I’ve made mistakes – mistakes in hurting people who cared for me and mistakes in letting people I cared for hurt me repeatedly without taking action. On the other hand, I am also mastering the art of both trimming the fat and then letting go. There is absolutely no place for frenemies or for “friends” who continue to disrespect or devalue us. There is also no shame in purging people from our lives who continue to receive whilst not giving. I do, however, still hold a great deal of affection for the friend who can disappear for a few years and then come back with a vengeance as if not a single day had passed. And while I once measured the quality of my friendships in years, and once vowed not to make any more “real” friends once we left Chicago, I now understand the importance of bringing not just new people into our lives, but new people of all ages and backgrounds. I have made some wonderful friends here in Colorado and most of them were completely unexpected. I even made better friends with people in Chicago (i.e. Kasia) once I had left. I also lost a few, and that’s okay. I’ve even gained and lost one in the three short years I’ve been here in Colorado. Again, trim the fat and let go. I understand that I may have overestimated my value to some of my once-friends too and that is perfectly okay. I am not for everyone and everyone is not for me. All relationships evolve over time just as we each do individually and I think the difference for me in how I approach my relationships now compared to how I did in my younger years is by choice. I’m not going to be friends with someone just because they are married to one of my husband’s friends or because I sit next to them at work, but because I genuinely enjoy their conversation and their company. I also won’t get too bent out of shape if one of those gals doesn’t like all of my Instagram pictures. As with everything, life’s just too damn short.

setting intentions

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It’s been a number of years since I abandoned the traditional American idea of the New Year’s resolution. All too often this idea of “to do or not to do” is tied up in things that are unrealistically ambitious for the person making the resolution – lose 25 pounds, get a better job, quit smoking, etc. etc. It’s no wonder that the average resolution-making person is shrouded in failure (or amnesia) by mid-February. Not only is the novelty of the fresh start all but gone, but our expectations were mis-managed from the very beginning. Being the impulsive, instant-gratification loving folk that we are, what happens when we’re still 25 pounds over-weight come February? What if we’re still kissing the ass of our shitty boss and taking 5 smoke breaks a day? We give up, we forget, we push those resolutions to the way, way, way back porch of our consciousness. So I stopped making resolutions and started making goals. Every S.M.A.R.T. businessperson knows what elements make a good goal – it must be specific, measurable, attainable, realistic and have a time frame. I believe in this system, actually, and I think it has a real place in the academic and business worlds that many of us are a part of. Sometimes I do still make goals as part of my ringing in the new year routine, but they aren’t really at the heart of how and why I celebrate my annual fresh start. For me the new year is a time when I really spend some time reflecting on myself, how I’ve grown in the past year, what events shaped me the most and how I can use that information to continue down a path of self-improvement. The goal is always the same – to see myself as a better person one year from now than I see myself today (the most important distinction here is that I’ve shifted my focus from how others see me to how I see me).

In order to do this I first banish anything perceived as stress-inducing. Resolutions and goals be damned. Instead I work on what many people in yogi circles refer to as setting intentions. Setting an intention is to tell ourselves that we will do something and then to put action to it. It’s different than simply having an intention. How does an intention differ from a resolution or a goal you ask? Well I’m no Webster, but I believe that a resolution is something that stems from our brains (and the media) telling us what we are supposed to look like, behave like and be like. An intention, on the other hand, comes from the heart. It’s the result of an authentic assessment of one’s self. Am I happy? Do I make other people happy? Am I loved? Do I love? Am I living passionately? From here I am often able to quickly and easily identify a path to betterment.

So what intentions am I setting for 2015? I thought you’d never ask! I’ve already set the intention to intensify my yoga practice. Yoga has been a focus of mine for the last two years, although months will go by that I don’t even find myself in lotus pose on the carpet, much less on a rolled out yoga mat. Still, the intention was there and still is today, however I am acting more fiercely now than ever before. On the flip side, I think it’s healthy to let go of intentions as well. I’ve completely let go of developing a meditation practice – while I honor its immense benefits for the millions of people who hold this practice dear, it’s not something I’m currently willing to commit to. And that’s okay.

My other intention is to carve out the time I need to write more regularly on my blog. Writing is something I truly enjoy – it also answers the questions of whether or not I am happy and if I make others happy in the affirmative. I have received a great deal of praise from my readers over the past couple of years, yet unfortunately since I deactivated from Facebook in July I assumed no one was reading if I wasn’t able to share my posts that way. The truth is my passion for writing is tied closely to the validation I get from other people reading my material. So I’m going to get down to business in 2015, figure out how this whole WordPress thing works a little bit better and give my readers what I hope is an improved experience. Maybe some pictures, eh? The first improvement you’ll notice is a little “Follow Marissa” option on the right sidebar so you can receive email notifications when I do post some fresh material. I’ve toyed with the idea of having a Facebook page dedicated just to my blog as well, but for now I’m relying on those of you still on the most popular social media platform in the universe to spread the word for me. If you enjoy my ruminations on the ups, downs and road rage cycles of marriage, friendship, parenthood, self-awareness, spirituality, the world, life, etc. then I encourage you to follow me and to share my bullshit on whatever social media platform you happen to be on. Maybe one day someone will pay to read this bullshit and help me with my intention of operating out of a cabana in Costa Rica.

Much love and prosperity in 2015!!

getting over bali

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Today is the start of my second full day in Vietnam, though it feels like my tenth. An inordinate amount of logistics went into getting to thisroom where I could finally unpack, open a book, a bottle of water and breathe. And to be sure, I find myself rather annoyed at this truth. I find myself annoyed about a lot of things actually: my inability to communicate with the locals, the weather forecast, my poor attitude. The problem is that I can’t stop comparing everything and everyone to that first momentous experience in Bali. Bali was my first love and Vietnam is my Southeast Asian rebound guy. You’ve made this mistake before, right? You try to recreate the same experience, the same feeling, the same euphoria that you had the first time you were with a certain person, in a certain place with a certain set of circumstances. That level of expectation never hits the mark (how could it?) and in the midst of all the shortcomings you miss all of the lovelies.

Like the lack of geckos. Or the bird symphony that greets me every morning and right after a rain shower. Or my bright green hammock. Or that despite the noticeable lack of English spoken here by comparison to Indonesia, the warmth and welcoming nature of Vietnam’s people is palpable. Or that the sheer beauty of Northeast Vietnam’s Ha Long Bay area is hard to imagine.

Nature is everywhere. Yesterday I kayaked through a small opening in one of the 2,000 emerald green karsts that speckle the bay and was transported into a place of perfect serenity. In a small ocean pond inside of a tiny green island all I could see were lush green walls surrounding me, all I could hear were the echoing bird songs in the space above me and all I could feel was the gentle drifting of the waves beneath me. Now if only those damn French girls hadn’t been there to invade what could have been the start of a lifelong meditation practice.

Yet such is the joy and the essence of traveling. Those damn French girls – Helene, Helene and Helena – saved me from yet another day of language barrier hell and I wouldn’t have traded them for all the dong in Vietnam. Much like my darling Mara in Bali, these ladies validated my gypsy spirit. They shared stories of pure traveling hell without once considering the alternative – not going. In Helena’s case, it is a matter of freedom. She has spent years getting through a law degree that’s left her feeling stressed out and miserable. So with the weight of her licensing exam looming above her she decided to stop, take a breath and see the world. Be free. Make choices for each moment instead of for her entire life. Stop planning every second of every day, every day of every year. I’m sure eventually she will return to Paris and get that license to practice law, but only when she’s good and ready and by her own choice.

So what if I was robbed of a few moments of unadulterated mindfulness? The day I spent on the waters of the East Sea with three girls from France served as an important reminder for why I do this and for why I need to get the hell over Bali. I’m here to be free and to live in each moment. Above all I’m here to cultivate a practice of living free of any expectation except one of personal choice. Traveling alone is an empowering gift because it forces you to make choices for you and only you. Of course in real life we must consider others in our decisions, but so often we get lost in those decisions and we can’t remember where we are or how we got there. Traveling by myself allows me to come back to myself. That doesn’t mean it’s easy; I laugh when people call this a vacation. A vacation is what I do with Sean or my friends, where I can relax and say “whatever you want is fine” and let someone else arrange transportation. This is much different, but it’s important to my sense of self-worth. It feeds me in many more ways than a vacation ever could.

It took a couple of days and some fellow nomads to remind me that my annual soul-feeding really is about the journey after all. Onward!

another year, another adventure

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Here I am enjoying a latte at the San Francisco airport, more than a year since I returned from the beauty and spirit of Bali, about to embark on my second solo adventure. This time the friendly skies are taking me to Vietnam, a destination though despite its booming international tourism, still raises the eyebrow of even my most enlightened American friends. While my two-week stint in Bali certainly had its critics (“you’re going alone?” “you’re leaving your kids behind?” “you’re going alone?”), most people had at least seen “Eat Pray Love” and could visualize its relative safety and immense beauty. Vietnam? Well, not so much. Most people have seen “Good Morning Vietnam” and “Platoon.” They think Vietnam, they think war-torn country. In fact, Vietnam is one of the safest, most beautiful and most culturally rich places in all of Asia. My first stop, and the deciding factor for my focus on Northern Vietnam (8 days is simply not enough time to cover more than one or two places; my goodness, I’ve lived in Colorado now for 2 years and haven’t even scratched the surface of my own state), is Cat Ba Island. Cat Ba is the largest and only inhabited island of the nearly 2,000 islands that sit in and around Ha Long Bay. A quick Google Image search yields the answer to the question I’ve been asked countless times: Why Vietnam? 

I’m staying at the Cat Ba Eco Lodge, a “hotel” that is buried in the forested hills of the island and far away from what I understand is some fairly cheesy tourism in the main hub of Cat Ba Town. From my isolated piece of paradise I will hike, write, sleep, read, meditate, kayak to private beaches, laze about, or maybe try to spot one of the only 60 Cat Ba langurs that survive today (they are one of the most endangered species in the world).

For now, though, I just need to get through the first 24 hours of logistics completely absent of any Vietnamese speaking skills. Wish me luck!