It's now a little past midnight, and I can't put my mind at ease. I'm feeling unsettled. A romantic movie that I had assumed would be heartwarming, actually proved to stir up an uncomfortable restlessness that lies more in my heart than in my head.

I watched The Break Up.

Throughout the entire movie, you see a couple so passionately in love with each other, so obvious to the rest of the world and to themselves as well...and both too stubborn to admit it. Their chemistry radiated from my laptop screen, as I layed in my bed, my white down comforter wrapped up underneath my chin, balled up in my hands. The entire movie you're rooting for them...their passion (there's just no better word at this point) is so inspiring, so true...so alive. Alive with energy, with lust and with hate...but yet it's that rare combination that makes it such a powerful emotion.

Yet by the end of the movie, they go their separate ways...but meet up several years later on the street. Their passion is still so fresh--not remnants of what they had, but fresh flames of what they are. Who they are together. Undeniably raw.

And...they still both go their separate ways...

It broke my heart.

The movie got me thinking about love..why we fall into it, how we fall out of it, and why it has such a strong hold over us. I really think it's all about the human connection. Feelings so strong for another person that you truly feel connected--and underneath all of the bullshit, that's what it simmers down to. It's human nature to seek that connection--yes, we know it. But do we know HOW important it truly is to our lives? To the quality of each day we live, each moment we spend?

We Americans tend to be a cold, stiff breed when it comes to relationships, be it girl or boy. I notice that in my experience, others from different cultures are quick to express their feelings, quick to say I Love You, quick to share an embrace or show their salty tears...they are appreciative of the simple aesthetic nature of a man or a woman, and openly show their admiration for him/her....but underneath it all recognize the value of that individual human being. They are artsy. They are compassionate and volatile in their emotions.

I wonder...because they openly recognize the value of one another, are their connections stronger? They are no longer hidden, but praised. Does their sense of passion, then, become stronger because there is more of it, or weaker because it's so commonplace for such a variety of things?

In this respect, I consider myself to be highly un-American. As much of a front I may put up, or game I may play...I'm actually very compassionate, sensitive and naive in the sense that others will value our connection just as much as I. To evoke a smile, I simply have to think of a person I have met in one time and place or another...and how that person has positively impacted my life. And I will forever think of them fondly...I have such an affinity for keeping in touch. It's almost like a handicap in this culture.

I often think of Jose, my Spanish fling with whom I spent one glorious week gallavanting across London. We knew our time was limited, but that never stopped us from investing our emotional energy into that week. We were free, uninhibited and sexy... with the wind in our hair on those frost-bitten London nights, running like children through the damp, foggy streets and racing each other to the next black iron streetlamp that shone it's dim light through the cloud a block ahead. We would stop abruptly to catch our breath, colliding into each other and grabbing onto one another for dear life, swinging around in a circle with not a care in the world. And we would laugh and laugh and laugh. Laugh until our bellys hurt, and laugh with all of our being. Right there in that London street. We faced each other, looked into the other's eyes and simply let ourselves be...compltely uninhibited...laughing. I didn't care about the crooked shape my mouth takes when I really let loose and laugh, or how my nose runs when it's chilly outside. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. He kept on looking at me in the eyes, simply admiring and enjoying that exact moment in time. And I did the same. Until we raced to the next lamppost, winner having the task of buying another round of beers at our next pub stop.

And later that night, as I pranced in and out of consciousness before falling into a deep sleep, I felt him pull the blanket up over my shoulders, tucking it underneath my right bicep a bit. With his pointer finger, he gently reached for my cheek, softly moving a stray hair away from my face. He whispered, "Goodnight, nina." I felt him watch me for a time before falling into his own slumber. When I woke up hours later, his arm was draped protectively across my chest, his hand covering my own. I had never saw someone look so angelic in their sleep.

He was beautiful, and my time with him was beautiful. That is one connection that my mind will never allow me to forget, nor would I want to. That week is one of my memories in time that significantly adds to the quality of my life. Because I had a true connection with another person...one that felt as if it could rock the entire world. It didn't matter that he was from Barcelona, or that he grew up with a complete different set of cultural values or tendencies. Our connection was not biased to the fact that our native languages were not the same, nor that we had different education levels.

And what really sets it in stone for me, is that he and I still keep in touch. We have no romantic plans, or even any plans at all. But the simple fact that I receive the occassional email from Jose in Barcelona, updating me on his life and inquiring about my own reinspires me each and every time. And the fact that in every one, he reminisces about the dinner we once shared in a small, intimate Spanish restaurant...shows me that connections are something very real. Something that needs to be valued and cherished...and held with such care up on the highest pedestal humanly possible...such a tender and precious thing... because each individual connection, forms a series of connections, which I believe to be the core of my soul, the core of my being...and the core of my inner happiness.

We could have easily forgotten about one another. We could have let two, three months slip by, like they sometime have, and never written another word to each other. We could have.

But we didn't.

And for that, I am grateful.

So thank-you, Jose for being a source of my inspiration and a driving force behind a happy memory that has made me smile so many more times than just on that plane ride home from London.

And thank-you, The Break Up, for really making me think a little bit.

To all the Joses in this world....

Salud.

"Romantic love reaches out in little ways, showing attention and admiration. Romantic love remembers what pleases a woman, what excites her, and what surprises her. Its actions whisper: You are the most special person in my life."



Yet again on one of my little driving adventures, as I was passing the Turkey Hill I saw something that reminded me that romance still exists.

A boy who looked to be about the age of 16, with his old, beat up rusty powder blue Taurus, was escorting what looked to be his girlfriend over to her side of the car. He stopped, opened the door for her, waited for her to get inside, and closed it gently.

Now this wasn't any special occasion, like a prom or first date. This was the Turkey Hill. And I think it was fabulous.

Kudos to him, for adding a chivalrous touch!

I just had to smile.

"Each day, and the living of it, has to be a conscious creation in which discipline and order are relieved with some play and pure foolishness."




"I was wise enough to never grow up while fooling most people into believing I had."





"Humor prevents one from becoming a tragic figure, even though he/she is involved in tragic events."

I thought this was absolutely beautiful and had to post it.


"I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend. He referred to the dates on her tombstone from the beginning...to the end.

He noted that first came the date of her birth, and spoke of the following date with tears, but he said what mattered most of all was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time that she spent alive on earth,
and now only those who loved her know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own, the cars..the house...the cash.
What matters is how we live and love, and how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard; are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left that can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough to consider what's true and real
and always try to understand the way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger and show appreciation more
and love the people in our lives like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile...
remember that this special dash might only last a while.

So when your eulogy is being read with your life's actions to rehash,
would you be proud of the things they say about how you spent your dash?"

"We live in a world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures that we can have if we only seek them with our eyes open."


This morning on my way to work, as I sat quite calmly in my rush hour traffic, knowing I was more than early, I looked over to my right and was startled by a piece of scenery that I had never seen before; I had always been too busy staring down the car infront of me, willing it to move faster. It was a pond of sorts, surrounded by lush green rolling hills that bordered a family of white willow trees, whose bare autumn branches dangled down, just barely teasing the surface of the water. One of this pond's most striking characteristics is it's meek little waterfall, facing the road and closest to me. About four feet high, water spills over the edge in a supremely delicate manner, producing such a beautiful sound. This, I decide, is peace.

Yet what really lit up my eyes, making me keep my foot on the brake, causing the car behind me to honk, was not the pond itself. No...but rather it was the ducks that called that pond home! These weren't just any ducks. There were literally fifty, sixty ducks, almost completely covering the surface. I have never saw so many ducks in one place! It was miraculous! And then, right in the middle, was a pristine white swan (Apparently she cameos in more than just The Ugly Duckling). She had such an angelic look to her, that I couldn't take my foot off of the brake. I didn't care. This was a scene to be taken in and relished! As she glided over the water and through the crowd, I could almost sense the other ducks' admiration. She was beautiful. If only the others knew how beautiful they were too. It was a sight to be seen, and I'm so glad it was mine this morning.

Today, remember to take in your scenery, and really notice the beauty. Let it captivate you, as if you were a child seeing it for the first time. Get excited! Be curious. Take it for what it is. Live in the moment. And don't ask questions.

We may be too old for some things, but...certainly not for others.

Have a beautiful, charming day!

"The fact is, that to do anything in the world worth doing, we must not stand back shivering and thinking of the cold and danger, but jump in and scramble through as well as we can."


So tonight I had my first travel writing class. As I pulled into Lower Merion High School, following a rather long and drawn out ride through every town on the Main Line in order to arrive, I see a semi-attractive male exiting the front doors. Not sure if this was the right building, I decided to inquire. He happily comes over to my car, and when I ask if I'm in the right place...he said... "You mean that school for old people?" Hmm. "Yeah," I replied somewhat regretfully. "I guess that's it." As I thanked him and pulled away he yelled, "Have funnn!" as if I were going into a dark, spooky haunted house, never to return. School for old people? Did i get..gulp...old?


As I navigated my way through the dimly lit halls, I noticed that the school didn't seem all that spectacular for a high school on the Main Line. I entered room 110 and suddenly became startingly aware of what my little guy friend meant. There were old people. And I don't mean young old people. I mean olddd people. Retired old people. Old people who were the geeks and the bookworms back in high school. Old people who, over the years, forgot to buy new clothes that actually fit them (or get new eyeglass frames, for that matter). I knew immediately that this was going to be good.

I got the stare down as I entered. With my black high heel cowboy boots and the black and white skull scarf I was donning, I'm not surprised. The professor herself looked a bit ragged. She began some ice breakers, one of them joking about how Lower Merion HS actually hosted a night class: "How to get by on $70,000 a year." And she was serious. Where the hell am I, I thought. Sweetie, where I come from, $70,000 and you're rich!


The class went quite well, I must say. Between the introductions and the explanation of the course, I somehow got to saying that I had spent extensive time in Costa Rica. Her reply: "Oh, I don't go to those places." Those places?
How are you a travel writer?! You can't be biased. You're suppose to love traveling to far and exotic places! I was disilusioned.


On my way out, I walked down the lonely hallway with an assignment for the following week. A five hundred word personal travel narrative. I'm going to show her...


A balding man followed closely behind me through the corridor. And he hummed. Hummed the entire way. I knew before I left that I needed to write about the humming man. I started thinking about it. Who hums these days? And who does so in front of others? He audibly hummed the entire way out to my car, as he followed closely behind. He knew I could hear him. And he didn't care. He just hummed away. I'm not sure what to make of that. Usually I would find it refreshingly pleasant--someone beating to his own drum, which I always admire. However for some reason I was a bit perturbed. How can he be so inconsiderate to disturb my peace and quiet? I almost felt as if it were a personal invasion. How do you guys feel about the humming? Do I have any hummers out there? I need a solid resolution as to my feelings on the subject. :)

"May the sun bring you new energy by day, may the moon softly restore you by night, may the rain wash away your worries, may the breeze blow new strength into your being. May you walk gently through the world and know its beauty all the days of your life." --Apache blessing




So I live in/near Philadelphia. I like to say in Philadelphia, because usually this makes people from home think I'm more badass than I actually am...but the truth is...I live in suburbia. I'm expecting the Desperate Housewives any minute now.

No matter who I talk to, they always equate Philadelphia with the infamous cheesesteak. And rightfully so, I suppose, but I'm not the person to ask because I'm just not a big cheesesteak eater. Weird. But give me a pizza anyday and I'm all over that. So it's not like I'm anti-grease, or anything. And I do loveeeee steak. (Hint to any potential suitors about to ask me out to dinner) And I loooove cheese even more...I even like hot peppers. Hmm..maybe I'll have to give this whole cheesesteak thing another go.

But ANYWAY...it is my thoughts that the Philadelphia pretzels deserve some publicity time. Why doesn't anyone ever talk about the pretzels?! I dont' understand it. When I was in San Diego last weekend...they, of course, knew about the cheesesteaks. Cool. And I wouldn't expect them to know about the pretzels. However........ there are people living in the great state of Pennsylvania who have no idea what I'm talking about when I make such a big fuss about them. "Pretzels? Like, Auntie Anne's?" No! Not Auntie Anne's! Bleh! I'm talkin' thick, doughy, elongated Philadelphia pretzels, complete with just the right amount of seasalt, sprinkled evenly along the top. Oh, and the knot! I'm telling you right now that if you don't like the knot, then something is wrong with you. I would be highly suspicious of an anti-knotter. It's obviously a first date question of mine.

Maybe I'll start shipping crates of Philadelphia pretzels to all my friends back home for Christmas. What college kid wouldn't want a large crate of soft pretzels loungin in the corner of the dorm?

"To dream anything that you want to dream. That is the beauty of the human mind. To do anything that you want to do. That is the strength of the human will. To trust yourself to test your limits. That is the courage to succeed."


I dream I am a seductress-- Defined unanimously by all men as sexy.

I dream I am fiercely intelligent--Looked upon by friends as an example.

I dream I am loved--My presence welcome by all.

I dream to be heard--My opinions valued.

I dream to be happy--it's evidence manifested in the glow of my face.


They say that if you truly believe something about yourself, then that will become your own personal truth. If I believe I am sexy, a good example, welcome, or valued...it does not necessary mean that this will be a universal truth from others' perspective...but if I truly believe it, then it will become my truth. Belief in one's self equals confidence, and confidence equals risks, and risks (or so I'm told) equal success. I think I like that. The theory empowers each and every individual to unmeasurable lengths...giving him/her the opportunity to simply believe and succeed. Oh, how cliche. Believe and succeed? But how true! Believe you can do something, get the confidence to do it, do it and watch how it all falls into place.

If you fail...at least you won't "drive yourself mad, wondering what would have happened if you had..."

Cheers!