artsy fartsy: gum on your shoe and a high five

Two people standing in front of a piece of art will see very different things more often than not.  

When I stand in front of a Clark Takashima original from The Dream Series in the gallery I work at on the North Shore of Oahu, I see the water for what I feel it really is.  Others see strands of hair, deities, magic, or even just a  simple wave.  This piece, entitled "Vibrational Planes", has so many hidden elements.  The ohm symbols, the orb of life, the manifestation of the implied peace with the universe... It is difficult to look at this piece and be bored or uninspired.  

The same can be said for most of the occurrences in the universe and our daily lives.  When I step in gum, I simply scrape it off and throw it away, and I assume it was the universe keeping me from stepping off the curb into a speeding bus or allowing me the few moments I needed to wait to run into an old friend.  Hell, sometimes it is just stepping in gum and there is nothing significant to it at the time... Until the butterfly effect hits.  

Others may step in gum, and burst into tears, as it is officially the worst day ever.  Ever.  How does one get into a mental and/or spiritual place in which the simple act of an annoying tidbit can break their spirit?  One word: Perspective.  You cannot allow for yourself to find the negative attributes of the day or a single action break you.  Yes, we all deserve a day where we snuggle up on the couch, eat junk food, and watch five seasons of How I Met Your Mother on Netflix.  Conversely, we also deserve days where we pick ourselves up out of the rubble, slap on a smile, and find the brighter side. 

Any time I have a rough day, I try and focus on the blessings and brighter moments in an effort to not let myself slide back into the quicksand.  And, yes, dear reader, it is indeed quicksand.  Negativity, self-pity, and shitty days will keep on sucking you in.  Everyone is sick to death of the  person on facebook that has Armageddon in their lives all week, every week.  So, you stepped in gum.  That sucks.  At least you have money for shoes, legs and feet to put them on, no debilitating disease preventing you from walking, and you're in a safe enough place in the world where you can walk outside without car bombs threatening your safety and life.  

Was that a bit dramatic?  Perhaps.  However, so is stating that you hate your life because you're in a boring meeting.  Guess what, kiddo:  You have a job!  Boom.  Lawyered.  

You cannot appreciate the sun without the rain, the warmth without the cold, and a person until you have truly missed them.  

Moving to Hawaii showed me how much I missed the warmth, but it also made me miss those crisp, cool days in Quito over the last year.  One slightly overcast afternoon, I was sitting at Rumfire in Waikiki, my home away from home on the island, and listened to the waves while I sipped an ice cold Kona beer and listened to a few girls (transplants from southern California and Florida) bitch about the weather being "gross, ugly, and lame".  Seriously?  Seriously.  If it is sunshine and no clouds, it's too hot.  If it's raining, it's a drag.  If it's overcast, it's ugly.  

Perspective, people.  

You live in Oahu, Hawaii where people save their entire lives to go visit just once and you have lost sight of the beauty that surrounds you.  You are living someone else's dream... How dare you take that for granted?  If we all stopped complaining about stupid shit and looked at the positives, I think we would all have bigger smiles, fuller pockets, and warmer hearts. 

Now, go high five someone.

xx.a

i fell in love with a girl named quito

Quito. When I was looking to move abroad, all of these amazing places sprung into consideration. I imagined myself sipping Argentine wine in a romantically lit cobblestone courtyard in Buenos Aires while I watched locals and foreigners alike Tango and twirl. I saw myself bowing slightly to pass through the noren that hang in every restaurant throughout Japan, removing my shoes, and sitting amongst countless locals to eat the freshest sushi on earth while I practice my formal tea pouring and regional diction Japanese in Kyoto. I pictured myself eating tapas and viewing Gaudi's architecture along the streets of Barcelona before headed to the beach to sip Sangria and chat with the locals. Never did I think, "Hey, perhaps I will head to the Andes and try and build a life in a city I have never even seen a photo of", but therein lies the adventure.

I hadn't taken a Spanish class since Sra. Gallardo's Spanish class at Corona High School my sophomore year, and seeing as a solid decade had passed since then, I knew I was in for a challenge when I accepted a position in the capital of Ecuador. My sweet mother gifted me the South American and Ecuadorian Lonely Planet books (I live by these books) and I got started planning my new life... My new life in Quito. My mother and I popped open an ice cold bottle of champagne, poured two glasses worth into her fancy-schmancy crystal flutes, and opened the fresh, virgin pages of the travel guides to see what was in store for me.

On a side note: Admittedly, I am a bit of a planner. Ok, that is an understatement. I am a certified professional organizer and I love to plan, organize and make sense of things. I did do some research on Quito prior to my interview and my departure, but I found my gypsy spirit whispering, "Let go..." and so, for once, I did.

Back to the champagne. We drank, we read, we laughed, we dreamed. A short month later, I was sipping coffee with my father on the way to LAX as the sun seemingly chased us westward in the early November morning. Luggage in tow, containing carefully chosen articles, I sent vibes to this foreign city that would become my dwelling place for the next year. Would it become my home? Flash forward to the three month mark of my journey and I can say without hesitation that this city has become my home, my friend, and my lover.

My feet have grown accustom to the often jagged terrain of the streets and sidewalks that aid my navigation of Quito. I find that I need match my eyes to my steps less and less with each passing step and each passing day. The sounds of airplanes in the distance blend naturally with the clamor of honking taxis, buses shifting gears, and the symphony of car alarms that sound off endlessly throughout the city.

It is amazing to ride the blue city buses and watch contently out whichever window sports that day's adventure. Seeing something new every time, it allows the association of times passed to be connected with new sights, inciting, "I've been there before..." as connections are made. I am truly beginning to know this city. I am falling in love with her curves- both those soft and seductive, as well as those dangerous and elusive- as she allows me to explore them with the curiosity of a child. I have grown accustomed to the temperamental and fickle weather, just as women are perceived to be. As I leave my home some mornings, drenched by the time I reach the bus and taxi hub at the bottom of my hill, only to find myself peeling my coat and scarf off under the intense equator sun as I exit my class just a few hours later. The altitude, around 9,000 feet, depending on your location, offers a hospitable home for rolling, white clouds and constantly changing views in every direction. At night, when the sun rests, the fog rolls in like a team of bandits in the Wild West, occupying street corners and slowing traffic to a cautious roll. Quiteños fear not this timid fog, still linking arms and wandering the streets of La Mariscal in search of cuba libres and reggaeton music.

My ears have ceased searching for English in the sea of Spanish palabras (words) and have sat back in the hammock next to my brain and begun enjoying the challenge that has thus become a game: Learning Spanish. Reggaeton, Salsa, and Meringue music please my inner musician and songs have become familiar, just as in the States.

The incredible preservation and restoration of Centro Historico (Old Town) Quito has helped it quickly become one of my favorite areas to pass the time. Classic Colonial buildings are flanked by the soft, golden lights that guide locals and tourists alike down the streets towards canelazo and empanadas. Massive churches with ornate entrances remind us all that there is something greater than us, and we should all remember to not outgrow out britches. Street performers and beggars alike cast hopeful eyes in the direction of those who pass by and handfuls of plata (change) become the sought after treasure battled for by all.

Parque la Carolina, Quito's answer to Central Park, beckons to all who must pass by on their way to work or school. Flanked on the North side by an art exhibit of massive hummingbirds that have been decorated by local artists, Parque la Carolina hosts jungle gyms, museums, paddle boats, islands, bridges, a skate park, grassy knolls, basketball courts, soccer fields, shady trees, and all sorts of guests who use the park for their own benefit.

My legs have grown accustomed to the countless hills that are to be climbed on my daily rounds and I have found that my daily retirement upon my pillow is always truly welcomed. It has never failed, however, that my mind and body rejoice in venturing out again into my city when it calls upon me.

When I am sick, she lulls me to sleep with her many voices. When I am weary, she reminds me of the incredible, bustling life going on around me. When I grow lonesome, she provides me thousands of people to listen to and watch. When I find myself lost, she shows me a sliver of curving mountaintop or a peak at a street sign, and I have once again found my way. When I feel like dancing, sweet Quito delivers me music to entice my soul and my hips.

She is a good lover, this Quito, and I seek to enjoy every last day with her...

¡SI SE PUEDE!

When I made the decision to move to South America, I knew a massive lifestyle change was in order. This meant more than giving up In-n-Out Burger, more than missing out on watching TV shows with my folks, and more than leaving worldly goods behind in the states. I traded my car for a bus and 'trole' system, I traded Red Robin for Seco de Pollo at a corner shop where they remember your face, and I traded American football for fútbol de Súdamerica... Well, I still stream the NFL with my roommate, but that doesn't mean I can't love both.

I knew when I started applying down in good 'ol Latin America that I'd need to stick with the national team of whichever country I inhabited for the next year. The bright, primary colors of Ecuador's national team bring a sense of pride and quality to the match- which is awesome because I can't foresee myself getting behind a team wearing pastels.

My roommate, Ian, and I decided we were going to take advantage of our schedules while we could and jumped a city bus for the 10 minute ride to the stadium. Everywhere you looked, Ecuador was represented by the shirts on their backs, scarves around their necks, paint on their faces, and the gleam in their eyes. The local business along Naciones Unidas (the main avenue leading up to the stadium) opened their parking lots to vendors with massive tables piled high with royal blue and sunshine yellow merchandise. Jerseys, hats, jackets, scarves, bracelets, vuvuzelas, wigs, and anything else you could imagine. I bought Valencia's #16 bright yellow jersey and Ian purchased a royal blue zip-up jacket, both sporting "ECUADOR" across the back and both of us bargained in soft, yellow scarves from Otavalo to complete our sportsmanship.

We dipped in to a local liquor store and purchased large Pilseners and walked the last block to the stadium. I'm pretty sure that every police officer in the city of Quito was out in full force- on foot, motorcycle, and mounted on horses- and they are my favorite. Well, the men are, because when I smile and say, "Buenas tardes" they always smile back, tip their hats, and unleash a plethora of kind sayings and well wishes. The women on the force are not so friendly... But I'm working on them.

Ian and I stood under a large tree directly in front of the stadium drinking our cold beers and people watching a sea of brilliant yellow and blue, sprinkled with red and white Peruvian supporters. Various chants rose up in to the clear blue sky, filling the warm, thicker than normal air with energy and anticipation. Two dozen police officers with dogs in tow- well, lying in the shade blissfully- occupied the area behind us, while a promotional team comprised of two good looking men and five ridiculously hot women painted faces and posed for photos directly in front of us. Of course, we elected to have our faces painted with the three stripes of the Flag of Ecuador; purely for sportsmanship, of course.

We ran into a few friends who were leaving for Buenos Aires the following day, shared our beers and rum with them, and wished them well. We managed, per usual, to make a random friend in a matter of moments during our chat and followed the Kiwi into the stadium to stake our claim on spots for the match. Our Kiwi friend led us to two tall, mustached gentleman- one from Colorado and the other Toronto- who I nestled in between (standing a foot shorter, it felt, and I enjoyed my break from towering over people) and pressed up against the concrete half-wall and ordered a beer. Game on.

Looking around at 30,000 fellow fútbol fans screaming, laughing, drinking, eating, babbling on about who knows what... It was invigorating. I felt alive as the sun kissed my skin and warmed my hair, the wind blew softly on occasion, moving my scarf and hair about in its own fashion, and waiting with baited breath for Ecuador to sex the ball into the net.

Goal.

A shower of beer came down on us as quickly as the ball entered the Peruvian goal and the drum, lucky for us it was two rows directly in front of us, shot up in the air and a man in his late twenties with a jester hat raised a clenched hand holding a drum stick and beat the living hell out of the drum. "¡Soooooy Ecuatorianooooos!" All 30,000 sang in unison. Goosebumps. Shredded newspaper fell as confetti and fans hugged, kissed, cheered and ordered more beers. I shared my beer (a very common and appreciated gesture here) with the jester hat and we all cheered again.

Goal.

Could this really be happening? If Ecuador were to lose this match, they would be eliminated from the runnings for all the cups coming up and leading to the World Cup Brazil 2014, I was told. They lead 2-0 and players from both teams were being carted off the green grass if the field every few minutes. The game was so good, even the 'seguridad' placed around the field were watching the match, relying on the massive concrete trench and barbed wire fence to keep unruly fans in the stands.

"¡VAMOS ECUADOR!"

The smell of sweat, beer, and fútbol filled the air and we were loving every second of it. Ian and I were helping the drum crew pass beers down from the vendor and they invited us to join the celebration on their level. We quickly and clumsily scaled the half-wall I had formed a relationship with by this point, and joined the fun a little closer in. Directly behind the goal is not a bad place to be, I must admit. They handed us beers and we cheered louder and harder than before, and both of our Spanish improved a fair amount during this match, oddly enough. 

The whistle blew, precious Pilsener went into the air, joining more shredded newspaper confetti and there was a deafening roar. Half a dozen men in bright yellow jerseys grabbed massive, dated looking fire extinguishers and aimed them directly over the crowd. (Note: These things used to terrify me, thanks to my good friend, Nik, I felt a sense of empowerment knowing that this white foam would rain down on me and I owned it. Thanks, Nik.) Much to my surprise; red, blue, and yellow rocketed out of the hoses and showered us with fanaticism. The jester, wearing what was a white shirt, now looked like a smurf, having caught the brunt of the blue concoction and was thrilled to be blue. Ian lunged for the victory drum, cheered enthusiastically and thrust it solidly into the air. The jester grabbed his instrument of enthusiasm and began the victory chant... And Ian was the foundation.

Covered in beer, fire extinguisher residue of all colors, sweat, and the city... Ian and I walked home through the park watching the clouds that seemed to be turning red in ,support of Ecuadorian victory, against the blue sky. The buses were filled with happy tired fans, people on their way home from work with longing looks in their eyes at the missed adventure, and us: two gringos who took the opportunity to be a part of the culture that is hosting us for a year, and will never be the same. Gracias, Ecuador... Si se puede.

xx.a

salsa is delicious but hurts my feet

Admittedly, I wasn't feeling pumped yesterday, which is rare for me. I should've known all I needed was a little YOTY in my life. (Note: YOTY = "Year Of The Yes", where I say 'Yes' to everything physically and financially possible for 2011. This has brought me much joy, as well as a few battle scars.) So when I finished a delicious lunch of Seco de Carne with my fantastic roommates, we all returned home for a siesta, and I was pretty much set on staying in and reading. What was holding me back? I have some family stuff going on, but I'm 3,500 miles away and I need to take advantage of this very moment in my life.

So, I took a nap, fixed a rum drink (extremely popular here), threw on some make-up and a snazzy shirt, and marched down the hall in heels, shaking what my mamma gave me. Boom, let's do this. My American roommate didn't join us this evening due to obligations, however my Ecuadorian roommate led the way as his beautiful and hilarious friend, Alejandra, drove us to the Club District.

As a tall, auburn-haired, blue-eyed, freckled gringa (in heels, dammit) walking into a Salsa club... Ya turn a few heads. Now, I was told by a couple of Ecuadorians back in the states that I would never find a boyfriend in Ecuador because they will not find me attractive or sexy.

Bullshit.

Let's be clear; I am definitely not looking for a boyfriend (or otherwise) during this chapter of my life. However, that's a strange thing to have floating in the back of my mind as I step of the plane:

"Wow, Amie, you just move to Ecuador. Alone. Hell yes. You're a badass and you're living your life... But get used to it because the Andean men won't look twice, gringa."

So, as we strolled to the bar to get our drinks, I felt eyes upon me. And by "upon me" I mean "molesting me". Hmmm... Could those strange men have been wrong? Meh. I'm here for Salsa music- and dancing, hopefully- not the approval of the men of Quito.

I took in everything I could... The concrete floors, open-faced brick walls, the modern looking bar with an orange glow emanating from below, and even the disco ball that rotated slowly above me. My crimped hair fell over my shoulders, but the turquoise lace long-sleeved shirt and tight jeans probably gathered more attention than my freckles this time around.

A slightly older gentleman approached me and reached out his hand for mine. "¿Quieres bailar?", Marco asked me. I smiled and informed him, "Primera vez"... It was my first time. He was kind, taught me a few moves, and then asked to see what I could do. His white shirt, unbuttoned a few buttons to reveal salt and pepper chest hair and a massive silver cross, moved with him and he was leading me around enough to help me fit in. Part of me felt alive, part of me ridiculous. Either way, I knew I wasn't going to have an early night.

Thankfully, I have rhythm for a white girl and didn't embarrass him (or myself) too badly. My roommate & Alé ran into some people they knew and my favorite part of the culture became eminent: The introduction.

When Ecuadorians introduce one another, or even greet each other, they always say "Hola" or "Mucho gusto" and kiss on the cheek. Men and women or women and women, men will shake hands, and often hug if they are akin to one another. I've met dozens of people thus far, and the side-kiss has yet to get old. I look forward to the moment where my roommate introduces me and I am welcomed into the moment with a complete stranger.

We greeted and kissed one another and my roommate leans over and informs me that the men he just introduced me to are professional Salsa dancers. Grrreeeaaaaaat. I'm the white girl from LA who speaks un poco de Español and you brought me to a club (pronounced: cloob) with the pros? Ppshh. Screw it. You only live once.

Saíd (Sa-yeed), with clear eyes, mocha skin and a ridiculous upper body, took my hand and led me towards the disco ball... Damn, why the best of the group? Why the instructor? Why not. "Primera vez..." and Saíd smiled a big, Ecuadorian smile and said with a slight accent, "I teach you, Amie, don't worry". YOTY.

I was told I had rhythm, the hips, the legs, and I could feel the movement of the music. Me? Hell yeah! Let's dance til I can't feel my feet! Oh, shit, I can't feel my feet.

I took a brief break, threw my sweaty mess of a hair up, and watched my roommate twirl around a little Latin lady on the dance floor while I talked to Alé. Then a much older man, we'll call him 'Tío' because he looks like someone's creepy uncle, took my hand and dragged me on the dance floor. I am a lady, and I tried to make the best of it, but Tío was some sort of mess out there. He kept yelling, "Let's go!" uhhhh.... Go where? This dance floor is packed and you've kicked me three times. I thanked him and wandered off to find my posse, and as I begin chatting up Alé in an attempt to catch my breath (damn altitude) this pale, blonde-haired man with red pants on asks me to dance. Sabestián, he informed me, is from Quito and was a decent dancer. He spoke to me in perfect Spanish through two songs, surprisingly I kept up, and bought me a drink, which apparently comes with a phone number.

Saíd's fellow dance champion, Orlando, grabbed my hand and snatched me away from my hipster Quiteño. He spoke quick, nasty Spanish and I didn't understand a single word, so I just answered with the typical answers in English and relished in the consistent surprised faces when I tell them I will be there for a year to teach English. Kike, another professional dancer, didn't understand a word I said, and his ebony, muscular body wriggled all over as I towered almost a foot above him. This is worse than Tío's sweaty palms and incessant yelling.

Women's long, dark hair swung around all throughout the dance floor and men's shirts clung to them, drenched in sweat. The live band- comprised of a half dozen Ecuadorians, a handful of Cubans, and a Russian bass player- sounded off endlessly with beautiful brass sounds from the stage. The lead singer, a bald and chubby man with squinty, kind eyes, had his goatee braided and adorned with multicolored beads.

Around 2:00 am we finally pried ourselves away from the hips and kicks of Salsa at El Aguijón and, dripping with sweat, head back home to ease my aching feet, relish in trying something new, and laugh at how many times Saíd dipped me. The lights of Quito remind me that I'm here for a year and I need to remember to say "Yes" and appreciate how random and amazing my life is. The first time I go Salsa dancing, I go in Ecuador and am taught by professionals. I. Love. My. Life.

xx.a

french-canadian women and ecuadorian men

My plane sat on the tarmac in Houston, Texas awaiting our turn to take to the sky. The sky was glowing bubble gum pink and the plane filled with a warm, gentle light as people fidgeted and adjusted items and settings to ensure their flight was to their liking. I didn't move a muscle. I sat with my coat and scarf in my lap and a small mile on my face, as if I knew something wonderful that noone else knew.

I spoke candidly with a French-Canadian woman, presumably in her 60's, who had lost her husband five years earlier and decided to travel the entire world in her days of retirement. She was very clean, sweet, and had pearls around her neck. She had moved to my empty row to escape being squished between two of her travel mates, which reminded me of the book I have been reading, 'A Woman Alone' which is comprised of short stories from women who have traveled all over without accompaniment or regret. My smile grew slightly.

Her gentle, feminine hands were manicured like my grandmother's, and though proved that she definitely took care of herself, showed experience. One day my hands will look like hers, and it will be an honor. I will wear this badge of experience and adventure with pride. Until then, she really reminded me I need to take better care of my skin.

The French-Canadian woman and I chatted about travel, food, experiences, people, and the things that made us happiest. As she asked me questions about my life, I was honest (even if reluctantly) and wondered, "Would she approve if I am honest?" Wow. I had come to respect this woman like a family member. Why did I care if she approved of me living with two gentlemen? To no surprise, she thought it was fantastic and applauded my bravery in my endeavors.

As we flew over endless water, we watched the sun set, experiencing oranges and reds never seen before by these eyes. Thunderheads created stunning silhouettes out of our window and we would occasionally stop chatting about her apartment in France or my Spring Break in Japan to just admire.

As the sun finally disappeared into the blackened Gulf of Mexico, I knew it was just me, the French-Canadian woman, and 70 travelers without a clue as to the dance I was doing on the inside. I sat quietly and soaked it all up. The massive belly laugh of the handsome 30-something Ecuadorian man to my left and a row behind brought a smile to my face every time he made a joke at his friend's expense, half in English, half in Spanish. I cocked my headed to the side every time the cat let escape a 'meow' from under an unidentified passenger's seat, as I kept forgetting it too was on an adventure with us. I sat in stunned disbelief at the silence of the half dozen babies on my flight, and prayed I didn't jinx it. I tried to pick up as much of the Spanish conversations as I could, then responded to them in my mind, hoping I'd gotten it right, but being showed up by the native speakers. I tried to guess who was Ecuadorian and who was a fellow foreigner by looking for passports and language guides or listening for murmured words over the buzz of engines of my 737 delivery vessel.

Yet, there was a strange calm to my venture. I wondered if perhaps, when I woke up in the morning, that the little girl inside me would burst out. Do not make the mistake of thinking I wasn't ecstatic, because I was thrilled! I believe I was just overwhelmed and still in disbelief.

Immigration was a breeze, in fact, the immigration official was a young, handsome gentleman who wrote his phone number on my paper work and asked if I would teach him English & he would teach me Spanish. Nice, Ecuador, way to welcome a lady...

My roommates, Bryan and Ian, picked me up at the airport and exceeded all of my hopes and expectations. We promptly opened the bottle of Captain Morgan rum (which you cannot buy in Ecuador, so I brought as a token of my gratitude) and got to know each other. At 5:30 am we all decided this was a great match for roommates and went to bed.

This morning, I awoke to smooth jazz colada morada, chamomile tea, and a fresh start in my life.

xx.a

vulnerability: a four letter word

Vulnerability is one of the most dichotomous words in the English language. With over a billion words in our convoluted communication system, that's saying a lot. Vulnerability refers to the susceptibility to physical or emotional injury, or refer to a person who lets their guard down, leaving themselves open to criticism. Conversely, vulnerability can be a romantic and noble concept, discussing the permission granted to those we believe won't damage us beyond repair. It has become a four letter word. People are more comfortable swearing in church and being criticized than standing for something and being unsure of the outcome.


We constantly attempt to issue permission to people in regards to vulnerability. We "let down our walls" or require our potential friends or mates to break them down wrecking-ball style. The question is: Why? It's understandable (and a little cliché) that no one likes to be hurt, but have we all forgotten that sweet isn't as sweet without the bitter? How are we supposed to appreciate the warm kiss of the sun without the cold shoulder of the storm?


So, when we decide to take a chance on people, we open ourselves up and allow them to touch a part of us and change us forever. There is something to be said for allowing the UNusual suspect in, in an effort to broaden your horizons. I have always followed the mantra:


Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.


This way, I stay positive and give people a stellar chance to show me they're innately good, all the while protecting myself from irreparable damage and heartache. I allow myself to be vulnerable to the person, not people, as the individual is responsible for their actions, not mankind. Just because some dickead in your Psych class didn't call you after your hook up, doesn't mean that all men are jerkoffs. Heck, he might not even be one:


Seek first to understand, then be understood.


I have been burned badly- we're talking third degree here, people- but what is the point of living this short and sweet life pushing people away? Even more so, why meander through the streets allowing your only connection with your fellow man be the accidental bump of the shoulder and an unintelligible grunt of what is only assumed to be an apology, but who really knows?

I was recently reminded that vulnerabilities are not limited to susceptibility of an attack from an outside force or the romantic heart strings that might be plucked too hard. It is also standing up and applying yourself to a new vocation and hoping you've done well enough to be approved. It's smiling at a stranger in hopes they don't just glance away awkwardly. It's speaking to someone at an airport, then switching seats onboard to continue your newfound connection, whatever that may end up being. Just enjoy it. Don't make a federal case out of everything, appreciate the moment, and know you'll look back and it will have been what it should've been... But don't pussyfoot it. (Yes, I said pussyfoot.) You can miss out. BIG TIME. I have only one minor regret in my life and it was something I did NOT do, not something I did. Most people regret the things they didn't have the balls to do, not the little mistakes they made.


So, go do it. Let yourself be vulnerable, no matter what it is. Dudes, call the girl for a movie, she'll appreciate the forwardness. Ladies, you can call, too, but don't be afraid to grab a 12-pack and surprise him with a pizza night on the couch and some making out. Bosses, take a risk on the applicant who really needs the job. People, apply for the job, even if you're not sure. Humans of all races, sexualities, & religions, open your minds and let's move passed tolerance and into acceptance. Open a door for others, dance like you don't give a half a damn, kiss her when she gives you 'that look' and let go of the traditions that bind you. Take a chance, be vulnerable. Be epic.


xx.a

Ecuador Bound!

It's been years in the works, 100+ hours of certification, months of planning every single step, months of improvising when said steps were different than anticipated, countless sleepless nights, hundreds of questions (some of which remain unanswered), thousands of prayers... But it is finally a sweet reality.... 

I am moving to Quito, Ecuador to teach English! 

I physically am incapable of speaking these words without breaking into the biggest, nerdiest grin humanly possible.  My heart has never been so full and happy, nor has my deepest self ever been so sure of this being the right path.  I am beside myself in joy and am proud of all of my accomplishments, as this is something that I did by my own free will, but also with the support from friends and family, and for that I am supremely grateful.  

I will be teaching English to business professionals on the Equator, two miles in the air.  When did my life become so fascinating?  Well, truth me told, it was pretty damn cool before when I was traveling the world modeling, studying in Europe, achieving scholastic greatness with a triple-major, double-minor degree, producing television and radio commercials for brand giants like KIA and Universal Studios in my native Los Angeles, rocking a massive corporate restaurant chain in Dallas, becoming certified as a Professional Organizer, and nannying for one of the best families I have ever met.  Lord knows I love to take things to the next level, so why not teach English in South America?  

As I revealed my amazing news to my family and closest friends, I discovered that there were quite a few misconceptions as to what kind of place Quito and Ecuador as a country are.  Some people thought I was going to be in an urban metropolis dominated by cement giants.  Others believed I was going to walk to a classroom down a muddy road and live in a grass hut.  I Googled these images (thanks, Google!) to give you readers an idea of where I am headed, and to preemptively answer questions regarding my new adventure.  You can find all the information about Quito & Ecuador aquí and find a little love for Latin America until I get over there, settled, and start posting about how things are coming along.  

When I started blogging a year ago, I had no idea that my blog would have well over 2,700 hits thus far, that I would be moving to a foreign country other than Japan, that I would be surrounded by and involved with the most amazing people on the planet, and could possibly be this happy!  I am truly a blessed individual.  Every struggle, every heartache, every heart break, every disappointment, every wrong turn, every mistake... They all were stepping stones leading to this monumental moment in my life where my heart is screaming "YOTY!" (Year of the Yes) and I am forever changed.  


I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestioned ability of a man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor.  -Henry David Thoreau 


Soy verdad agradecido para el amor y apoyo demostrado por usted... And off I go to practice my Spanish...  xx.a

I want to be contagious.

Those who danced were thought to be quite insane by those who could not hear the music.   -Angela Monet


The written word is one of the most beautiful forms of expression on this sweet planet, yet I cannot help but feel as though they just cannot fully convey the emotions I feel.  They say a picture is worth a thousand words... This is true, but sometimes even a photograph cannot fully express what is living in my heart.  (That is saying a lot, coming from a photo-obsessed blogger!)  


Strangely enough, I have discovered that, at least for me, it was more difficult to express joy in my writings, paintings, and music than sorrow.  I am naturally a happy person, so this baffled me upon my revelation.  Why would this effort be more difficult if it is natural?  So I pondered my findings over a cup of fresh coffee and a bowl of watermelon cubes while enjoying the early morning breeze through the backdoor screen.  I strive daily to express the joy that I have found in my life- especially over the last year- both as a form of gratitude to the universe, as well as to lead by example.  The negativity in the daily life of people I am surrounded by astounds me.  Quit your bitching, count your blessings, say thank you, and start appreciating your life, people!  It's easier to express discontent or pain because those emotions are stronger when you allow them in.  Since I have parted ways with my old self and the negativity associated with her, I find that the happiness and excitement that is now a constant light in my chest is dominating my creativity.  


Every man dies- Not every man lives.  -William Ross Wallace 


That being said (thanks for riding out my ramblings today) I have to remind myself not to get frustrated when my paintings turn out differently than imagined or when I cannot find the words I need to connect an intangible emotion to a cognitive understanding.  


I paint to create something beautiful I can pour emotion into. 
I write to express ideals and ask questions.
I photograph to capture things that move me.
I sing to open the doors to my soul.
I play guitar to find balance.
I learn languages to connect to other worlds. 
I teach to help mold the minds of a new generation.
I adventure to feed my soul & connect to the universe.  


All these things are beautiful in their own respective ways, and I am so fortunate to have the ability and drive to create in these fields and feel a sense of accomplishment and be filled up with peace and happiness.  My newest adventure is moving abroad to teach English.  This venture combines so many of my loves: travel, teaching, adventure... Plus I will be able to write, paint, photograph, and perform wherever this life takes me.  


There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle. -Albert Einstein 


Making someone laugh brings me more inner happiness than I could ever even begin to explain... That is a miracle to me.  I could list two hundred other miracles I am thankful for, but there are two I am focusing on in my life right now: 

1. Every single person I interact with.

2. My new adventure.

Applications are out, kids.  There is no turning back now, not that I would if I could!  I have applied to some amazing countries... Argentina, Brazil, Ecuador, Costa Rica, and Thailand.  This is the first thing I have ever done in my entire life that is for me.  The level of support from the people in my life is outstanding, and I am forever grateful.  I will have to devote an entire blog post to just thanking you crazy people for putting up with me!  I hope that this massive, life-altering step I am taking inspires you all to live your dream, or even start a new one.  I want to be contagious.  I want you all to catch this incredible passion for life and rise with the tides!  I began this post with stating that sometimes my media cannot truly express the light inside of me... I just want you all to feel it for yourselves.  I hope that you can find something in one of our interactions- even if only for a moment- that moves you.  That is the greatest joy and greatest gift I could ever ask for.  


Find some inspiration in something.  Anything.  Start getting out there and making magic happen... Find that inexpressible inner light & inner joy.  Then do your damnedest to express, to share, to inspire, & to give back the positivity into this crazy-amazing universe of ours.  


xx.a

dynamics of goodbye

Goodbye.  It's not such an awful word... There are more appealing versions of it: farewell, ciao, so long, until we meet again...  I understand that the notion of goodbye is tough on some people, and for good reason, but I think that goodbye has become an egocentric notion that does not allow for the individual leaving to make the best of their situation.  I prefer to meet goodbyes with a positive mindset:  


May the road rise up to meet you, may the wind be ever at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face and the rain fall softly on your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the hollow of his hand. -Irish Blessing


In other words, "Thanks for being a part of this chapter of my life".  Recent events have lead me to finally pursue my dream of teaching English abroad, and my friends and family are handling it... differently.  That is literally the only word that accurately describes the group and individual efforts of those that reside in my life.  Some of my nearest and dearest friends have rallied behind me in a united effort; offering to help with costs of certification, help me study, help teach me Spanish... You name it.  Some friends have retreated behind the front line in an effort to avoid being wounded in battle.  It wouldn't bother me so much if these individuals communicated with me, but I suppose that is asking too much.  


It is so difficult to walk away from people you love, and I would know, as I have done it more than anyone I know.  (In my defense, I wasn't running away from anything or anyone, it was all for higher education, career moves, etc.)  However, if approached from the right perspective and emotional base, it can also be a character-building experience.  Sometimes you have a choice in walking away, such as I do, and you just have to hope that those around you support you and send you off with love and well-wishes.  Sometimes, you are pinned to the wall and don't have an inch to breathe.  It is then that you hope your loved ones will rally, open their arms and hearts, and make the best of the situation in an effort to ease the pain and stress of your departure.  People who shut down, run away, or become a shadow of their former selves are often the ones that hurt the most: hurting themselves and hurting those leaving.  

Try to remember that leaving is the closing of one chapter, but it is also the beginning of a fresh and beautiful chapter for your loved one.  Be open minded, share your self, and hope for the best for everyone.  Some things have to fall apart for others to come together... That is the beautiful dichotomy of life.  You cannot fall in love with your soulmate if you are in a relationship with someone else


Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened. -Dr. Seuss 


This blog was initially about my departure, but life has a funny way of mixing things up... 


To my second family:  You will always be blood.  You will always live in my heart.  You will always be Mamma K, Oh Daddy Pappa K, Tuta Taquito, Kiwi Wiggle Beans... Of course, KyKy, too.  Lucky's bark will almost be missed, but her spirit and beer drinking abilities will be.  You compose half my stories, millions of inside jokes, the best memories, and I am who I am because you were here.  I cannot thank you enough for everything you have ever done for me, nor all that you have given me.  You are the true definition of family.  Thank you for loving me.


To tequila out the eye.
To Ray Charles in log cabins.
To only if you'll take me.
To crash. 
To wedding dresses.
To nerd glasses. 
To writing on the family room floor. 
To Laguna Beach. 
To limo rides to Vegas.
To falling up escalators. 
To the Oh Daddy dance. 
To Mexico.
To pole dancing. 
To songs for everything. 
To pot smoking lesbian lovers.
To Coors Light. 
To drunken chair racing. 
To drunken cooler racing.
To guitars and Maaammmmmma Kriiisitiii.
To Kevin and Art are lovers.
To Paprika. 
To Sunday Funday. 
To Angels baseball in the garage.
To being a lady.
To cutting someone.  Twice. 
To buttery nipples. 
To SoCo... but don't tell.
To half pints.
To garage time.
To brown on top, red on the bottom.
To HGTV & DIY junkies.
To mimosas.
To potato/tomato/cake.
To soccer.
To bang the drum. 
To drunk dogs. 
To LYMI 
To I'd do it myself but I don't have thuuuumbs.
To build me up, buttercup.
To stfu.
To family.
To the people who changed my life for the better.  You are irreplaceable. 

xx.a

there is beauty in the breakdown

This is for HNM... 


Forgiveness is one of a handful of subjects that I love discussing, but will not discuss with most of my friends and family.  For those readers who know me, I love to talk at length about life, philosophy, and all things worldly; however I feel as though most people do not have a firm grasp on what forgiveness actually is, therefore negating the need for discussion. 


Holding a grudge against someone- regardless of the severity of the trespass- is allowing them to live in your heart and mind rent-free.  I worked so very hard to learn how to actually forgive and release that demon for that very reason: You have to earn a place in my heart.  I'm slow to trust but I'm quick to love, I push too hard and I give too much... Sugarland lyrics may be strange to quote in a blog, but I have the keyboard, suckers. 


The key to forgiving is letting go.  Let go of what happened... it happened.  It cannot be changed, we do not have time travel yet, and stressing over it will only cause hair loss, ulcers, & bags under your eyes.  Let yourself feel the feelings that are evoked due to this trespass, there is nothing wrong with feeling hurt, betrayed, saddened, or otherwise.  When I was reading Elizabeth Gilbert's Eat Pray Love I was shocked to find almost my entire struggle (sans divorce) blatantly forced into stark black and white and slapped in the face with it.  This woman who is dealing with her divorce and has traveled halfway around the world, she is speaking to a new friend and confidant about her emotional struggle regarding her ex-husband.  She wrote: 

"I love him.  I miss him."

"So love him. So miss him. When you miss him, send him some light and some love. 

Then drop it."

The same goes for forgiveness... Feel that hurt.  Own it.  Do not feel guilt about harnessing these emotions, as guilt will only serve as a road block on your journey.  Once you have felt these feelings, truly allowing it to sink in, watch it dissipate as it ceases to be a burning focus.  Learn to not think about by taking charge of your mind and energy.  Stop talking about it, stop replaying it in your head, and stop focusing on the negative.  When it pops into your head, do a little dance and think of something fantastic you are looking forward to, or even something super amazing and positive that that same person did for you or with you.  Then drop it.  Moving on is always the hardest part, but you have to be an active participant in your own growth, it doesn't just happen.  Time does not heal all wounds, some must be tended to. 


The stupid neither forgive nor forget; the naive forgive and forget; the wise forgive but do not forget.  -Thomas Szasz


Forgetting is completely different than forgiving.  We must learn from our mistakes, we must build on our experiences, and we must begin to know ourselves.  Other people's karma is based on their actions, yours is based on your reaction to that.  Vengeance is futile, people.  God & this sweet, sweet Universe will balance everything out.  Yeah, it blows when someone stabs you in the back, but use it to build a stronger defense and a smarter offense.  Use those tools you gain when you are on the floor being kicked to build a bridge and get over it.  You're wasting your time allowing something someone else did destroy you and your numbered days. 


Anger makes you smaller, while forgiveness forces you to grow beyond what you were. -Cherie Carter-Scott


Forgiving yourself is a tad trickier.  I struggle with this daily.  The bright side of that statement is that because I am struggling with it, I am dealing with it.  I have made my fair share of mistakes, I know this... But are they really mistakes?  Or are they steps I didn't intend on taking that lead me to this wonderful place where I am happier than ever?  I, for one, choose the latter.  Everything happens for a reason, they say, and I sleep better at night not worrying about the things I cannot change.  I choose to focus my energy and efforts on what I can affect: the present and the future.  Let yourself breakdown, feel and live, and then heal stronger than ever.  Forgiveness is in the letting go... So take a deep breath, speak your mind, feel your heart... and let go. There is beauty in the breakdown.  xx.a

time does not change us, it just unfolds us.

That very Max Frisch quote rings in my ears as I walked laps at the park this morning with the kids I nanny in tow.  I believe that the events that occur during said time change us; they mature us, build character, leave battle wounds that remind us of lessons learned... And if we are reckless, leave us scarred and embittered.  I am fortunate enough to have learned early on that regret and remorse over so-called 'mistakes' is a waste of time... But not before letting regret live in my heart and head rent free for countless years.  


Half our life is spent trying to find something to do with the time we have rushed through life trying to save.  -Will Rogers 


This is precisely what I am striving to avoid.  I have said before that I have no intention of waiting until I am in my last decades to wander this great planet, and I have no intention of allowing the one thing that truly defines me to go to waste: dichotomy.  I need balance in my life, I came to that conclusion in my early twenties and have since been a better version of myself.  When I was taking 28 credit hours and working 3 part-time jobs, I was all work and no fun.  Currently, I am the opposite of the aforementioned lifestyle, and I am craving some structure to my life... But just a little.  The same balance can be applied to my "retirement years"... I don't want them.  I like working, I like earning things and feeling a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day.  It may be commissioned artwork only, or I may teach until I am in my 80's, but I know I don't want to kick back and do nothing at the end of my life.  Work, travel, love, rest... Live.  


That being said, I also believe that dear Father Time is not the only key-holder to our true selves.  Yes, events in our lives- first loves, first time having sex, first fight with our parents, first brush with death, first time traveling, first time living on your own- they build character and help you mature... But it is also the decisions we make that show us who we are. 


"Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits; they become character. Watch your character; it becomes your destiny." – Unknown 


These words remind me of a very passionate, but tumultuous, relationship I was in for a very long time.  The words never quite matched the actions because the actions were a reflection of the thoughts & feelings.  In this life we live, words are the easiest thing to fake.  I, for one, refuse to "fake it til I make it" because I know that I deserve better than that, and so do the people in my life.  Your thoughts, words, actions, habits, & character are all what lead you to where you are going: Don't blame "fate" for things that happen... There is a sense of Karma (whatever you want to call it) in this Universe, so be kind and be careful what you put out there and how you treat others, but you are in control of your life!  If you pay attention, you will find your true self a little bit each day... Then live.

Strong then... 

Strong now...

  xx.a