What I Would Give...

“We each get one life and that’s it. We get one shot at this, and we don’t get any do-overs, and for me, it was time to put up or shut up and the way I saw it I didn’t have a choice. This is what I was put here to do. I guess I am just a hopeless romantic, and I am an idealist, and I believe in hopeless causes.” –Peter Kassig

This has been tucked away in the deepest corners of my heart, carried along with me throughout the day and is a constant reminder of why I am here, why I do what I do, why I am who I am, and why I am so incredibly thankful.

November was the month of thanks and giving, and while I am so glad that we take time to slow down, gather, give and reflect, I can’t help but be thankful more than just one month of the year. My thanks and giving extends well beyond the dinner table, surrounded by friends and family. My thanks and giving reaches around the world as I think about what our global community is currently facing, what our world is enduring and what actions still need to be done–what giving is still left to do.

I am thankful that I strive to be part of the solution and not the problem. I am thankful that I would rather spend my whole life giving than receiving. As I reached for hands to hold around the table this thanksgiving, I quietly thought of the five Level 3 emergencies* that are taking place around the world; Central African Republic, Syria, Iraq, South Sudan and Ebola. I thought about the real definition of sacrifice, of what each of us would give to make the world a better place. For some of us, it is far too little, for others it is far too much.

Giving can be difficult–how much is enough? To who? For how long? Some people will only give in exchange for a return. How will I benefit? Where will my contribution shine and my difference be seen? Giving can come with bragging. “You should thank me” or “If it wasn’t for me, none of this would happen” or “pat yourself on the back.” Giving can raise uncertainty. Will this work? What are the short-term goals? What are the long-term goals? Giving can push demands. Where are the results? What is the fastest solution? Why can’t I see immediate results? Or, raise the argument that giving alone simply isn’t enough. Giving can come in so many shapes and sizes. It isn’t always a money order. It isn’t always a check. Sometimes it is taking a risk, rolling up your shirtsleeves, holding your breath and stepping out of your comfort zone. Sometimes it is the heavy lifting, the serving, the handholding, the listening, the door holding, the packaging, sending and unloading. Whatever size or weight, there is no doubt that giving can feel good. I made a difference. I am a small step in the right direction. I am creating positive change. I know I am part of a larger, greater good.

For the rare gems in the world, giving is a part of them, it runs in their veins and they don’t even think about the “action” of giving, they are only concerned with the “reaction” of those receiving. Peter Kassig was this person. James Foley was this person. Steven Sotloff was this person. David Haines was this person. Alan Henning was this person, and many others.

This level of giving, of sacrifice, is impossible for most of us to imagine. This level of innate “call to action” can seem almost silly to some. However, for folks like Kassig, Foley, Sotloff, Haines, and Henning, this is what they, what we, were put on this earth to do. We were put on this earth to help one another, to have each other’s back, even when it is sometimes the back of someone else who is on the other side of the world. This can be the back of someone we don’t even know, someone who seems completely different from us, but in actuality, is probably very similar.

I have this call to action on a constant loop in my head. I think about it every day. I am lucky enough to be surrounded by people with that same giving loop. Like Kassig, I would say that I am a hopeless romantic, and I am an idealist and I do believe in hopeless causes, because I see hope. I see the potential for change, for peace, for a solution. However, this week, my heart felt heavy. Sometimes the weight of this worlds problems seem too large, too complex, and too deep to bear. But as human beings we are incredibly resilient. We are incredibly strong. And in this time of giving, of gathering, of reflecting, I feel hopeful. I feel hopeful for today, tomorrow and the next day and I am most thankful for that.

This cup is for all those hopeless romantics who believe in hopeless causes.

*  UNICEF’s Corporate Emergency Activation Procedure, categorizes UNICEF’s humanitarian response into three levels: 
- Level 1: a country office can respond using its own staff, funding, supplies and resources; 
- Level 2: a country office receives some outside support from headquarters, regional office, other country office; and
- Level 3: an institution-wide mobilization is called for. Level 3 is defined on the basis of five criteria: scale, urgency, complexity, capacity and reputational risk.

Wanderlust Plans

I can’t sleep. This is about the millionth night in a row where I am flat on my back, wide-awake. As I shed layers, add layers, kick, toss and turn, put my hair up, take my hair down, wander in and out of my kitchen, socks or no socks, window open or closed, I have decided that there are two reasons for this sleeplessness. The first reason–my rem cycle is attached to a different planet. My sleep strings are being pulled in a different direction, a different time zone that didn’t exist in Turkey, wasn’t found in Greece, was lost in Oregon, was absent in Colorado, and has been missing since returning back to Brooklyn. The second reason that I can’t sleep–I think 25 is for the birds and my mind is restless.

25 is a sticky mess of trying to “live in the moment” and “make plans” all at the same time. I juggle with this notion that we all need to be “planners” and “go-getters.” In a city like New York, you would miss everything if you started to plan. Planning will get you about as far as a cup of coffee, and even then, it is better to approach the register and make a last minute decision, then to plan before hand. Tall? Grande? Caffeine? Decaf? Hot? Cold? If I had planned to be where I am now, I never, ever would be sitting in my apartment in Brooklyn, with the job that I have in my cozy apartment. New York is not a place for planners. This is one of the reasons that I have come to like New York so well–it never requires a plan or asks for one. If you plan for the train, you will miss it. If you plan for a fresh bagel, they will all be sold out. If you plan for a brunch at your favorite brunch spot, the wait will be a day and a year. If you plan to stay in your apartment, your landlord will raise the rent by $200.00, forcing you to move out. If you plan to stay at your job, they will hire you as a temp, and give you 6 months notice to vacate. If you plan to meet the man of your dreams on the streets of New York, you will be wandering around this city until you have blisters the size of golf balls around your heels. New York expects you to keep your chin up, to jump on the first opportunity or sublet that pops up, and to go with your gut. New York expects you to eavesdrop, landing you a job through gossip and mingling. New York pushes you to your limits, moving you forward, and insists that you keep up. In New York, gut instinct is the key to survival, and planning would only slow you down and set you back.

At 25, the roads diverge between the “planners” and the “gut-followers.” Planners begin to settle, they usually have a front lawn, and they are meticulous in what will happen today, tomorrow, and next year. They plan around numbers– age, bank accounts, zip codes, area codes, 401-K’s. They strive to make long lists, checking off every box, and focus much more what “needs to happen.” The “gut-followers” prefer to be surprised and live moment to moment. They travel light, refuse to land in one place, and are constantly on the move. “Gut-followers” rarely follow the rules, drawing outside the lines and strive on being “different.” They don’t worry about the long term and figure that everything will work out one way or another.

This isn’t to say that you can’t be a little bit of both…but at 25, we begin think harder about the life that we want to live and how we will live it out. Only a few generations ago, everyone was a planner. Once you got a job, that was the job that you had for the rest of your life. Once you got married, you bought a house and settled down. Today, there are endless options. Jobs come and go, we are transient, exploring (for some of us, well beyond our comfort zone) all the possibilities, and if you are like me, having too many plans would get in the way of all that life has to offer. However, I want to be clear–“gut-followers” can get a bad rap. We are not as careless as we may seem. We are not flakey. We are not as haphazard as it might appear. We want everything that “planners” want. Chances are, we have a plan, it just isn’t set in stone. We are flexible. The “gut-followers” just don’t want everything mapped out, they don’t want to be told what to do, they don’t need all the answers right away, and they see themselves getting to the same place as the planner, using a different route, a different timeline and prefer to be surprised.

Curled up in a cozy armchair on the upper westside, I held my brand new niece. At a week old, the world is her oyster, and she doesn’t need to have a plan. She is free to live the life that she chooses. She can plan as little or as much as she wants. And while I hope to be there for every milestone she encounters, every setback, every leap forward, every achievement, I want her to know that as a native New Yorker, she should follow her gut and:

 “Dream, dream, dream the craziest dreams.” – Arch Bishop Desmond Tutu

…Because 25 years ago no one would have ever planned or imagined that I would be sitting on the upper westside with my brother and sister-in-law and baby Matilda sipping a latte in New York City. And because all of us followed our gut—here she is and here we are.

This cup is for Matilda. Welcome to this crazy, amazing world!

October Notes

October and November blew through the year like a gust of wind...and so I am catching up.

“I remember it as October days are always remembered, cloudless, maple-flavored, the air gold and so clean it quivers.” –Leif Enger, Peace Like a River

Did you know that bourbon and apple cider is what fall is made of? We made this discovery over the weekend, after we assembled a coffee table in our living room and channeled Julia Childe and Nora Ephron and made a chocolate torte and pumpkin spice cake to ring in autumn. I boxed up my summer dresses, downloaded all my Greece pictures from the summer, and pulled out my woolly socks and chunky sweaters. Fall has finally arrived to Brooklyn.

I have been feeling melancholy and settling into a lifestyle of simpler things, small groups, sharing a glass of wine with a close friend, taking part in intimate conversations about life, happiness and grand plans. I’ve spent Friday nights with my fancier kicks stored away in my closet, wandering the kitchen in leggings and messy hair, standing over boiling pots of winter soups, lighting expensive candles for no one but myself, and finding the quiet corners of home to be the most inviting.

In a city that never sleeps, it is up to me to find the time to hibernate. And with a new job that comes with the same 9-5 routine, I have made it a goal to find ways to make no day quite the “same” as the last. I refuse to set a pattern of same-ness in a world that revolves around “same.” And so I have started a list to throw “same” out the window, and take autumn by storm with new ideas, new routes, new recipes, books, ideas and plans.

• Change the way you walk to work; get off at a different stop, walk further, walk on the other side of the street, walk with your chin up, take your ear buds out, give life a listen, and get lost in your own neighborhood.

•  Add something new to an old recipe. This week I took a simple boxed cake and added chopped apples and cinnamon to give it a little extra chunk and a little more kick. I added bourbon to apple cider, and I added fresh chopped carrots to my chili.

•  Change up your routine. Run in the dark. The other night when I got home, instead of changing into leggings, I changed into my running clothes and headed out into the dark.

•   Instead of reading before bed, run through French flashcards. Learning a new language before falling into dream land can only help cement all those tricky verb changes right?!

  • Buy expensive candles. Lots. And keep rotating them. Most importantly, never save them for a special occasion.
 • Dump a toxic friend. Dump the friend who only makes you feel terrible about yourself, who never put in the time that you put into the friendship. Dump them. Life is too short and we are too old for this.

• Wear a different perfume. I bought a new perfume, it’s made from pine trees (can you tell I am homesick?) and I have worn it to work a few days in a row, carrying a small forest on my wrists.

• Clean in the morning. Sweep while the coffee is brewing, before you head out the door. You will be amazed what a nice surprise this is when you get home in the evening.

• String twinkle lights (that are supposed to go outside) inside, and put them in your kitchen, above your sink and counter, in a hap–hazard arrangement, plug in, and enjoy. You will find that you actually do spend more time in the kitchen enjoying them.

These are just a few of the changes that I have made (so far) to ensure that no day is the same, because routines and same-ness is so yesterday.

This cup is for fall. 

Savings Account

This fall I am starting with a clean slate. August was like that thread in the sweater that you pull and the whole thing begins to unravel into a big heap in your hands. No amount of mending could begin to fix the holes, and so, with a heavy sigh, I start over. This is all prompted by the fact that I lost my laptop to a series of unfortunate events. In the end, I lost two years of images captured from all over the place, pages and pages of refugee research and peace-keeping solutions to humanitarian problems that plague our world, and folders filled with things I can’t even remember (but that I am sure were extremely important, detailed, and could have been famous someday). Alas, it is lost, and it made me take a step back and think about everything that I still have and the all the other ways we manage to collect, document and save memories. 

After I lay on my hardwood floors, mascara running down my face, sobbing like an uncontrollable five year old on an airplane, I sat up and realized that nothing was truly lost. I didn’t need my computer to remember my life for me. That zipper that doesn’t align on my shoulder bag I got in the market reminds me of that afternoon in Vietnam, drinking Fanta and dodging scooters. The journal filled with watercolors of the pacific reminds me that all those salty summers are still logged. Calling up a friend to reminisce about that time we got stuck on a tinder boat in the middle of the Mediterranean brought back that queasy feeling deep in my gut. Wandering into my Brooklyn kitchen and reaching for a fresh bag of ground coffee brings me right back home. As summer winds down, I can’t help but notice that my tan has faded, but that mosquito bite at the base of my ankle has turned from a scab to a scar that will be there for the rest of my life, reminding me of that perfect night that we cooked out on the esplanade overlooking Manhattan. That scratch on the hardwood floor is when we thought it would be a good idea to drag the dresser (without taking the drawers full of clothes out) the day I moved in. The postcards that decorate my kitchen wall are a timeline of zip codes, thoughts and happenings from friends and loved ones who have managed to track me down as I nomad from place to place. There are so many other ways to collect memories of the things that are important to us besides the digital world.

With all that in mind, I challenge you to print something out. I challenge you to write something down with a pen and paper. Pull out the sharpies and thumbtacks. I challenge you to get your hands messy, to stain your shirt, to drip paint on your jeans, to tape something onto the wall, to nail something into your foundation, to leave a mark that will never fade.

This cup is for Claire, because you get it. 

August

I want to meet you for mussels. Will you meet me in Manhattan, at my favorite mussel place across from the park in the east village?  Did you ever think I would say those words? Manhattan. Are you stunned that I made it out east all by myself? Looking back, it is hard to imagine. I know! You would have been right up the road.

I could order wine because I am old enough to drink now and you would be so surprised by how tall I am when I stand up to give you a hug as you walked through the door.  My hair is blonder, I pierced my nose, but you would spot me instantly because you know me, and I look the same. Remember, we have the same walk? I would recognize you anywhere. You are sporting your baseball cap, classic button down shirt and jeans. You smile that hundred-watt smile and we sit down.

I would take one long stare, looking deep through the frames of your glasses, and then down, the pen and paper that you always kept in your breast pocket, studying your hands. I miss those hands. Those hands that built.  I would reach out to touch your arm, reminding myself that this moment was real. Where would I even begin?

There are so many days, so many moments, celebrations, shenanigans and heartache that you have missed. Knowing me, I would probably end up telling you more about President Obama (how I met Brent in the freezing cold at Inauguration) then about my recent graduation from my MA Program. Yep, this girl got her MA. Your niece (who would never leave home, not even for sailing camp) got an MA in International Affairs. Your niece who (at age 7) closed her eyes when you put on Speed for movie night wants a career in post-conflict peace building. I will probably forget to mention that I sailed around the world, but instead pull out my iphone….You instantly want one. I would tell you that Nest is no longer available, but PAPER is sure to intrigue you.  You would be surprised that we both lead nomadic lifestyles, and you would appreciate and understand why I can’t settle down. I lived in LA. Can you imagine? I learned how to parallel park the Subaru in Venice Beach. Oh, and I worked for Bill Clinton, and if I had mentioned that you two had previously met, he would have remembered. Who would have thought, right? And! And! I am a Beaver! Granddad will never live it down! I am the only Beaver in the family! I know! Crazy. But don’t worry, I still cheer for the Ducks.

I am going to take some time to gossip about the family. I am going to lean in and tell you all the things that drive me crazy, the stuff that would make you laugh. Your laugh, I can hear it. It’s perfect. You won’t believe some of it, your eyebrow is raised. Believe me, this shit happened. What a weird world, right? Don’t you wish you could have seen this for yourself? Aren’t you glad you weren’t around for some of this? I know. I know.

Guy, the squid polenta in Croatia, it was jet black and I tried it! They have peeps for every occasion now, even the 4th of July, they come in blue and red! And they have mini–peeps! And, there is this cheese called Humboldt Fog that will change your life.

I wouldn’t share the dark memories. I would resist telling you how much I hate August. I would skip over the details from that summer where all I could manage to keep down was chocolate soymilk. I won’t tell you the feeling I felt lifting the mask off my face in the intensive care unit so you could have one last look–the extreme loss I have felt every day of your absence. I won’t go there.

You’re dipping the crust in the salty mussel broth. It’s so good. The wine is almost gone. There is not enough time to get through it all. Everyone is still sailing along. I’ve missed you. I will always miss you. And I wish you were here.

This cup is for Guy–SNF. 

Currently Submerged

Follow the motion of the ocean.
The shock of the first dip.
The cold pacing through every nerve ending
And slowly subsides as arms and legs adjust to the current.

Neck deep.

The current.
Push. Pull.
Push. Pull.
Push. Pull.

Follow the motion of the ocean.
The saltwater settling into my hair.
Exfoliating my skin, sinking deep into every pore.

Neck deep.

The current.
Try to keep up.
Float.
Meander.
Splash.
Breathe.

The horizon.
The power of tranquility.
The depths of the ocean.
I'm suddenly small.
A bottomless, blue abyss.
I'm in deep.
Submerged.

Follow the motion of the ocean.
Tred. Focus. Relax.
The tides. The waves.

Neck deep.
Push. Pull.
Blue on blue.
The saltwater residue sits on my lips
stings my wounds, tangles my hair.
Hands and feet turn to wrinkled prunes.
The shore is calling.

The current.
Push. Pull.
Push. Pull.
The sloshing of the tide.
The motion of the ocean.

"The sea, once it casts its spell,
holds one in it's net of wonder forever."- Jacques Yves Coustean

Follow the motion of the ocean.
Submerged.

Knee deep.
Touching land.
Looking back for
one last salt water breeze.

To Real Love

John Lennon once said, "love is real, real is love." This week I understood exactly what he was saying. Before a backdrop of blue on blue, with a saltwater sea breeze, the sun hitting my face, I watched two friends define real love. 

Not only are these two the definition of real love, they turn dreams into reality. Never could I have ever imagined standing on a volcanic island, champagne in hand, baby's breath in my hair dancing to "You and I" with my best friend. Everything about it was real. 

I will be the first to admit there have been times in my life where I forget "real love" exists or what it looks like. The kind of love that stops you in your tracks. The kind of love that shakes you to your core, pumps through your veins, fills your chest with butterflies, pushes and pulls you in all directions and overwhelms your head and heart. This kind of love can only be felt when you find the perfect match, your other half, your companion... your forever person. But this week I remembered what "real love" looks like because I saw it, I felt it, and was fortunate enough to be part of the definition of "real" in the context of the week (which was all love). And so to this real love, I would like to give a toast. 

To real love. To Emma and Sammy. You inspire me everyday to live life to the fullest. You remind me to slow down and live in the moment. You are the energy that I hope to channel everyday. You are the creativity, the wanderlust, the warmth that I want to emulate. You are the partnership that I hope to find someday. You are the laughter, the stories, the beach walks, the sandy dogs, the saltwater, the meals, and the adventures that I will remember and cherish forever. You are the happily ever after. You are the definition of "real love." Here's to you.

Stomp. Stomp. Clap! This cup is for you!